Tentacle Teasing Her Pony Pet
Tentacle Teasing Her Pony Pet
Author's Note
Mistress Shy takes her pony-pet, Arctic, to the forest behind her cottage to some very interesting plants that she's found, using him to relieve their needs while he squirms and is "forced" to be filled by them and their insect friends...
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Story © Amethyst Mare / Arian Mabe
Characters © respective owners
Tentacle Teasing Her Pony Pet
Tentacle Teasing Her Pony Pet
Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)
Commissioned by anonymous
Arctic picked his hooves up high for his mistress, Mistress Shy leading him back behind her cottage. His tail was pulled up with a latex crupper and the harness he wore could have attached him to a cart, although Arctic fervently hoped that he would not be pulled Mistress Shy in her private one around Ponyville anytime soon. It was one thing to be publicly humiliated with his wings tucked into a wing-slip and pinned down to his back and quite another to be paraded all around the town in which he’d grown up in as if he was some kind of trophy.
Shuddering, the pale-coated pegasus pony followed his mistress with his head lowered, champing and licking at the bit in his mouth. He knew his place but there was a collar around his neck too with her butterfly cutie-mark as an ownership tag, not that there were many ponies around that didn’t know of their unique kind of relationship. They were, quite truly, the worst kept secret in Ponyville and beyond and it was hardly as if Arctic had not attracted attention before with his size and equipment, which was rather hard to hide if he didn’t want to go around clothed all the time.
Fluttershy didn’t mind that he was rather on the large side, however, manipulating and twisting his body until she suited his whims. He must have been getting a little too complacent, however, as his eyes drifted to her yellow-coated backside, the short, fine hairs delicate there in the garb of her summer coat of fur. It never grew all that thickly with Fluttershy but she had her pony-pet groom her meticulously at least once every week until her pink mane and tail too fell in a shimmering glaze of luxurious sensuality.
“Now, pet...”
He jerked and stumbled, nearly going head over hooves as the side reins fixed to his harness and the bit in his mouth stopped him from shooting his head up for balance. Had she caught him? That time, he was more fortunate than most others.
“There’s something I want to take a look at with you...”
His ears flicked. Oh, good, he wasn’t in trouble, that was good, but a pony like Arctic knew well enough just what trickery his mistress could have in store, delving into the woods at the back of her cottage. The forest there had extended out from the Everfree forest and was still a touch wilder than he would have felt comfortable venturing into alone, although ponies had learned, over time, to live with the forest with the life of it thrumming through gently with that ever-present sense of magic. As one of the original Elements and one who could wield the Elements of Harmony, Fluttershy knew better than most just what terrors the forest could hold.
Yet she was stronger than she had been so many years back, so many adventures lying behind her, one of the many things that had made Arctic fall at her hooves over time, admiring her for her courage. Maybe that was why he belonged there, on the ground kissing her hooves, showing her each and every day that he was completely devoted to her, nothing stopping him from pleasing her in any way she wanted. Regardless of any pain or humiliation, the stallion would have done anything for his mistress but not even he could have anticipated just what lay before them, the secret that she had found, uncovered and now sought to understand.
Fluttershy stopped, holding out a hoof to stay his steps.
“This plant...” She murmured. “There are properties here that we can use for potions, healing remedies. But I need to understand it first.”
Her words seemed contrived as if she had spent some time beforehand thinking them through and calculating the weight of them, Arctic’s blue mane tingling at the roots as if someone was raking an icy set of claws down his back. It brought the rise of an ardent chill to his spine and, without thinking, he shuddered, whining and trying to clamp his tail down even while that crupper ensure that it was kept hiked up well out of the way. She wouldn’t, of course, have wanted to not have easy access to him, after all.
He looked ahead, though his legs shook, fear curling through his body even though he did indeed trust Mistress Shy to keep him safe. She had never led him into harm before and he had no reason to believe that that was due to change anytime soon, though a new plant... He trembled. Everypony in Ponyville knew that Everfree was dangerous still, their healthy respect of earlier times lingering even after changes had come. If he had not been so caught up in the mare’s domination, he would have shaken his head, taken a step back, left at that very moment – and yet he could not, for she was his mistress and he her pony-pet forevermore.
The plants, however, proved to be nondescript, though he could not imagine why she had taken him back there in his cart-pulling get-up if not to casually exude her dominance over him. Well, they were interesting in a way to a pony like Arctic who had been lectured and forced to study horticulture and animal husbandry to better assist her in her work, though there was nothing all that special about them. Spaced out in a small clearing in the trees as if they too commanded their own space, the central one was topped with a glorious bloom in stunning, soft pink, the centre yellow with the colour lightly bleeding through the petals, infiltrating the pink.
It was pretty, yes, but the others were not all that much to look at, the three plants set up in a line as if somepony had made them that way, the buds of the other two closed tight. Perhaps they were protecting something but the most disconcerting thing about them was the vines that twisted from the base of every plant, beneath the ruffling fall of seductively green leaves, though such things would not protect anyone right there and then. The vines twisted and undulated lightly and soothingly, although there was nothing soothing about how Arctic’s eyes fixed on them, back going up as if he had suddenly taken on feline tendencies.
Inwardly, he swore, trembling, wanting to take a step back, but his mistress did not seem at all perturbed by the twisting writhe of the vines, their slow, sinuous swathe drawing the eye. They did not whip about or move quickly at all, leaving Arctic with the impression that they were just waking up even as his mistress moved around him, muttering under her breath. But why had she brought him there to look at a few new plants? Like so much else, it just didn’t make sense even if he couldn’t take his eyes off them. Arctic swallowed, Fluttershy’s wing brushing his side. He didn’t dare take his eyes off them...
“Can’t have these getting dirty,” she murmured, talking to herself rather than Arctic as she fiddled with his latex harness, the slick shine of it gleaming in the dappled sunlight cast down through the deciduous trees. “These are from Rarity’s boutique...”
Stripping him of his gear, she had him pile and loop it carefully so that it would not simply become a tangle of latex when she next wanted to get him done-up in it. Arctic, however, could barely focus on the task at hoof, casting his gaze back constantly on those lightly shivering plants, how their vines shifted and slithered over the ground, stirring up dead leaves and questing forth tentatively as if they were searching for something. But what could a plant even be searching for?
That was not a question for him to answer but he should have taken his chance to run, to disobey, when she’d stepped back from him, the wicked grin on his mistress’ muzzle telling him that he had quite made a bad decision indeed. In a breath of a moment, she had him by the tail, catching him off-balance and sending him spinning around, whirling, into the very midst of those three plants, the vines catching about his hooves. He had not been expecting it and crashed to the ground with a squeal that was far less stallion-like than he would have liked it to have come out. But that was all by the by as she watched him with a little giggle on her lips, hardly hidden by the touch of her hoof to her muzzle.
“Whoops, pet, you should really watch your step...”
But it was far, far too late to even consider watching his step as the vines whipped out and caught him around his back hooves as if the plants had merely been waiting for him to let down his guard. They moved lightning-quick, even faster than Rainbow Dash clearing a sky of clouds, and he had barely even a moment in which to gasp as he was ripped off his hooves and dangled upside down, his mane flopping into his eyes.
“What the – help! Mistress!”
“Oh, hush now, pet,” she murmured, leaning back against the mossy trunk of a tree, sitting up with her legs kicked out in front of her body. “It’s all okay... But I want to see what these rather fetching plants do with you. Do try to make it a good show now, won’t you?”
There was a touch of Rarity in her tone but Arctic did not have a chance to think about that. He wouldn’t have the opportunity to think about anything much for quite some time as the tentacle-like vines wriggled all over his body. It seemed to be the two strongest and thickest of them that were holding him up but there was nothing he could do to escape them, kicking and flailing, howling and writhing. It was not true fear but more a reaction that he could not hold back, the need to escape throbbing through him, though he could not have said that he didn’t feel the need to fight back every time he was wrapped up in bondage anyway. What was the difference if it was vines and not ropes or something more traditional?
Flanks shuddering with breath, he tried to calm himself. His mistress was there, right there, there wasn’t anything to worry about. He relaxed a fraction – just a fraction but it was enough to ease his breathing, bringing his front hooves up shakily to at least attempt to sweep his forelock and mane back from his muzzle. With his mistress there, nothing back could happen to him, and he gulped hard, straining to relax even as more vines slithered up and over him, appearing to be looking for something. But for what?
Of course, that would soon come to be seen as the tentacles crawled over him, twisting and turning, not seeming to take any effort at all to hold him up there. Arctic’s hooves kicked out but those were easily caught too, stretching him out in opposite directions so, in mid-air, he was held spread-eagled. His mistress murmured her appreciation at the view and his ears flicked and turned to catch the sound of her giggles.
She wasn’t worried... Yet she was not the one between the vines, the slithering appendages crawling all over him. He had no reason to be worried when she was there with him but he could not help but shudder still as his balls were caressed and teased. He had not, as always, been allowed to cum for several months and they were nicely filled again, although his mistress had other methods of draining them too for her pleasure without actually allowing him the luxury and liberty of orgasm. They were sensitive, too sensitive, and he gasped, lips parting, his body responding as much as he wanted to hold back from it.
The vines must have had some sentience about them for they pushed on, sensing his reluctant arousal, wriggling around his sheath and squeezing. Won’t you come out and play with us? They seemed to talk to him, his mind drifting, whispered words tingling through his mind with the touch of a true seductress, the very seductress that his mistress had been to him right from the very beginning. We won’t hurt you...
He had little choice but to believe those words in his head, regardless of where they’d come from. His twisting wriggles became fainter and fainter as his breath caught in his throat, balls tingling, throbbing and churning as if his body still expected to be allowed to spend his seed. Maybe his body would get what it wanted, ultimately, but there was nothing that would come to pass there that would result in him squealing and kicking out in a true-blooded stallion’s climax, he was sure of that, though it was none of his concern anyway. Arctic was solely there to please as every good pony-pet always should have been, entertaining his mistress as her hoof idly teased against her sex.
Arctic grunted, his eyes fixed on Fluttershy as his sheath plumped out, letting loose the monster of his cock into the open air. It throbbed up thick and full and he panted heavily, head rolling back even as a tentacle-vine tickled at his throat. The plants were far from idle and it was impossible to tell from which plants the vines teasing his body and binding it too were coming from – not that it mattered all that much anyway. They seemed to delight in the meat of his cock with the flatter tip, not flared in the bliss of climax as yet, and Arctic moaned out loud, stomping in mid-air and shuddering, as they swept down the full length of his cock.
There was a lot of his shaft to tease and he relaxed into it for a moment as they easily brought him to full hardness, his shaft aching for release already. Truthfully, it was hard to say that there wasn’t a single cell of his body that did not crave release all of the time, panting and heaving, his nervous system on fire with the ardent and potent stretch of need. Arctic moaned out loud, watching his mistress curl forward to better masturbate, the soft folds of her teardrop-shaped sex on show as she put on as much of a show for him as he did for her.
Maybe she murmured something or maybe she didn’t but the vines had an ulterior motive that was only just coming to light, a thickly girthy one snaking its way up and up and up to his muzzle. It was there that it hovered, almost politely, waiting for him to notice it, though Arctic could only think of one reason that it was up there, so very close to his lips, as he quailed and shook his head vehemently.
“No.”
The vine snaked closer, bobbing back and forth as if he was the snake charmer and the vine a snake, bearing the motions of such. He was not in control, however, and would have been a fool to ever consider himself to be as he groaned in the back of his throat, turning his head from one side to the other, panting and grunting, trying to keep his lips closed tightly. He knew what happened when hoses and such were shoved between his lips and, for that day, he simply wasn’t going there of his own free will!
Little did Arctic remember that, of course, he barely had any free will at all left to speak of...
“No...”
But he didn’t really mean that – not if he’d known what was to happen next, that was. There was more to come and so much more that would get his blood up and make his heart sing, the vine pressing insistently to his lips in the touch of a lover that, at that moment, he did not want. Yet the vines took their chance with him, prodding him sharply in his stomach just to make him gasp, parting his lips at just the right-wrong moment for the vine to slither inside. It came with the impression of something snake-like and serpentine, worming its way over his tongue as much as he tried to push it out.
Maybe that was a fool’s errand, truly, but he slathered it with his tongue, slurping as more and more saliva poured over the vine. That only helped to lubricate it, however, and the vine squirmed within his mouth, dripping and wriggling. Arctic’s eyes bulged and he grunted, shaking his head as much as he could, though the vines only twisted around his neck and shoulders, keeping him in place for them as the tendril in question teased into the back of his throat.
A tickle and a hacking cough from Arctic was all the vine needed to get past and down into his throat, lingering there, filing his oesophagus. He swallowed and swallowed, contracting his oesophagus around the vine, though it was nowhere near enough to push it out and the rippling massage of contracting muscles only made it all the easier for the vine to slip deeper and deeper. It didn’t matter how much his throat contracted around the vine, only that it got what it wanted as it languidly pumped back and forth like a more flexible cock, Arctic’s range of reference on something so smoothly sinuous and conniving woefully narrow. He didn’t know what to think but neither did he have to as the edge of his mistress’ hoof dug delicately into her marehood, stimulating herself to his debasement.
Despite everything, Arctic’s body could not help but reveal just how he truly felt about things, cock pulsing and throbbing, twitching as the tip gleamed with a thick dollop of pre-cum. He was as over-productive as ever even with Mistress Shy giving him anything to stimulate the production of his seed (he couldn’t be sure about that though) and thick dollops of it drooled forth, sliding slickly down the length of his cock for the vines to scoop up and rub into their strangely smooth-skinned hide. It was not plant and it was not animal either, something in-between that he could not find a term for, hacking and gulping as the vine in his throat wormed deeper and deeper, blocking off his windpipe too.
The lack of air had his chest convulsing but there were ways for such plants too to ensure that their “prey” (even though he was hardly a victim with his mistress there) would not faint before they were good and done with them. Feeding a slimmer tube into his windpipe, squeezing down the length of the first vine, the plan allowed him oxygen too, his chest shuddering and heaving with sweet relief while Fluttershy “oohed”.
“Oh, my...” She murmured. “So it can do that too?”
He did not doubt that she already knew some of what the plants and the vines could do to him – why else would his mistress have brought him out there? – but all Arctic could do was shudder and moan around the vine as the others slid and slithered around his cock, manipulating his body so wonderfully. He knew that he had not been given permission to orgasm but all of it, every last bit, simply felt so damn good that he could hardly find anything else that he would rather have been doing right there and then, putting on a kinky show of the highest calibre for his own and only mistress.
It was all he could do, all he could ever do to please her every day and night, the vine in his throat sliding slickly down, deeper and deeper, forcing his throat to expand around it. It was too large for him to naturally swallow but something cooling lubricated his throat, allowing him to take it down right into his stomach. It wriggled through the opening into his stomach and plopped deep, filling him to what felt like his fullest extent, the acts of drinking and breathing fully taken over by the plant.
But maybe he didn’t have to think about things too much with the plant taking over that too for him, slime and sap – he couldn’t tell which – sliding down his throat, along the length of the vine. It wasn’t trying to make things difficult or painful for him, but it was going to take what it wanted from him either way. Cross-eyed, he tried to keep an eye on his mistress, although it was hard to do so, his throat so full, so very full, the strain and the stretch impossible to ignore. He gulped again but the vine only shuddered within his throat and belly, swelling more as if it had something more to give. But what could that possibly be?
Arctic was not the sort of pony to be able to guess at what was coming next when Mistress Shy constantly kept him on the tips of his hooves. She was good like that, always keeping things interesting, yet Arctic could not help but groan as something warm and slick filled his stomach, his belly churning and grumbling. What was that? He shouldn’t have been able to feel such a thing, not when it was so very deep inside him, squirming about inside his stomach. And yet he could feel every last little bit of the fat length of vine twisting inside his belly even as it emptied a heavy dose of slime and sap into his guts.
“Oh, pet...” Fluttershy murmured, eyes alight with the hint of a smirk. “You’re going to be so full...”
And that was true, so very true, though Arctic would only come to see that in time. The vine pumped back and forth, easing the tension in his throat and mouth, lips pressed seductively to the “skin” of the vine, pumping more and more into his belly. He had no say in any of it as he grunted heavily around it, though he doubted that he made anything much of a noise at all. It didn’t matter as more and more poured into his stomach, though it was not a quick flow, allowing him to feel every last drop of that thickly gluttonous slime being deposited, as if he was nothing more than a vessel for it, into him.
His head spun, turning and spinning, his body upside down, side to side, grunts and moans rising from his lips, however muffled it all was. There was so much of it and it came at such a pace that he was forced to feel every last moment of it all, his head pounding, though he didn’t want to get out of it by any means. His throbbing cock told that tale completely and utterly, drooling pre-cum, smacking and jerking up against his stomach, thick and heavy, begging attention. Yet the pet-pony was never due such attention unless his mistress wanted to use his body in some way, for that was the fate of a submissive like him. Regardless of what happened to him, he had nowhere else that he would have wanted to be or anyone else that he wanted to be with, forever at the whims of his mistress however she wanted him to be.
Alas, one of Arctic’s less favourable teases was coming swiftly and he was too far gone to realise just what was happening around his back end. With his balls aching and cock spilling pre-cum so thickly, he didn’t realise it one bit but he could not fail to realise just what the vines were doing as they drove up under his tail, forcing their way into his tail hole without even asking permission. The vines didn’t care about that even as he grunted and squalled around the vine in his mouth, accidentally digging his teeth into it. He feared that there would be some kind of repercussion from that as the vines trembled indignantly but he hadn’t managed to harm them with his teeth so, in that instance, he got away with it.
There was no simple “getting away with it” when one was a pet, however, and he could only, very faintly, be grateful that the vines had scooped up some of his pre-cum to lubricate his tail hole as they bore in. There was no pleasure for him as he was painfully stretched, his old scar twinging, though the pain was a dull one that he had long ago accustomed himself to accepting the ache of. It was drawn to his attention time after time again as penetrating him under his tail was one of Mistress Shy’s favourite things to do to him, testing the limits of his body and, undoubtedly, his loyalty to her too.
Yet he would bear through it all, anything and everything, to please his mistress, even the strain and humiliation of having his tail-star stretched, although he should well enough have been accustomed to that by that time. His doughnut pulsed and tried to clench around it as his body naturally strove to force out an invader, yet there was only one direction that the tentacle was going to go and that was deeper up inside him. He’d had things penetrate him there before but never before had they been living entities, the squirm and delightful (oddly so) little wriggle of the vine pushing through his rectum making him buck and grind.
He didn’t want to but he had to, lost in the moment, knowing that his mistress was watching. Caught between a sense of self-preservation and wanting to please her, he didn’t know what to do, wings flapping, straining, although they had duly been released from his wing-binder, which was something at least. It was not that hard to flap his wings but doing so took more energy from him that even he could not hold onto, whimpering and whining as that vine swelled within his rectum. Maybe that would be it, maybe there would be no more, but he was a fool to even hope so as it pushed deeper, into his colon, his guts straining to accommodate.
Arctic was blessed, at least for the moment, that it did not push its way all the way through the twisting maze of his intestines, although it would not have harmed him in any way. He had no way of knowing that though, kicking and flailing as it pumped a thick load of...something into him. It did not come with the same, steady flow as the sap and slime filling his stomach, clinging to the inner membrane of his stomach, the slick mucus taken over by something that would lubricate his belly all the more readily for what was to come.
It had to be done and there was no other way for it as something thick strained against his anal ring, pushing its way in, drawing him to cry out, though there was no help coming for him. Arctic groaned and tried to throw his head back but the vines held him fast and in place, his body but a toy, right there and then, for them to play with. But there was more still for his body to do for them as his backside was forced to accept what he would later find was an egg, only coming to the knowledge of such after realising just how the fat swell of deposits came under his tail.
It was hard though, harder than it had ever been before for him, to bear through the grind of the soft, sloppy eggs pushing up into his anal canal. They would not stay in his colon though, moving deeper, the vines readily filling him from both ends while the slime and sap of his stomach prepared the way for the eggs to rest comfortably. The vines, duly, could have filled him from one end only but there was a sense of fun in it for them too, still stroking and teasing his cock, testing out just how far they could push things with him.
Of course, the answer to that question was certainly “all the way” as his body was theirs to do with as they willed, his mistress welcoming it as his belly bloated out and out. The slow swell rapidly increased as his lower abdomen bulged with the eggs, the soft-shelled objects needing somewhere to go still as they pushed themselves one after the other through his intestines. They were going to get there one way or another as he groaned deep in the back of his throat, even his tongue flopping weakly out of his mouth as the vine forced it there, needing the room. Bodily autonomy was hardly something that he had had for himself in some time, whimpering and groaning, twisting back and forth repeatedly however weak his actions were.
“Oh, lovely, pet,” Fluttershy crooned, “simply lovely. You’re going to be so big...”
So he would be, moaning softly, hardly aware of where he was anymore. His guts bloated and swelled as his cock was jerked off, although the plants did not allow him to get to the point that he felt he could orgasm. That would have been too far, oh yes, too much for a pony-pet like him, slave to the whims of his mistress and wherever she wanted to send him off to serve. If he was to serve and adore a plant, that was her call and his job to make it all right for her.
It was all he had to do and everything he had to do as those eggs strained the pucker of his anal ring more and more, deceiving in their shape although they were more round than oval. That mattered the least to Arctic, although he did wonder if there would be a bigger one at any point, an egg that pushed its way up so deep inside him that he could not even take it, each egg shoving the one that preceded it deeper still. They could only go one way and the vine squirmed within him, thickening up and stretching out his hole, pressing up to the old scar, poking and guiding the eggs, allowing them to ease up through his body in completely the wrong direction.
His belly bloated and he shuddered as the first egg dropped into his stomach, the slow encroach of slime and sap oozing out so that his stomach was about the size of half a beach ball. It did not need to be, as yet, grossly inflated to do the job that it was there for but he had no doubt in the shuddering chill of his mind that there would be more to come, closing his lips tightly around the vine in his mouth. Suckling on it as he sucked in all the breath he could through the other tendril gave him some comfort, a hotly sickening blush creeping down his neck from his cheeks, even the insides of his ears pink. For not even he could have denied the throbbing ache of his cock, casting out desperate look after look to his mistress, just to see if, that time, she would allow him to orgasm.
She had her hoof between her legs, crying out her climax, not even seeming to notice that he was looking over at her constantly. Arctic groaned yet her eyes were not on him, a mare solely lost in her pleasure, pleasure that she could absolutely take as and when she needed to. It was hers, after all, and all that was in her hold would be taken, wings spreading out as her arousal grew, a slick sheen of her feminine juices coating her twitching folds.
Arctic, however, was merely a part of the show as his stomach churned and grumbled. It had never been designed to contain slime and sap, for it most certainly was a first time for that, even though he had frequently taken other fluids into his guts from both ends. Even then, the vine was not content with merely pushing into his stomach from his mouth, twitching and pulling in his oesophagus so that he was forced to lean forward. Were his hooves back on the ground? All he could see was the green, tight bug of one of the plants, the vines hiking his tail up as if they were making him put on a show for Fluttershy.
How many eggs were inside him? Oh, it was impossible to count but he tried all the same as they plopped into his stomach through the sphincter that separated his stomach from the rest of his guts. Nothing was meant to pass that way but, truly, there was little Arctic could do about that in his current situation, wriggling shakily and wondering just how long it would take for his swelling stomach to bloat down to the ground.
The shifting eggs working their way through his colon pressed on his bladder and he whimpered, twisting his head back and forth. It was hard to resist the urge to empty his bladder with such a force pressing down on it and he was acutely made aware of just how a mare in the later stages of pregnancy may have felt. He would end up far larger than even a mare carrying triplets, however, gurgling and churning, the slime shifting within him almost as if it was alive. But that couldn’t be, could it?
There was little that Arctic knew and far, far more that he would never know, regardless of how much he came to learn. Bracing his legs, he rocked back, submitting to the vines as humiliating as it was, hot, cloying fingers of lust sinking into his coat, dragging him down. It was as much mental as it was physical and he could not help but sweat as he heated up, restraining his lust only for the sake of his mistress who had not ordered him to cum. He twitched, tucking his hind end in briefly, remembering just how stringent her punishment had been last time, layering his backside with welts and more, the meatier part of his legs even aching for days afterwards too. Yet the point had stuck, which he supposed meant that her punishment had been successful too.
His belly rumbled and he tried not to think about the strain on his naturally filled bladder (no magical means this time around, as his mistress liked to do too), the eggs filled him, belly bulging and lumpy. The bulge increased more quickly with the presence of the eggs reaching their rightful place, at least for the time being, nestling into the pit of sap and slime in his stomach as if they were more fragile eggs softly cradled in a bird’s nest. He whimpered as his stomach all but squeaked, stretching and straining to contain the eggs and slime. It was almost possible to ignore the vine in his throat, especially considering that it pretty much took care of the act of breathing for him too, yet the steady pouring of warm, slick slime was something almost hypnotic in a way too.
Down and down and down... His muscles tightened where he needed them to relax, grunting and groaning, rocking his hindquarters. His tail could not clamp down but there was no reason to protect himself as the tag on his collar weighed heavily on his neck. He didn’t need to really hold himself up as he stood there for there were more than enough vines twisting around him to keep him up, but he still wanted to be a good pony-pet, to show his mistress that he was submitting to her, as always, completely and utterly.
“Oof, well, pet... This is lovely but I really must be going now.”
His eyes snapped open – when had they closed? But what he had not expected to see was his mistress waving at him from the very edge of the clearing, up and on her hooves, a smile stretching her lips that was too serene and sickly sweet to be either believed or taken at face value. She waved again, a glint in her eye, and then she was gone, presumably off to care for the animals, of which there were many. And all that did was leave her grunting, squalling pony-pet in the arms of the tentacles without even the blessing of a whinny to call her back if things escalated too swiftly.
Of course, Arctic could not call her back. She was his mistress and he had to obey, shivering with a colder sweat as her absence left a chill in the clearing. Fortunately for him, the plant seemed more than happy in that moment to keep right on filling his stomach, his guts churning and squirming squeamishly as they forced more and more eggs through his intestines. They only had one way to go, however, and his stomach squashed down against the ground, straining at his skin but still accepting what space there was for it to move into. It was not a perfect round – not yet – but that was alright as his aching nuts squashed back, pushed out of the way between his hind legs while the tentacles curiously teased and played over them.
He should have been able to hold back but there was something in Arctic that pushed him on, grunting and groaning, rocking his hips, scrabbling recklessly as his cock was thrust to the side and his gross inflation lifted him from the ground. If he balanced well, he could just about stand on his hind hooves with his forelegs sticking out in what had to be a comedic fashion, although the vines did not care for such things. As his belly bloated more rapidly, grumbling and writhing with the twist of vines inside, he moaned around the vine and even sucked on it a little, lapping and licking, even forgetting the strain under his tail.
Yet they had taken interest in his cock, wrapping around and squeezing his nuts, drawing a muffled whimper from his lips as they took full advantage of his body time after time again. He was there for the vines to use and abuse and it was even more degrading than normal as he was pumped with the vines, a squeeze on his nuts combining with the rapid stroking of his cock over and over. There was no end of it and he could not even roll his head back and forth to relieve some semblance of the tension lining his body, grunting and heaving as the pressure to release his climax built and built.
Arctic, however, was not a strong pony and he howled out his broken pleasure as he was treated, at long, long last, to a true orgasm, balls churning, forcing out his cum with the rhythmic squeeze of the tentacles. It was as if they knew exactly how to treat a pony like him, turning him over, lifting him, rolling him onto his back in midair as the weight of his stomach bore down heavily on him. He had to moan and had to bear through it, his orgasm shooting forth, splattering the heady round of his belly with cum, cum and then some more cum all over again just for good measure. His balls were not big for no reason and his cock slapped his stomach as the vines, seemingly fascinated, rocking and cradled him through his climax, creeping around his cock and even squeezing his length when he rapidly became too sensitive for such a thing, moaning and grunting as his flanks trembled.
However, the vines had found something else, a something else that was very interesting. His cum poured from the slit at the tip of his cock and the urethra beyond, though the vines had yet to explore that. They were going to though, squeezing and wriggling and writhing in the droplets of cum that were still oozing up, his body straining to produce it all even then. Yet Arctic’s mind was too awash with desire and the feel-good endorphins from getting off truly for once to pay note to the vine sliding into the tip of his cock until it was far, far too late to stop anything from happening.
Arctic jolted and cried out a muffled neigh around the vine, though that one had enough force behind it for him to hear it himself and not just as a resounding vibration that travelled down through his throat. A new vine pushed into his cock as he squirmed and fought, though he really looked as if he was not doing anything at all for all the effect that his efforts had on the vines. They handled him as if he was as light as a foal, regardless of how much they were pouring into him, pumping him full. Yet they were rougher and jabbed that vine deep, spearing into his balls, the tip writhing back and forth in a churning, throbbing mass of cum that still sought to replenish itself, the natural biology of his body working overtime. He could be drained completely but Arctic had a funny twinge of a feeling in the back of his mind that the plants didn’t want to see him moaning on the edge of exhaustion, having given all that his nuts had to give.
No... He shuddered. They wanted to see him inflate. And there were so many things that they could pump into him to make that happen.
Different vines must have come from different plants, though he could not have honestly have told which vine came from which plant. For the one that had infiltrated his urethra and was, at that very moment, squirming around in his nuts was keener than the others, rougher and coarser. It wasted no time at all in getting him ready as it pressed up through the fragile barrier of his balls, showing off the shape and definition of the tentacle through them. But there was something more coming, that plant that it originated from bearing seed pods which were a longer oval-shape than most eggs and harder than the soft, mostly round eggs that were still being pumped and ploughed into Arctic’s stomach.
He grunted and scraped his teeth down the vine, pain lancing through him, but he could not understand what was happening. All he knew was that he was bucking and grinding, his belly spilling to either side of his horizontal, “airborne” body, which was held aloft, his shaft rigid while something thicker still worked its way down his pole. His urethra gaped around the vine and he howled as it thickened up, a larger, longer bulge working its way down. It was too large, much too large, for his urethra and the plant was forced to grind its vine back and forth, forcibly working it down as he was made to bear through it.
Arctic’s cock could not soften under the manipulation of the vines and his brokenly confused mind was not even sure that he would have wanted that. It was all too much, far too much, yet his mistress would have never have left him in such a difficult situation and, well, he had to trust her on that. Pain burned as his slit strained, the pony glad that he could not see just how grossly his cock bulged with the more pleasurable rise of his belly in the way. That, at least, was a blessing, suckling on the vine in his mouth and trying to lose himself in the groan of more blissful endeavours, things that did not make him want to twist and cavort just to shake off the rise of pain.
It was worse, much worse than he could have expected, panting and heaving, strands of his mane clinging to his neck in a rising prickle of damp sweat. It was a cloying, clinging feeling, his hide slickening with sweat and more, the vines grinding up against him and teasing over, spilling a thick dose of sap out wherever they went. That wasn’t so much of an unpleasant situation for him to be in, although he would not have admitted that out loud, preferring all fluids to be poured into him. He clung to that sensation desperately, translucent yellow sap flowing over his body, staining his nuts, even some sliding into the sheath of his cock.
It helped him through as his balls swelled, pod after pod forced into them, although he could not ignore the strain down his urethra as every pod was forced down there. They were not all the same size either and Arctic groaned as his nuts throbbed, more and more pods straining down, squeezing through the tube of his urethra, a tunnel that was never meant to take anything of that size. Yet the largest pods were still yet to come as they plopped into his nuts, grinding up against one another and forcing his balls to expand out and out and out. That was all there was for him even as the strain thrummed through with a twinge of pain, worry curling in the pit of his stomach where there was not even any room for it with the churn and swell of sap and eggs.
Was there nothing left of his body other than to be a vessel for the lust of the plants? Arctic groaned, tonguing the vine in his mouth, grateful for the sanctity of breath at least. It didn’t have to do that for him but he wished so very desperately that he could have his mistress there with him, the one that he adored so very dearly, just to let him know that everything was going to be okay.
Yet the strain of his bulging, aching nuts could not be ignored and the tentacle under his tail was not idle either, pumping and pushing, grinding and forcing every last one of the eggs into his stomach. It was the only place for them but the plant was too excited to have such a willing victim right there into which it could expend its lust, wriggling and squirming, pushing harder and deeper, the vine thickening up massively as it forced several eggs at once down the length.
Arctic squirmed and squalled like a hatchling in a nest but there was nothing a pony-pet like him could do to escape his fate. As he was a pony-pet to Fluttershy, he was nothing more than a slave to the plant, his tail hiked up, every last one of his senses overcome with the passion of the plants. The taste of it in his mouth, how there was a fleshy feel even to the vine. How the sap trickled down his body, the smooth lines of his muscled form, mane clinging, now drenched, to the arch of his neck. The smell of the plant too was something different, sickly sweet and cloying, driving all the way up into the back of his nostrils. It could not be gotten rid of so easily even as his body was strained beyond all natural limits, though Arctic had never quite found any explanation as to why his body was able to hold so much.
And then it eased off without any kind of warning. Everything was, all of a sudden, lighter and easier, the vines slithering back, though they did not release him quite yet. His hooves touched down again – well, they tried to. His belly was too large by that point to rest on all four hooves but he could just about keep two hooves on the ground if he pressed forward into his belly, although the vines kept him exactly where they wanted him to be anyway. Arctic had no true fear of falling with his stomach lumpy and bulging with so many eggs, although there were smoother patches to his strained hide too here the slime and sap bulged through. It was a slick taste clinging to the back of his throat as the vine drew back, allowing him to breathe on his own, though it did take a moment to wipe itself off on his mouth, wriggling back and forth against Arctic’s lips as if he was nothing more than an object to the plant, seeking to clean itself.
He breathed and hung his head, his world taken up by a twisting writhe of green vines splattered with sap, his hide gleaming with it, though it seemed to be hardening at a more rapid pace than he could have honestly expected. Groaning, Arctic tried rolling his head from one shoulder to the other, though not even that would release the tight lines of tension in his muscles, wishing for respite. Yet it was that respite that was not to come as he flicked and twitched his ear, trying to flick off the bug that had to be approaching. The buzz, however, that he had caught continued as if he had done nothing at all and he looked back wearily, forelock flopping heavily into his eyes, soaked through, so that he had to look through the thick, damp strands.
Yet what he saw had him shuddering and wriggling all over again, straining with all his might to clench down his anal ring even as the plant left him. His entrance gaped but he wanted it to be closed up, gulping and whining, barely able to even form words as if that would have even helped him at all anyway. For the creature behind him could only have been described as a giant wasp in the traditional garb of yellow and black, although the large creature had a russet jacket that was more striking and caught his attention.
Arctic did not know why he was so focused on the russet of the wasp’s torso but it was the only detail that he could zero in on as his tail flicked up, panting and heaving, though the scrape of breath into his lungs reminded him, at least, that there were still some things, some small things, that he could control. That was something, however small a something that it was, and he moaned out loud as he squirmed and wriggled, the vines on his cock twisting his sense of reality. He’d barely recovered from one orgasm and one he could not climax anymore as the vine within his shaft pulled back, having seemingly deposited all the pods inside him that it wanted.
There was too much to focus on, the stretch of his urethra coming up in stark contrast to the throbbing buzz of giant wasp, almost as big as he was. The stinger was something to be wary of, undoubtedly, but there was nowhere that he could go to get away from it, the vines spreading his glutes apart, teasing down the hamstrings. He grunted and tried to pull away but only managed to make the vine running down his shaft throb and tickle, worming back and forth as it sought out something else inside him.
The vine swapped holes, delving deep, though, this time, it did not plunge into his balls as the ovipositor of the wasp slid out, dark and gleaming and glistening with oozing moisture at the tip. As much as he struggled, he could not get away, not even as the vine wormed and forced itself the wrong way up into his bladder, finding the plunge of urine past the tight sphincter and junction, Arctic howling out brokenly. He didn’t even know whether he was crying out in pleasure or pain for the two things overlapped massively, twisting into one another until there was no such ecstasy left for him anymore.
The vine curled and splashed through his bladder, half full of urine or so he thought. There was no way for Arctic to tell just how needy he was in that regard but he would pant and heave all the same, wings flapping helplessly as if they would help him get out of the rather sticky situation he’d found himself in. The wasp was too close to evade and he screeched as the ovipositor forced its way into this gaping hole. Truly, there was not too much force needed for such a penetration with how far his backside was strained after so many eggs had been thrust into him, the pucker of his opening clenching and fluttering, trying to push out the invader.
The wasp, of course, was not to be dissuaded, easily controlling the path of their flight as they buzzed in closer, feeding the ovipositor deep. They didn’t know what they were depositing their eggs into but something that smelled as sweet as Arctic did have to be a good hole for their eggs. There was nothing else for it as his tail-star was so crudely penetrated, there being no pleasure in the act for him while the wasp trembled and buzzed away with the rapid beat of its insectoid wings.
And Arctic was simply forced to take the eggs, which were blessedly smaller than what had come before, though they didn’t tease up into his guts as easily as the vine’s eggs had. He gasped and he moaned as the small, round eggs jostled eagerly against one another in their lust to be buried deep inside him, though the young that could hatch from such a horde would terrify him in their arrival. He had no choice in the matter, however, his coat sticky with sap and helplessly bound, rocking and grinding his hips with all his might, though the eggs did not go as deeply as would have been comfortable for him. Conversely, they pressed down on his bladder through a woefully thin wall in his guts, the twisting, writhing vine in his bladder prodding curiously at the eggs from the other side.
“Please...” He panted, eyes half-lidded, mouth dry. “Let... No... Stop...”
But the wasp was already done and he had no time to breathe even a sigh of relief as the insect buzzed away, retracting its ovipositor as it went. It did not care for him or the vessel into which it had laid its eggs, only that its job in furthering the line of its genetics and species was complete. Arctic, however, was faced with the vines shoving two appendages straight up his tail-star with a squelch of lubrication, finding those eggs and teasing them up and up and up through his colon, his intestines swelling to take the eggs.
He had to bear through it though, panting with his tongue practically lolling its way out of his mouth. The vines were more ruthless and having two slammed up under his tail was particularly brutal, moans slipping from his lips over and over, although they were the kind that came when one was trying not to show pain on their face. There was no one there to bear witness to Arctic but, still, a part of him wanted to be bold and brave for his mistress, to stand up tall and hear her words of praise.
What a good pony you are...
He grunted, jaw locked, though not to keep the vines out for once. He had to do it, had to be a good pony-slut for her. He was her pet and he would always do all that he could for his mistress, bowing his head and his knee to Fluttershy forever and always.
The eggs settled into his stomach as the vines retracted, though the gape of his crudely and lewdly stretched tail hole left in the wake of them made it so that they may as well have not bothered. His abused ring ached something fierce as much as he tried not to think about that, how much it burned, the trickle of moisture oozing forth. It was not semen that he was familiar with but it was slime and the gloop that the plant used to force him to lubricate the path of the eggs, though Arctic would have been a fool indeed to say that that was all that there could have been to come. He licked his lips and panted heavily, but not even that was anywhere near enough to get him to a point where he felt comfortable. Every part of his body was strained and slick, sap drying and hardening on him, stiffening up his muscles seven more. He was but a servant to the vines and they twisted in glee, sensing another arrival on the scene before Arctic had even become to his senses enough to realise that they were not alone. Not that he would have been able to do anything about it, of course...
He could not have anticipated the other creature that had obviously taken interest in him, the trickling crawl of it up his leg almost something that he missed if not for the itch it left in his wake. The slime left his leg tingling as if it had suddenly become far more sensitive than normal, whimpering and groaning, though he could not strain to look down. For there was something more that the plants called to them and it was not just the insect races, his tail hole woefully exposed as it gaped wantonly. The slimes knew what they were doing, fat and gluttonous, glistening with need, pressing up under his tail and slinking around the velvety, exposed dock.
Arctic shuddered, though the press of them into his tail-star was not as painfully as all that had come before, despite their size. That did not mean that it was not a strange sort of sensation though as he grunted and heaved, rolling over, flat on his side while the vines ensured still that his legs were bound and drawn out in all directions, tightly strained. Not that he was going anywhere, of course, but they wanted him right there for their pleasure, the slimes pushing in deeper. There was more than one, of course, there was, and they were relentless as they squirmed up inside him, even making a strange sort of grunting chirp that had his heart stuttering and fluttering in a very strange way.
Their cries reverberating oddly through him as he moaned and twisted, though they were not unduly unpleasant and even soothed his strained anal ring a little as they slid into him. Never before had he had something alive – well, not unless one was counting the plants and the vines that had, so far, sodomised him – inside him, grunting and tucking his chin down to his chest in a failed effort to bear through what was his to burden his back. More and more of them wormed through the maze of his guts, teasing through, and the vines even helped them along, a single one dipping into his hole to push them up, helping them deeper and into his stomach as they had done for the eggs too.
His stomach ached, rumbling as if he had not eaten for days and as if he had eaten too much, both sensations crashing over him at the same time. It was too much as he groaned, the slimes wriggling between the eggs, strong enough even to make a shape through his stomach, the bulges and lines of them coming and going as they investigated the new, sweet-smelling hole that they had found. Of course, it was not Arctic that smelled so sweet but the sap infused with seductive pheromones that the vines had infused his body with, everything about him screaming to every scent-based life form in the near vicinity that he was there and available for breeding.
The slimes were cute, in a way, though the vines laid Arctic back onto his back, legs splayed spread-eagled, the weight of his belly more than enough to pin him down. There was nowhere for him to go as the slimes crawled and slithered all over him, in all strange shapes and colours, no one like the other, although he could not find any eyes or mouths on any of them.
The vines hooked into the corners of his lips and forced his jaws to part as he fought, nostrils flared. Yet there would still be breath left for Arctic to take as he gulped and swallowed, eyes bulging with the slimes pushing more and more into his mouth, finding another sweet-smelling hole to delve into. His innards would not bother them as they slithered tenaciously by his uvula, easing down. The vines massaging his throat forced him to swallow and he whimpered helplessly as they slithered down and down and down, cool as they worked their way down his oesophagus, finding the junction of his stomach and plopping down more easily than they had from the other end.
That was something different, although it was a very strange sensation, his cock throbbing. Arctic had almost forgotten about the vine in his shaft, plunged into the tight strain of his bladder, but the plants had not. They twisted back and forth, prodding the inner walls of his bladder, but that vine did not solely allow pods down it, but a slick flow of thinner slime and sap. Arctic tensed and arched his back, trying to evade it, yet his efforts, as always, were in vain, the ache in his bladder increasing tenfold.
It was worse than having the eggs press down on his bladder from the inside and he gasped around the slimes, still forced to gulp them down as if he was willingly a partner in such a liaison. The slimes left a slick residue on his lips and the inside of his mouth and he could not help but push his tongue up against them, not knowing quite where to focus in order to make everything just a little bit easier for him. The penetration of his urethra and bladder was the worst of all and the slime bloated out his bladder grotesquely, forming another bulge in his body that was not derived from his stomach. It left him looking lumpy in more ways than one as he cried out haplessly, unknowing that his pain left the plant in complete and utter control of him.
As his bladder swelled, the other creatures that the plants had lured in took full advantage of him, bugs buzzing in from all directions as the vines prepared him, with due delight, to take their pleasure from him. They were relentless, his backside on show and open to them, but one thing that Arctic did not expect was the huge butterfly that fluttered down with strange delicacy to perch upon his rounded out backside.
He tried to look back but all he caught a glimpse of as the vines forced him to swallow down the last of the slimes was the pink, so very pink, wings. They were beautiful, as beautiful as his mistress’ cutie mark, and the reminder of her was all that he needed to stay strong, moaning and gulping, shuddering in place. Arctic’s wings flapped but even the butterfly was rougher than he could have expected, slithering an ovipositor into his anal ring as if it had done it so many times before already.
It was gentler than he could have expected but the soreness of his tail-star was more than he could take, moaning and whimpering, grunting and trying to rock back and away at the same time. There was no telling what he could do or what he would have to do as his bladder was inflated more and more, painfully hard, pushing and bulging out against the underside of his stomach. Thankfully, the vines had him in their grip so that, even on his back, his tail hole was not covered by the swell of his stomach, hefting it up out of the way as it ballooned out, the slimes churning and wriggling delightedly within.
The butterfly deposited a load of eggs inside him that were nearly inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, only to be swiftly replaced by a tentacle that wanted only to ram in hard and fast. Two – no, three – twisted and turned up into his guts, straining his anal ring past its limit as the pain of it seared through him, Arctic’s grunt coming without a lick of moisture with which to moisten his lips. Oh, there was so much that he had to bear through but his mistress was first and foremost in his mind at all times, his hips rising and bucking, thrusting back against his will. Maybe some part of his mind thought that that would make him be able to bear through it more easily but there was already the trickle of something hot oozing over his backside, something that was nothing of the plants or the bugs at all.
No... Arctic whimpered, vision wavering, trembling to grey and back again. There was pain, oh, the blossoming of pain. Yet what was he going to do about such pain when his body was merely there to be used and abused? After all, his mistress had left him there for the whims of the plants and the tentacles ramming into him, pounding and thrusting, treating him like nothing more than a fuck-toy, bruising his hide. They gripped him with such force that his legs strained in their sockets, hocks burning, though the pain itself could not hide the rise of pleasure in him, a traitorous sort that he didn’t want to feel. It was wrong to feel pleasure when there was such a throbbing pulse of pain arching through him, whimpering soundlessly as his head spun.
The strain in his bladder was almost possible to ignore with the rough treatment of his tail hole, but there was another vine ready to plunge down his throat, slamming straight down into his stomach and worming through the eggs and slimes. It didn’t care for his need to breathe that time and ploughed his throat coarsely and roughly, jerking his body back and forth as he was drawn back up into the air as if he weighed nothing at all with his stomach bulging out, bigger than the pony and ballooning more and more.
His head swam. How big was his belly? Five beach balls? More? Less? He couldn’t keep his head straight, only feeling the grotesque bulge of his stomach, how it churned, his bladder aching. There was nothing for him but the pain and the strain of taking it all, belly stretching as the vines pushed out against it from the inside, punching against the inside barrier of his flesh. It was all a show of control, yet it had been a long time since he had been treated so roughly, the pleasure under his tail fading to a biting ache, snarling through him, the old scar pulling and twisting, dragged back into his flesh in such a way that he could not have even gotten off from being ploughed under his tail at that moment in time.
The vines slithered back from his mouth, allowing him to breathe at the very point that he feared he may have blacked out, his tail hole left gaping. When had that happened? He coughed and hacked, ooze drooling from both his mouth and his anal passage, though there was no one there to see the humiliation of that, his body prey and open, straining viciously. He tried to squeeze down on nothing with his tail hole, to tighten it all back up again, but that was so far beyond the comprehension of tightening up in the near future at all that Arctic was well and truly fighting a losing battle in that regard. All the while, the vines very slowly teased back from his bladder, having filled him with an influx of thick slime that they thought was his due for the moment.
However, as they finally retreated from his bladder, the vines had one last trick for him, plugging up the sphincter that would have allowed fluid to flow from his bladder down his urethra. Arctic moaned and rocked his hips, but there was no helping him as he was left straining pathetically to relieve himself even as another large bug, some kind of dragonfly, took advantage of his tail hole. It was nothing of a distraction, however, as the savage insect slammed in, roughly sodomising him as the fleshy tube of its ovipositor worked and twitched to deposit its eggs into Arctic.
Those eggs were larger than any that had come before, even the dragonfly’s wings dwarfing Arctic, so wide was their span. As much as he whimpered and wiggled, it would not let up on him, driving hard and fast with short, sharp thrusts, though it didn’t know what pain it was causing Arctic. All the dragonfly knew was that there was a hole into which to lay its eggs and its ovipositor hurriedly plumped out in a series of bulges, pushing right up into Arctic’s rectum as he clenched down around it completely involuntarily.
He didn’t want to think about how much it hurt, lines of exhaustion dragging his body down, wanting to moan and hang there, helpless and out of his mind. It was not worth it anymore to be present in his mind, panting and gaping, even as another insect, a kinder one, flew up to his mouth: a giant bee with drops of moisture clinging to its fluff like pollen. Gratefully, even as he was brutally sodomised, Arctic suckled down the droplets that he could, although the bees dancing, tiny legs on his muzzle made him sniffle and screw up his face as if he was about to sneeze.
The moisture rejuvenated him a little, however, and he let his head hang as the dragonfly slammed in, fat, round eggs filling his backside. They would soon join the rest of the eggs in his stomach but it almost seemed as if his body was more amenable to working them deeper up inside him, his body working in the opposite direction to what it was supposed to with regards to his digestive system. It was coarse and it was crude but the harshness of such oviposition at least meant that it numbed him to an extent, body trembling as he bore through each and every thing he was to do. Arctic grunted thickly in the back of his throat but it mattered now as another friendly insect pressed its ovipositor directly to his lips, allowing a dose of slime, sweet and sickening, to pour into his mouth.
Oddly, that was more uplifting than even the water had been and he could not help but lock his lips around it, suckling it desperately, even pressing his tongue into the fleshy hole at the end of the ovipositor. He wanted it, wanted something, drawn down into the deepest, darkest depths of submission as he groaned and grunted, rocking his hips and pushing on. The pain was there but he could overcome it with lust, fading into it, slipping down so very easily that Arctic knew that it was the right place for him beyond everything else.
The insect with glistening, multi-coloured wings was not one that he recognised but he suckled down the moisture gratefully even as it was mingled with slime. It was all the same to him, his throat sore and raw and anything something to be grateful for in the heat of a moment where he was, so very much, not in control. Arctic could not have said whether he even wanted to be in control either as the vines took over once more, pushing the friendlier insect away to slide down his throat. It was less of a slide and more of a ram, the perfect accompaniment to his strained, abused tail hole as Arctic grunted and tried to kick out, however weak that attempt was. It was all he could do but the vines had more in store – he wasn’t even sure why he’d thought that it was all done, to be honest with himself.
Maybe he was hopeful, too hopeful, the vine pumping something sickly and stickily-sweet into his mouth, spurting it over his mouth as he hacked and gagged, coughing violently. What was that...honey? He gasped but it was too late as the buzz of wings heralded yet another insect approaching, drawn by the sweetness of the honey. To creatures like that, it was practically a siren-call and the insect in question turned out to be another wasp, the ovipositor sliding straight away into his mouth.
He didn’t have to close his lips around it but he did it anyway, so deep into submission that he simply could not think of doing anything else. Maybe it would have served him better to pull back however as the wasp buzzed excitedly and rammed deep, pounding the ovipositor straight into his throat as he was forced to take it. Yet the eggs that pumped out strained his jaws, forcing his lips wider and wider, his throat pulsing as he tried, so very desperately, to swallow them all down.
Which way was up and which way was down? Oh, there was no way to tell as more and more insects came, wasps and butterflies and bees and dragonflies and even spiders too – though they were, oddly, the kinder of the insects that came to see him, being arachnids. Maybe their reputation was ill-gotten but he had little time to think about that as the insects swapped places, some of them curiously adding water to the mess of slime inside him. They quickly learned that pouring it into his tail hole mostly made it slop out of him and kept to his mouth, though the vines prodded a dragonfly to his cock too, adding a few eggs to his balls that then started off a chain reaction.
If his cock-slit had not been gaping before, it certainly was after the insects had had their way with him, Arctic abruptly drawn back to how his bladder was overfilled, even though the ability to relieve himself had been well and truly taken from him. The more the insects pumped into him, the bigger he got too, balls grossly popping out and swelling, the figure of a pony lost in the mess of bloating and swelling. Arctic groaned. Was that all he was anymore?
But there was one final thing to be poured into him that Arctic had not expected but, in the tradition of him taking live bodies into himself for the very first time that day, the biggest and most fearsome of the wasps buzzed in close. Of course, there were some species that did not lay eggs into a host but laid live larvae and that was exactly what the wasp, with bristling legs with which to grasp him with, had for him, fastening the tip of his ovipositor into his urethra and driving it deep.
It pounded down the entire length of his cock – paying testimony to the size of the beast intent on laying in him – even squeezing into his nuts. Arctic groaned but there was a vine in his mouth feeling out the contours of his throat, how he had already been scraped raw, and he could not even dig his teeth into it as he whimpered and was forced to take a squirming, heaving load of live larvae into his nuts. They were already fatly swollen but the addition of even more to his throbbing testicles made them plump up massively, easily as big as the five-pony bean bag that Fluttershy had him get out when her and her friends were meeting for a slumber party or something.
It was a strange sensation to have more wiggling around in his nuts, but it was not the strangest feeling of the day and that was, perhaps, one of the things that let him bear through it. His balls, by far, had escaped the worst of it but the larvae were set to change that, bulging and squishing out through the skin of his nuts, the fleshy, heavy orbs churning and almost grinding. Arctic’s head rolled but he was as hapless as ever, helpless and squirming, the larvae ostentatiously making themselves known.
He would not have known what they looked like but he didn’t want to know either, his stomach lurching and roiling, even though he knew that relieving himself of the contents of his stomach was no longer an option. There was so much more he had to give and he hardly knew whether there was an ovipositor in his mouth or a vine, for it no longer seemed to matter. He could only vaguely tell the difference in what they deposited into him, though the fat bulges of more eggs and seed pods from the vines being added to his grossly stretched and strained tail hole brought his old scar to a fresh raise of aching, blistering pain.
No... No. The pony’s vision swayed and greyed, wings trembling weakly. He had to hang on in there, let the burn fade. It wouldn’t hurt him, not truly. He must have been on the weaker side that day, for there was no reason for him to not be able to take the vines and more, he was sure of it. How his mistress had orchestrated that though, him slathered in honey, sap and slime, so much wriggling and squirming around inside him, he could not know. It was not his right to know, even though he was her pony-pet, and he had to bear through everything that she had sent him to do admirably and with his head held as high as it was possible.
And yet the lines of exhaustion trembling through him as his mind shuddered, trembling on the edge of a reality that he was not even sure that he wanted to be in any longer, with how everything was playing out. Of course, he had no choice in that matter and it was that phrase that kept on running through his head over and over again, his throat working to swallow down everything that he was given. It was funny how pain blurred after some time but it was still there, only reaching through his entire body rather than in any specific spot. Whether that was better or worse was well and truly up for interpretation, however, as he moaned, licking his lips, the vine drawing back to bop him lightly on the nose.
What was inside him? It was hard to say but he didn’t have to say, a gentler ovipositor feeding between his lips to feed him...something. He twisted his head back and forth but there was no getting away from them as something intoxicatingly sweet and infatuating had his balls churning, the seed within wanting to be spent but, well...he wasn’t even sure that he needed to cum anymore. His cock remained hard but that was partly due to the ovipositor still pumping larvae into them, his balls aching and throbbing, swelling up more and more, though they would never come close to the size of his stomach.
His hide strained against the tree trunks as he bulged out and out but there was more to come, the vines taking over at what felt to be the penultimate climax of it all. The insects were near still, buzzing and waiting their turn, but the vines rammed more than two appendages into his anal ring at a time, stretching him out, breaking him and bruising him, his hide broken more than it ever was when he was beaten by Fluttershy. He had thought that there was nothing more than beating and whipping that could have ever have made him cry out like that but the vines and the plants had well and truly turned his perception of every punishment that Fluttershy could ever have given him on its head.
Tree branches cracked and splintered but the cutting into his hide was hardly something that he even noticed in the moment, groaning and whimpering. His tail hole dripped whenever the vines pulled out but they only withdrew to allow different vines to plunder him, filling him with slime and everything else that they had to give too. The only part of him that was allowed some respite was his balls, although it was hardly any at all as they rumbled and churned, drooling a thin stream of near clear pre-cum, the slime and larvae clinging within him while he was kept tantalisingly on the edge.
He could have gotten off if the vines had gone more gently on him but the pain was too much for him to be more than milked, his orgasm failing solely as he had been treated so roughly. It was a cruel twist of fate indeed to have the opportunity to cum so many times over and yet have it ripped away from him, though his mind was elsewhere. He may as well have climaxed for the pleasure that had tangled tenaciously with the pain but it was hard enough right there and then for Arctic to stay with himself.
Were his legs even his anymore? He felt himself to be nothing more than a belly: a huge, bulbous belly that was not even smooth like it usually was when Fluttershy abused him, willingly so. Nothing was as it was supposed to be and he whimpered softly, licking at a tentacle, well and truly broken as sap coated his muzzle and lips as if it was a sort of mask. It was only the sort of mask however, that made him more aroused still even though he could not climax, his body drained of a milky stream of cum that came with no pleasure before his urethra was plunged full with an ovipositor as a particularly eager bee took the chance to fill him too. It was paired with a stinger and, in that sense, the creature was careful with him, though it was blessedly slenderer than what had been rammed into him so far, for which Arctic was grateful.
There was little left for him to be grateful for as everything blurred into a great, big mass of lust, just like his belly. He moaned and grunted, taking all they had to offer, rustling through the leaves, the little clearing no longer enough for him as he broke trees, the mass of his gut barging them out of the way quite as if they were kindling. His legs were useless, wiggling helplessly, and Arctic swayed where he was, wobbling back and forth on the colossal round of his stomach. If he had opened his eyes, he would have seen that his head was about the tops of even the age-old pine trees further afield, fuller than he had ever been with his stomach throbbing with slimes and eggs and so much more.
Yet it was all Arctic could do to take everything right there and then, thinking only of how proud his mistress would be of him for taking everything that she had planned out for him. Moaning, he gulped and swallowed down egg after egg as if they were treats, no longer caring how much his throat ached, the strain in his neck, the muscles trembling with lines of pain that he had not even known could exist. Yet he would go through it all over and over again, all for one reason and one reason alone.
Fluttershy’s approval and pleasure was all that matter to the submissive wiles of a pony-pet like him.
*
Fluttershy returned as the sun was setting, humming a tune to herself as some of her hummingbirds flittered around her head. It was the perfect end to the day as Celestia called down the sun in lieu of the moon, her mane falling softly down her neck where she had taken the time to wash it out too. Sure, that had meant leaving her pet out there in the forest on his own for longer than she’d intended, but what could have possibly have gone wrong in such a short space of time?
Of course, many things could go wrong but that was so far removed from what Mistress Shy had expected that she stopped dead in her tracks before her pet could even spot her, her jaw dropping. His head and rounded curve of his stomach bobbed above the treetops, grossly inflated, though she did not yet know with what. Without looking rushed, she broke into a brisk, smart clip, cutting through the undergrowth, haste on her hooves as her heart pounded.
“Oh – pet!”
She burst into the clearing with so much determination in her stride that one may have been convinced that she was about to use the Elements of Harmony, chest heaving, eyes wide. For there was her pony, inflated so much that he would not have even fit inside her cottage anymore even if all the interior walls were removed, eyes closed and the vines pumping him full in every hole. His belly was more swollen and lumpy than she had ever before seen him – even that time she’d caught him in the milking parlour! Yet it was huge and the lumps within seemed to squirm too when she peered more closely, his body bruised and abused, beaten and broken, the poor pony that she had taken into her service barely conscious, pumped up to the point that she swore his hide squeaked, and surely aching all the way down to his hooves. She hadn’t expected the plants to do that much to him!
“You.”
The plant halted, seeming to turn the bristling leaves of its attention on Fluttershy, although it had no eyes with which to look. Yet that did not render it immune to the fierceness of her stare, something that could even cut through the language barriers. A plant was no foe to her as she planted her hooves and braced her body, wings standing up tall and quivering – not that Mistress Shy had to turn on any sense of intimidation when she was in her mode, embracing her true role and place in life completely and utterly.
Before her, the vines shivered, her pet, very slowly, opening his eyes.
“I think you’ve done quite enough.”
Her stare was icy and the plant was sentient enough to be affected by it, slowly withdrawing from Arctic as if it was trying to appear as small and as insignificant as possible. It didn’t want to draw undue attention to itself before the wrath of a pony, even one as small and as delicate as Fluttershy appeared to be, her steely gaze locked onto it until her pony-pet was completely unplugged in all holes.
Arctic wobbled on his stomach, whimpering and groaning, though the trickle of slime and sap and Celestia knew what else from his tail-star was nowhere near enough to deflate him. He groaned, her hoof on his side calling him back to reality, his throat sore and viciously aching, his tail hole none the better. There was more than a trickle of blood mixed in with the slime and Fluttershy flapped around him, masking her concern while she took care of him as only a mistress could.
“Oh, dear, pet, that plant was really too rough with you, wasn’t it?”
He nodded weakly, feeling better already now that Fluttershy was there, though he could hardly move with his belly so swollen. He was tipped to the side and she rolled him down, dashing off briefly for a potion that she could tip down his throat, massaging his neck to help him to swallow – not that he usually had too much trouble with that but his throat was so raw and bruised on the inside that it was all he could do to obey her even then. It soothed his throat on the way down, however, slowly helping him to deflate, though unplugging his urethra (poor colt) helped him at least relieve his bladder, spending a thin yet fierce stream of urine into the grass to soak into the earth on which he’d been abused.
He was surprised, however, that she didn’t find a way to humiliate him all the more with it, the potion allowing him to deflate without her even abusing him further. Why was that? It did not get rid of the entire bloat of his stomach though, “magicking” away the slime and sap and pods and everything else too for another time – or so he thought. It wasn’t for him to think about as she led him, fat and waddling with his stomach dragging on the floor, merely filled with slime and sap and water, back to her cottage. His head hung low from tiredness alone, wings splayed, feathers wet and sodden so that he could not have even flown if he’d had the energy to.
In the cottage, she crooned soothingly for him, drawing him a bath while she directed her animals to assist her in her care of him, though it was under her hoof that he was given the tender loving care that Fluttershy was surely famous for throughout Ponyville already. Fluttershy helped him into a bath, foaming with soap suds in a heavenly float, the warm water sinking into aching muzzles and battered bones as she worked him over. Her hooves were soothing, lightly taken, working the aches and pains from his body, although that was likely the bergamot and basil treated bath, soothing his muscles, even though it would take weeks for his body to heal up totally.
He exhaled softly, some small part of him self-aware enough to know that she was taking care of him, looking after him as a good mistress did, which was one reason why he was sure that her previous pets had stayed with her for so long. He was the exception to the rule though as her hooves worked through his mane, teasing out the more resilient clumps of slime and sap, massaging his back and even across the rise of his withers. No spot was left untouched and his mistress didn’t seem to care either about her coat and mane becoming wet as she half-stepped into the bath to join him, better stroking the right pressure points that would, at the very least, relieve a little of his pain.
It would have been easy for him to drift off right then and there but she had to get him out of the bath and tenderly dried off, although she had to allow him breaks in-between, too shaky on his legs to stand for very long. Arctic swayed, exhaustion dragging him down, and she eventually towelled most of him dry while he sat there, forelegs locked so that he would not topple down onto his muzzle, eyelids heavier than they’d ever been. The soothing massage continued, digging very lightly into his muscles, only allowing him to take as much as he could. It wasn’t a time for being tough, even if he was her very best pony, the gentle massage working out all that she could, murmuring softly to him all the while.
The birds sang in the background, chirping in the eve of the day. Arctic exhaled. Everything was okay.
“Drink this, pet.”
She had to help him, tipping the tincture, once again, down his throat, but he was grateful for that, how it numbed the lingering pain in his throat. The full extent would only become obvious later on under magical examination but, for the time being, rest would be the best cure for an exhausted pony-pet who had only tried to do his very best to please his mistress. It took away the pain more and more as the seconds passed, his mistress darting back to the kitchen to whip up something more again. The soothing clink of glasses and cups and stirring implements washed over him as his head hung, wings drooping, exhaustion taking him to such a level that he barely knew where he was anymore.
“Pet... This one too.”
She lifted his muzzle very gently with a hoof placed beneath his chin, though he couldn’t open his eyes as she soothed him, softly tipping more medicine down his throat. She went slowly so that he didn’t have to swallow too hard and he was struck by what a contrast her behaviour was to how she treated him normally, though it was not as if aftercare was not a part of their play either. The time they spent together, enriching each other’s lives, was precious in a way that only they understood, although Arctic knew that there was more to it than simple dominance and submission, even though others had made comments. Mistress Shy shut them down quickly enough but there were still words and whispers following him about town, nipping at his heels. Whereas she was dominant, Mistress Shy did not dominate or control the entirety of Ponyville and there was far more to her personality than what she chose to show to the select few.
He wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. It was better to be there with her as she laid him down on the sofa, Angel hopping around, the little bunny absolutely adorable in how he tried to help too, offering Arctic all of his favourite foods. The pony tried to appease him too by nibbling on a few carrots and, when he could eat no more, the bunny put them carefully to one side in a bowl that Fluttershy had marked for Arctic some time ago. It was not quite a dog bowl but had lower sides and the shape of such, one that she had him eat out of from ground-level when she was displeased with him. Well, that had only worked for a time until she’d realised that he less than secretly enjoyed being treated like that, eating lower than even Angel in the order of the household while Mistress Shy was treated like the queen she was.
That said, the bowl was comforting and Fluttershy set a cup of sugary soda beside him, feeding the straw into his mouth.
“Come on, Arctic, you’ve got to drink. The sugar will help you get your strength back, settle the shaking.”
It didn’t help his throat very much but it was his favourite orange flavour and he suckled it down weakly, drinking a little over a third of the glass while she tended to him. Running her hoof through his mane, Fluttershy distracted him from the lingering pain with a song, though he did not understand the words, one blurring into the next. It was not the matter, however, as he half-dozed, soothed past the point where the pain was at the forefront of his mind while he thought only of how lucky he was, how much his mistress cared for him. Whenever he needed her, she was there, and he had more than proven his worth and devotion to her in going through all that he had for her, his body able to take it all and his heart even more so.
Huh... She used my name.
She drew the covers up to his neck and Arctic blinked. When had she put him to bed? It was a good feeling though to be so well cared for and treated so softly and warmly, the lure of the sheets too much for him to hold back from. Even then, a part of him wasn’t sure if he was “allowed” to relax into it but she shushed him softly, lying on the covers beside him, watchfully, worry creasing her forehead, crinkling in at the corners of her eyes. He ached to soothe it away but his lips moved without sound, throat still raw and healing. She could only drop a light kiss between his eyes, so soft and gentle that it was as if she was afraid that he would break, though he could never break with her there to care for him.
“Sleep well, pet.”
He ached. His tail-star burned. He didn’t even want to know how much damage had been down up in there, the old scar burning despite the pain relief that she had encouraged him to take. Yet Arctic knew that he was safe as his mistress stood watch over him, ensuring that he was well-cared for at all times, regardless of how their relationship, quite often, was skewed in the other direction.
Arctic sighed softly, drifting into welcome unconsciousness.
Regardless of how things were between them, what had happened, he’d never been better, slipping into sweet slumber to have his dreams tended to by Princess Luna. Never again would he be alone in the world with his mistress there to look after him, singing him softly to sleep and watching over him all night long until the first rays of light broke on her tired form.
She’d do it all for him.
And a pony-pet would do anything for his mistress too.
