Author's Note
Arctic was only doing chores for his mistress but little did the pony know that he had been hired out to a gryphon for a side of rougher play still...
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Story © Amethyst Mare / Arian Mabe
Characters © respective owners
Pushing His Limits
Pushing His Limits
Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)
Commissioned by anonymous
Arctic could not have said what had happened to him. He’d only been sent out in the early hours of the morning after Fluttershy had been to an event at Princess Twilight’s castle, something quite normal for him. She wanted something to help her feel a little more pony-like in the morning, considering the number of magical cocktails that she had enjoyed in her fun of the night, meeting up with all of her friends for a good get-together. It had allowed him a little rest and respite, even if it had left him on his own for a few hours, thought Arctic knew too that the purpose of a pony-pet was to always be on call and to hoof for his mistress’ demands.
That was why he had jumped up from the plush cushion by the door where he was waiting for her when she returned, her eyelids drooping even as she sent him out for other supplies. Thankfully, he didn’t need to trek through the Everfree forest that time to pick them up from Zecora, which was a blessing, at least, and the supplies could be obtained from a late-opening store in Ponyville.
His pale hide near enough seemed to glow as he made his way through Ponyville, fireflies lighting the way as he smiled faintly, the saddle bags in place. The moon was high in the sky and he shivered to remember his last recollection of Luna, how the moon princess had used him to make her time doing Night Court just a little bit more interesting.
“Mmm...”
That was a good memory.
But that was the last thing he thought and saw in his mind’s eye before the bag went over his head, something slammed into his temple – and everything went black.
*
“Wake up, bitch.”
Arctic groaned, blinking blearily, his head swinging and tipping from one side to the other, even though that only made the driving pound of his headache even worse. He regretted the motion instantly and yet the blaring light shining down on him like a spotlight was worse still, making his stomach heave and churn, wanting to retch.
“Ow...” He groaned, tongue thick and heavy in his mouth, fuzzy around the edges. “What... Where am I? Ow... Ow, my head...”
“Oh, quit your whining.”
He tried to pull his head back but she was there, a yellow claw slipping under his chin, forcing his head up. He didn’t expect her to be there, and much less an anthro at the very least, but the gryphon smirked with a wicked clack of her beak, her blue eyes unerring.
“So pretty...” She crooned, pressing in and in and in until he squealed and tried to yank his head away. “You’ll be the best one yet to break, slut.”
Arctic gasped, though he couldn’t pull back, a posture collar around his neck, ensuring that he kept his head up. With that in place, he couldn’t even tell whether his real collar, his mistress’ collar, was underneath it, the pink butterfly tag denoting Mistress Shy’s ownership of him, forever and always. If it wasn’t there, did it mean something worse? For the gryphon before him was an anthro who had first come to see him on a fetish night out for him and Fluttershy where he’d been bound in a pub bathroom for the pleasure of anyone that wanted to use him.
Prism smirked.
“So... You recognise who I am now? And here I was thinking that all ponies like you were dumb, dumb, dumb.”
Yes... Yes, he did recognise her. Her feathers were as black as her fur and her head was perfectly smooth and rounded as if even that part of her was designed to be as aerodynamic as possible. Her beak and claws were a bright, stark yellow, tail curling to a leonine fluff at the tip, although it was larger and thicker, like something that the Kirin that Fluttershy had told him about may have had. He’d seen pictures of them but that was about it. Gryphons, he as somewhat more familiar with and the rainbow sheen to Prism’s feathers as the large, dominating anthro towered over him, a bulkier sort with her gryphon heritage. Of course, she was only towering due to her position while he was bound with his forelegs tucked up, hind legs stretched out behind him, flanks rising and falling sharply over and over again.
“I...”
“Oh, I don’t need to hear you talk. You’ll be better when you’re broken.”
He was about to ask what that meant but she was on him in a second, snarling and snapping, her beak and claws doing the work of what ponies used other implements for. He only had a moment in which to take note of just how his bondage had him placed – on his belly, legs all tied tightly with a spreader bar behind the back ones, a crupper under his dock and lashed before his hind legs to shove it up and out of the way – before her claws connected with his rump.
Arctic screamed. There was a lash of pain, a brutality, a sting, a searing throb of blood rushing to the surface as blood vessels were broken. It was like the last of Mistress Shy’s whip with how it connected with him, only her fingers were spread out, allowing the impact to be spread over narrow bands, tipping with sharp, deadly claws. Arctic gasped and tried to buck, though he was helpless to do anything with how tightly he was tied, grunting and groaning, the shrieks breaking the barrier of his lips unlike anything that he had ever cried out with his mistress.
“Oh, quit your whining.”
She didn’t need to use her claws and yet Prism shuddered, seeming to openly relish in his abuse. There was no foreplay to it but Arctic may have been a fool to expect something like that when he had been all but kidnapped from her, his mind trying to race even as she picked up a cane instead.
It was one of the harshest implements that she could use as she took it firmly in her claws, curling her fingers around it as if she had a hand. Arctic’s heart pounded, his mind not quite having caught up with all that was going on as yet, things moving too quickly, far too quickly. He’d been hired out by his mistress before, of course, but he’d always known something about it before even if it was very little. Prism hadn’t said anything about his mistress – nothing at all, in fact – and he screamed and thrashed, eyes dipping into the darkness beyond the spotlight of his debasement as if some kind of exit
“No one is coming for you.”
Prism was not the type of gryphon who had to shout to make herself heard, cutting through all manner of clamour with a few callous words alone. He’d had some sense of that in her when they’d first met but there’d been a lot going on back then, his coat soaked with piss, head spinning with lust, his cock throbbing. Oh, how hot that had all been, even though it was humiliating too. It was something that he couldn’t get out of even though that was all he’d ever wanted in bondage and it was all in due course that his body responded, in the same way, each and every time, throbbing and pulsing with exotic need even before she cracked the cane down.
Crack!
Snap!
Smack!
He howled, balls aching, churning, his body responding. Oh, but Mistress Shy had trained him far, far too well to not respond to the cues that had been so very deeply ingrained in him, all so that he could be the very best pony-pet ever for her. Prism was not his mistress, however, snapping and snarling, showing off the hooked, sharp edge of her beak, the cane coming down again and again, using the full force of her arm behind the swinging blows. There was no mercy there, just a fierceness, wanting to break him, bully him, see his hide blossom in bruises that would never be tenderly touched.
Arctic raked in a breath, eyes wide and bulging, pain searing through.
A cane was supposed to be used lightly, building up the strokes.
Prism didn’t do that.
Prism didn’t do that at all.
Yet maybe she knew too just how he’d responded, the ringing, resounding pain arching through him again and again, blurring into a swathe even as the gryphon easily raised welts on his hide, the burning lines searing through. It was easy to mark his pale-coloured coat and the pink skin that lay beneath it, though he was hardly with himself in any sense of state or mind.
Away, away... His mind swirled. He couldn’t be there, not in the moment, not feeling anything, pain raining down as the cane was thrown out for a flogger with wickedly sharp tails. There was something at the tips that made them bite and sting, bringing a rise of fresh pain over the burn of the old. There was no break as he huffed and grunted, striving to bear through, yet she broke him down more and more, any resistances that he’d thought he’d had in place crumbling.
No...
“You fucking want this.”
What? How could she say that? Who would want to be beaten to a pulp, her beak snapping too close to the vulnerability of his neck? He had no illusions at all that her beak could have snapped his neck in two even with the posture collar in place, the tip seemingly sharpened to a point unlike that of any other gryphon he had met before. Dimly, he was made aware as her claws trailed down his back, that his wings were crudely bound too, though the ropes that she’d used on him were not the soft kind intended for longer-term bondage but coarse rope from a home improvement or farm store.
Yet his body tingled, responding, leaning into her touch, something catching and pulling at the back of his throat as his shaft swelled, demanding that its presence, through some force of will, be known.
“See? A slut like you can’t fucking help themselves.”
He moaned. It was true. How could he have ever have thought that he could hide it? His cock was big, far too big to conceal, plumping out his sheath more and more as it thickened out, swelling to its full, throbbing size. Shoving him over onto his side with a callous bark of laughter that may have been more appropriate coming from a Diamond Dog, the whip tossed aside. The relief fluttering in his heart was swift to fade, however, as she slashed him with her claws, drawing four lines of blood across his flanks, the scream that ripped itself from his throat framed in pure horror.
Blood dripped, trickling down his flanks. It was not much but it was enough to let him know how far she was willing to go as she stalked before him, her leonine tail pulled high as if to show off her slit. If that was all that she’d wanted from him, his muzzle between her thighs, that was all that she’d had to do, all that she’d had to ask for. He was sure that his mistress would have hired him out for that but it turned out that the gryphon’s sick desires were far, far more twisted than even he could have imagined.
The gryphoness smirked and clacked the edges of her beak together, looking at the lines of red on his hide. So pretty... But he had such a perfect flank to mark and her claws ached for more. She’d said that she wasn’t going to be too rough but she didn’t have to think too much or worry about it as she rounded on him, eyes flashing.
Arctic quailed but there was no longer any implement in her clawed paw as she slashed him, relishing in his shriek. It cut through and his throat burned, aching for relief, yet that was yet to come as she snarled, snapping, tail lashing the air. He didn’t quite know how many cuts she’d laid down on his hide, only that they dripped and marked his hide, blood soaking into his coat, trickling forth. He felt it cool there, the heat of his body dissipating quickly, though no matter how much he squirmed and thrashed, there was nowhere to go, nowhere to flee too as she unleashed her wrath on him.
His screams continued long after the last rake of her claws had cut through his hide, marking a cross on his backside right where she wanted to do unspeakable things to him.
“Oh, keep screaming...” Prism snickered, eyes flickering with ice-blue derangement. “I do so fucking love the ones that scream.”
He was doomed. Yet it was a doom that a part of him could lean into also, moaning as she rolled him over, shoved there like a living sex toy. He still could not see just what was beyond the ring of white light that his bound form was plunged into yet none of that mattered anymore as the gryphoness’ pussy descended on his muzzy, her two legs allowing her to better bear down on him. He groaned, tongue flickering out automatically, yet his cock was on show with her to tease, claws raking down his length to prick and tingle down the oh so very sensitive flesh.
Yet he knew what to do there even though his body ached, mind wavering between reality and a certain facet of sub-space, the drifting time between fantasy and reality. It could be a solace for him to be there or his worst downfall but the fact of the matter was that Arctic was solely there to serve as Prism grunted thickly, crushing her pussy down onto his face.
“Fucking get your tongue in there – now!”
There was no denying her and he obediently lapped, though he couldn’t remember the taste of her cunny from when he’d been a piss-pony sex slave in the pub bathroom. That had been a long time back and not so long ago at all, everything coming together in such a way that he knew what to do. Her pussy was thickly tart and he dove his tongue into her, sweeping it up and around her innermost walls, the flexing pulse of them around his tongue simply exquisite. It was a sensation that he could lose himself in completely and utterly, twisting and wriggling back and forth beneath her, though his bondage was so tight that it was already cutting off a little of the sensation in his limbs. His wings were no better but all he had to do was to please her, her tail hole grinding over his tongue as she forced him to please even that part of her.
He shuddered. It was not his favourite thing but, oh, it was just another act of servitude that thrust him deeper and deeper, the thickly musky flavour of her tingling through his soul so very completely. It was where a bound stallion like him belonged and he simply couldn’t help himself, cock throbbing as she teased and manipulated him, even her light stroking pushing him to the point where he thought he might tip over the edge into blissful release right then and there. The pleasure contrasted so sharply that he panted and gasped, the ecstasy of even that morphing into another sort of strain entirely.
The pain should have held him back but her pussy begged his attention once more, the plump folds of her pussy squishing onto his nose as he sought out the thick and needy nub of her clit. It was thick and full and easy to slip his lips around but he should have known that a gryphon like her wanted a harsher touch as her hands closed around his cock – well, as much as they could. She pumped and teased his length until he was squirming and panting hotly into her pussy, trying to do his very best to please her despite all stimuli, his body twisting and muscles twitching, trying to push into some manner of action.
Of course, that was not possible and the gryphon chuckled throatily as she lifted herself up a little bit, her folds twitching a fractional amount as she released her bladder over him. If he’d been more in his right mind than he was, perhaps Arctic would have expected it, though that was not a time where he could think clearly or straight at all, twisting his head back and forth, coughing and spluttering.
“I ate dragon-fruit especially for you...” She laughed, throwing her head back. “Can you tell?”
He certainly could, the acrid, pungent aroma of her piss washing over him, quite literally. It dragged him down and made him feel even less than he was, as if he was back in the pub bathroom for the fetish night, the piss-pony slut of everypony, someone, something, to be used and abused, over and over again. She pressed down to his muzzle, refusing to allow him to get out of it for even a moment, practically water-boarding his face as he tried to gulp and at least drink some of it down. If he was an active participant in all of it, maybe that would make it so it did not go down his windpipe into his lungs, need rising, cock pulsing. As was always the case, his need and his body gave him away every time, panting and whimpering, doing all he could to get a breath into his lungs that was not full of piss too.
“Get it all down you!”
Her snarl ripped through him and it was easier to do as she asked, for it at least aligned somewhat with what she needed. A bladder of piss was an amount, surely, that he could manage as he gulped and gulped, head spinning, the room no longer seeming stable around him as it poured down his throat.
His chin and muzzle were not spared, however, a yellow stain seeping down the light fur of his neck, forelock sodden and clinging to him wetly. Yet all Arctic could do was keep gulping and swallowing, whimpering in his debasement yet hating the part of him that loved it at the same time. It was a conundrum that he faced each time heavier play presented itself to him and it was one, undoubtedly, that he would continue to face in other ways too as his stomach inflated more and more, the pouring in of piss, of course, having to go somewhere. True, she only had a single bladder, but she was larger than any regular pony and seemed to have stored it all up for him, relaxing her lower half even as she snickered and ground her folds over his nose.
“You fucking love that... Such a filthy, fucking whore of a pony-slut.”
His stomach felt fuller and heavier and he wanted to stop and yet he could not, his belly churning and gurgling as it was forced to take it all down. It was not all that bloated but the sensation of being too full was deviously delightful in itself as his head reeled, tail trying to flip up but forgetting, of course, that he was bound. He didn’t know what he wanted in his mind and he much less understood what his body wanted, hips trying to rock, hind legs tucked together. His balls rested heavily on them, large and full but not yet inflated, though the sick twist in his piss-filled belly told him that there was more to come in that regard.
And then her pussy was gone, lifting from his lips as if something else had caught his attention, yet his tongue followed her, part of him wanting to serve despite everything else. Of course, Prism noticed.
“See, a piss-pony like you just needs to be shown their place,” Prism said, smoothing the feathers atop her head back into place, her eyes darker and more foreboding. “Tell me how much you like this, slut. Maybe then I’ll go easy on you.”
Gulping, he shook his head, trying to tuck his chin away from her. No, no... No, that was too much, that was only for Mistress Shy. He couldn’t do that, wouldn’t want to tell her that. Yet she had his chin pinched between two sharp claws, wrenching his head back into place as he whimpered, tongue poking out as she pinched his cheeks in.
“Tell me.”
“Mmmph...” Arctic fought, eyes wide, face reeking of piss. “I... No... Don’t...”
“Well, that’s no fucking fun.”
She threw him away as if he was a toy that had displeased her and he gasped, cock throbbing, though the swish of her tail down the length, a touch of softness rising through the harsh brutality of her treatment of him, didn’t help things at all. He shuddered, not catching her smirk, but that wasn’t for him to see anyway.
“There’s things that stallions like you that think they’re bigger than their horseshoes always fall for...”
His eyes widened and he whinnied but there was no one there to hear him, no one to stop the gryphon as she took charge of his bondage. Her hand-like claws were more dextrous than any pony hooves and made short work of his bondage, sitting on him and using her body weight to pin him as she took charge. Of course, her cunny was crushed to his nose, demanding attention that he weakly gave, even as she fitted him with iron manacles instead, a spreader bar between his front and hind hooves respectably, tail hoisted up with a similar, metal cuff.
Arctic shuddered. He’d never had one of those before. Somehow, it was worse than the leather and latex cruppers that he’d had used on him in the past, something just to hoist up his tail and ensure that there was no way he could cover his tail-star.
He didn’t know completely what she was doing to him until she slipped his wings (crushed, more like it) into a wing-binder, tightening the laces so that he could not even wriggle them, completely helpless to her whim. What he did know was that he was on his back with all four legs comically sticking up in the air, put in such a helpless position that his mind bucked and reeled with the lure of submission. His cock and balls were left exposed, only a ring (oh, that torturous ring...) slipped around the base of his cock, surely to make quite sure that no orgasm would explode forth when Prism was still making use of him.
It felt wrong, like a tortoise turned upside down, everything about being with his wings trapped under him inherently wrong. It was a mockery of everything that ponies were supposed to be, much less pegasi, and Prism knew what she was doing as she ran her claws over him, groping and squeezing and pinching as she pleased. Bruises were left in her wake but it was hardly as if she cared about that as she handled him as if he was a toy she could later throw away. Arctic shuddered, a ring gag shoved into his mouth, harder when he complained, tightened around the back of his head. Maybe he was just disposable to her...
Stepping back to survey her handiwork, Prism clicked the edges of her beak together.
“Don’t you look adorable,” she hissed, though there was nothing soft in her tone. “All exposed... And vulnerable... And mine.”
Arctic grunted, wriggling as the ring gag in his mouth stretched his jaws too wide. He could still grunt through it, just about, but it wasn’t much of a cry considering he no longer had the functionality of his lips, tail forced flat to the ground while all his legs were in the air. Moaning, he tried to clamp his tail down over the bud of his anal ring but, of course, the metal cuff kept it neatly exposed, even leading the eye straight down the crease between his hind legs to this exposed hole.
She straddled him easily, sinking down, grinding her cunt down the length of his cock, using him like a living dildo. As much as he whimpered and wriggled, he wasn’t going anywhere, pinned securely in place so that he stayed with his legs pointing as much up as they would go (in the case of his hind legs), chains latching him down, helping him balance. And all the gryphon did was laugh as she teased him, tail flicked up to show off the heat of her pussy to him.
Arctic groaned. Maybe he should have answered her that he loved her pussy... Maybe that would have been enough for her. He didn’t really want to think otherwise at that point.
Yet his cock was as much a lure to her as he wanted her pussy in another way, subservience not overcoming that base need of his. Her piss sloshed heavily in his stomach as she bore down on his cock, angling herself facing his hindquarters and having to raise herself up more than she perhaps expected to get the tip pressed up to her hot, twitching folds.
Glancing back at him, she flicked her tail, swatting him in the face with a stinging lash of hair. Some of it even got in his mouth.
“I don’t need to see your face to fuck you.”
Yet he was treated to a prime, if intoxicatingly cruel, view of her backside descending on his cock as pleasure exploded, more and more of his length disappearing into her. She took her time – well, what counted for Prism as taking her time. She slurped down past his medial ring, her sex nicely slickened and aroused by his tongue, though she was still a tight fit for him, heralding the size of his cock.
“Unnf... Fuck...”
She didn’t have to worry about showing signs of weakness when she was already in such a position of power, huffing and grunting as she rode him furiously, taking as much or as little of his cock at any one time. His head fell back, cock pulsing, yet the orgasm rushing forth from her earlier treatment of him was simply not to be as he neighed out brokenly through the gag and his balls plumped up. His orgasm did not even give him the bare modicum of pleasure as his sensitivity ramped up, increasing tenfold, balls swelling as his seed simply backed up into them.
That may not have been too bad in itself if it had been all he’d had to deal with but, alas, Arctic was such a stallion who could cum several times over, his body working overtime to replenish what was lost. Yet with it backing up his body still thought that it had to create more semen to replace it, churning and aching, bulging out more and more as they, slowly but surely, inflated with cum.
“Oooh...”
That had Prism’s attention as she prodded at his nuts, bearing her weight down on them through both claws, leaning a little too heavily as was her right to. She hadn’t seen his nuts do that with cum when he’d been acting as a piss-pony in the bathroom but she had seen them bloat with piss, which had left them with a different shape, back then, in the latex suit.
The gryphon barely had time for the keening shrill of her own orgasm, folds clamping down on his swollen girth, the pony’s head whipping back and forth. But there was something about the situation that had him grunting and groaning, wanting to cum already, the need rising and throbbing in the pit of his stomach, a desire that simply could not be held back. Her sex massaged his length, though he was not with himself enough to be able to tell whether it was rhythmic or erratic lost in a moment that was most certainly not his own to claim. Arctic howled and grunted through the gag, drool spilling out, the gryphon grinding down repeatedly, only caught up in her pleasure alone. Old blood dried on his coat, reminding him of his place – as if he even needed that fucking reminder.
“Fuck...”
Yet the churning groan and gurgle of his nuts could not be ignored as they bloated, bulging and swelling perfectly evenly, his seed writhing inside as if it was a living force. More and more, she ground down on him, allowing them to double in size and then swiftly approach the size of beach balls, though soft and yielding so far. His skin had not yet reached its limits and strained to a perfect round of flesh, after all, and that was a treat still left in store for Prism to come. They ballooned up more and more as she had climax after climax on his cock, Arctic’s sense of time wavering as much as his sense of place. For all he knew, he could have been in Mistress Shy’s dungeon, even though it did not feel like he was there, feeling more like he was somewhere foreign and terrifying, with someone who terrified him half to death.
Yet his body responded keenly, too eagerly, balls reaching that inflatable size, churning and grumbling as Prism grunted and pressed her claws down on them, pricking and teasing them as their sensitivity ramped up. He hadn’t even been given any kind of potion that time to make him more sensitive than ever and yet he couldn’t think about anything but them, how the piss in his belly sloshed about and his nuts just seemed to grow larger and larger with each shuddering breath he dared to take. It was wrong but it was right and he moaned lewdly and loudly as Prism abused him, drooling through the ring gag.
What did she want him to say again? He tried to form the words but, alas, it was the gag that silenced him yet again, his skin prickling, throbbing with sensation. Whether it was pain or pleasure did not matter anymore as his mind wanted it, all the same, pushing into it hungrily, one deprived pushing on and on. What did he even want? What did he even need anymore? His body ached and there was only Prism there for him, the gryphon’s claws rising higher and higher as his nuts ballooned out and exploded from the inside out, rumbling and churning the whole time.
They seemed to be their own separate entity as his body tried to respond to the lewd, wet slop of Prism’s pussy closing down around him, rippling and pulsing around his cock. It would have been the perfect cunny to milk him of every last drop of his seed if he had ever been allowed to spill it, though that accursed cock ring ensured that he did not need to worry about that. That was something for his mistress of the moment to consider and never for him, his orgasm churning forth with only strain and not pleasure, backing up into his massively overfilled balls.
They gurgled and rumbled, demanding his attention, Prism massaging them, a deranged little giggle that didn’t quite seem to suit her squealing forth. Oh, they so very much so wanted to spill his load but, alas, it was simply not to be. She had him down too firmly, too securely, his balls aching even as he was treating to a faux-orgasm, ecstasy building and then breaking before it even had a chance to spill forth in any manner of true pleasure.
“Maybe you’ve earned this...”
Prism groaned as she lifted her hips, clearly aching a little from the severity of the exertion, from his cock, his gleaming shaft flopping forth, although it was more than flushed enough with blood to stand up by itself. His shaft juddered with each tentative pulse of blood but not even a bubble of pre-cum flowed forth as the cock ring did its job.
What had he earned? Dimly, he was aware of the gryphon squatting over his muzzle and he should have known what was coming as she let loose a stream of urine. His mouth was already open but he wouldn’t have moved away then even if he was free, trapped under her mental hold, deadlier than any claw.
She hosed down his body, the cuts burning where her claws had sliced into his hide, leaving stark, crimson lines behind, though the dried blood turned more of a brown shade, something sordid and decrepit. It was just as Arctic deserved, the pony groaning through the gag, the welts burning just as much as she let her urine dribble down, the sting lancing into a burn as he flinched and tried to wriggle away, though it was all to no avail.
Prism hissed through her beak, delirious with pleasure. His muzzle beckoned her and she grunted in the back of her throat as she worked her way back, letting no spot on his body go untouched, untainted by her piss.
Everything had to be sullied.
Everything.
Smirking, the gryphon let her piss splash over his muzzle, soaking his neck, a mouthful of it not enough debasement for her to lay down over him. Her claws caught the straps of the ring gag, fumbling with it, a hiss of breath escaping her.
“There’s potions to increase urine production, pony,” she growled, eyes alight as she undid his gag, letting the ring slip from his mouth so that he could finally speak. “We all know just what a fucking whore you are. So why don’t you come right out and admit it... Maybe I can even do that pony thing of being nice,” she said it like it was a dirty word, “and give you a reward...”
He didn’t know what kind of reward Prism could give him but he hardly had any choice in the situation, licking his lips as his cock ached, head reeling, wanting, feeling.
“I...” His voice was too hoarse but he had to press on. “I love...”
She cupped her claw to the side of her head where her ear was as if listening intently.
“What was that, mule? I can’t fucking hear you.”
“I love being a piss-pony,” he whispered, hardly daring to raise his voice at all. “I...I don’t want to be a-a-anything else...else...”
But he couldn’t get more words out as she crushed her cunt down to his face, forcing him to please her again, her juices squirting over his muzzle as if she just couldn’t contain herself. The gryphon, however, didn’t have to hold back in the slightest as she cried out her passion, grinding onto his muzzle, using him as she pleased. She was far from done with him though as she rolled her shoulders back, watching his balls hungrily, though their inflation had slowed since she’d stopped forcing him to cum repeatedly. Still, they were a defining feature of him at their size, at least six feet in diameter and spilling to either side of his body as gravity pulled them there. It was only his raised hind legs, pointing up as she had pinned him, that kept them at least somewhat contained, though that only meant that they had less space in that direction to swell into.
Grabbing his muzzle, Prism’s claws dug in, watching the light of rebellion fade from his eyes. There was life there, yes, but that was needed. His passion and drive, however... That was just what she needed to break, to watch him fall, to become nothing more than a submissive slut of a stallion whose only goal in life was to please her furious whims.
“Tell me you want this. Tell me every last one of your dirty desires.”
There was no denying her, as much as he wanted to turn away, reminded of the very first time that Mistress Shy had forced him to confess. It was different with Prism, however, as she forced him to detail just how much he loved her cunny, digging his tongue into it, how thick her juices were. It was almost like a cream, thicker than what a pony produced, and he slurped into her pussy too just to show her how much he wanted her, wanted to please her.
“Your tail...” He stuttered, blushing furiously, though the words were coming either way. “Under your tail... So rich... So musky...”
Arctic shuddered and gasped as she chugged a potion, squatting over his face as she did so, the stream of urine already flowing from her intensifying tenfold. It spurted and splashed over his face as if there was to be no end to it and, indeed, the potion was one that could increase her urine production, if only temporarily, something that Prism would have, at least, grudgingly agreed that ponies were at least somewhat useful for with their magic. It allowed her to drench him in all the piss he deserved, blubbering and screaming that he was a piss-pony slut of hers over and over again, the words flowing from his lips so naturally that it was a wonder that he was even able to drink down her piss at all at the same time. Yet he had to try, even desperately pressing his lips up to her sex so that he could try to open them as wide as possible to get it all in. He gulped it down like a pony dying of thirst and she crooned to him, though her demeanour did not ease off in the slightest, grinding down on him with such vigour that she even cut off his breathing a few times.
His stomach, however, could not help but swell as she forced more and more piss into him, swelling his guts, forcing his belly to accept every drop of the acrid liquid she had to give him. The stench increased after her use of the potion but that was not even something that could put him off, rolling his head up to her, nostrils quivering. Some of her piss slopped into his nose but he couldn’t even spare a moment to snort and cough it up, mane clinging to his neck as she even stood to piss all over him, spreading her legs and taking a crude sense of pleasure in humiliating him.
“Is it even possible to make you feel bad about this?” She laughed scornfully, splashing her urine down the length of his cock and up over the side of his nuts. “You love this... Tell me more. Now!”
He could not deny her.
“Used... Use me... Piss on me... Oh, I want it, want it so much...”
Yet her piss filled his muzzle as he gargled, cock throbbing as she handled it too roughly, claws digging in. His belly swelled, bloating and spilling to the side of his body, though it would soon smooth out as his skin was drawn taut, pushing up and up and up from his lower abdomen. It was all something that he so very much needed, groaning into her folds even as he tried to hold his mouth open as widely as possible, if only to take it all in, to please her above all else.
His mistress was still first and foremost but even a pony as devoted as Arctic was had to consider all that he had to do in the moment, his stomach pushing him down, bearing down on his organs as if the weight of it was about to crush him. More and more, he grunted, gulping it all down, thinking of himself as only a piss-pony, a slut for her, something for her. He wasn’t even a stallion anymore in his mind, grunting against her, wanting it, moaning for it, piss splattering out the corner of his lips as he hacked and gagged, gulping down all that he could. But the name of her game was not to make it so that he was purely inflated by the sheer volume of piss she poured into him, letting him drink it all down like he had done before. Oh no, it was something far more sordid than that, the gryphon practically getting off on humiliating him, watching him fall lower and lower – lower than even she had thought that a piss-pony ever could have.
But that’s all he was to her and so many others, something to be used and, oh... Oh, how he wanted to be used. The wash of her piss surrounded him in taste and feel and aroma, so intoxicating that he even leaned into it. His harsh treatment of her was beyond what even Mistress Shy had delivered in the early days and stages of his training but what was a trickle of blood on his hind, the throb of pain from his backside still resonating through his body as he wiggled in place.
There was no escaping the pain, not even as she finally swapped back to his cock without any warning, unlocking the ring that prevented him from climaxing, his balls bearing down against his stomach, squashed between his bloated belly and his legs.
Prism shuddered. Oh, she could have pushed him further, maybe even inflated him so that he was larger than the room and bursting from it like a sausage out of its skin, but that was not what she wanted from her little, slutty piss-pony on that night. His balls were larger than his belly, to be fair, maybe around fourteen feet across total in diameter, though they tried to separate within his sack, with his belly around twelve and swiftly catching up. Truly, it was hard to see the pony bar the stomach and the balls, his cock squeezed between them but swiftly to be more accessible, which was something at least. For him and for her, in that instance.
The gryphon sank onto his cock as if it was the perfect target, shoving the bulge of his belly and his nuts out of the way and not caring whether or not she used her claws to get her way. She groaned, head falling back, but there was no one there to bear witness to her vulnerability, trembling at the peak of on orgasm that was more than even she could handle. But that was the beauty of having one there that was merely a sex toy to her, claws pricking through his legs, holding onto them, using them for stability and leverage as she bucked and forced her tight cunt down on his cock over and over again.
Arctic was not aware he was climaxing until the moment was upon him, pulsing pleasure coursing through, ecstasy blossoming. He had to snatch it up and greedily drink it, while he had the chance, and yet the pleasure was so great that he could barely feel it, slamming through the strain in his body, how his belly and his balls rounded out, dominating his entire vision. And yet there was still a flash of black feathers above him, striking in the glaring spotlight, the gryphon keening out shrilly as she climaxed on his cock, his balls deflating only a little as she filled herself on his shaft.
Prism, however, had no intention of only taking one orgasm from him, having backed up his nuts for a reason – for where was the point in blowing up to obscene proportions when there was nowhere else for it to go? Ah, she had more than one use for him, of course, his nuts bloated and churning, though the seed within poured forth under her bidding. There was nothing better to milk a cock of its cum than a needy pussy and he howled out his need as orgasm after orgasm crashed through him, his cum flowing forth in a near-constant stream rather than a series of spurts.
His head spun, pounding and throbbing, his tail trying to lift, despite his position. Trapped, he was trapped, yet trapped in the very best of ways, broken with pain and yet tamed with pleasure, lust his doing and his undoing at the same time. Prism grunted and groaned like a feral beast in heat, slamming down on his cock as his seed forced itself up into her womb, inflating her, bloating out her belly as if she had been filled with piss as well of him. It was a far sweeter cream, however, that strained her stomach, her womb struggling to take it even though she had more than adequately prepped her body with potions beforehand. Sometimes even a gryphon could underestimate their abilities.
Prism rocked on his shaft, grinding down in short, sharp thrusts of her hips, facing his head while her leonine tail swept over his nuts. It was a flicker of stimulation that had him pulsing with need all over again, her stomach swelling at the same rate that his nuts deflated, though it was a kind of deflation that he shuddered to relieve, wanting it and not at the same time. Such were the wiles of taboo pleasure but Arctic had long ago come to terms with the fact that he didn’t have to know and understand every last one of them. Her claws dug into his stomach and he grunted as pain tingled forth, although even that bite was nowhere near enough to overcome the ecstasy, the force of his orgasm. It was a driving, pounding beat that he had to dance to, the chains jingling even where they held him down, his entire body prey to her whim as she milked him and milked him of every drop of seed.
There was so much to come, of course, that that was hardly any quick progress, her high pulsating on as her pussy squeezed him, the flick of her tail barely discernible over his cock. Arctic grunted and heaved for breath but even that was difficult to drag into his lungs as his high rolled on, ecstasy blending into strain, the need of it overcoming his desire for rest. Sensitive, he was so very sensitive, yet Prism was not the sort to allow him any rest or respite as her stomach ballooned out and out as if she was exceedingly heavily pregnant. The weight of it was centred down by her lower abdomen but the bulge had to go higher, her skin stretching to accommodate the thick, creamy seed. It was all that she wanted and she moaned, sweeping her claws down over her stomach as she relished in her inflation, her pussy wetter and slicker than ever.
Prism’s groans drove him on, the slave-pony in him driven to grunt and thrust his hips, even though he was well chained in place. He couldn’t do anything, barely even able to breathe, his stomach growling, grumbling, piss sloshing about within. That part of him, of course, did not deflate as it was only his balls that she was set to drain, swapping one vessel for another as she bloated out and out on his semen.
“Mmmph... Maybe this is why your mistress keeps you around...”
She was too far gone even to come up with an insulting nickname for him but Arctic was so high on servitude that he didn’t even care, tail flicking weakly, his body where it needed to be. And it was right there that he would stay, hide bleeding and broken in too many places, more so than had ever been before, welts having risen on his backside, even where his backside pressed down into the cold, hard, unyielding floor. She was not above making sure that the final dose of his experience was uncomfortable for him, however, sealing the deal and his fate with a thick dildo that she pushed up under his exposed tail without a drop of lubrication.
He was a shade and a shadow of the pony that he had once been, something else and someone else entirely. He breathed harshly, drifting in space. Where was he? Who was he? All he could feel was the crustiness of old blood on his hide, the pain blurring, blending into a cacophony of pain, everything coursing through while the dildo burrowed deeper, stretching and spreading him out, the penetration one of the worst humiliations of all.
“Take it, slut...”
That had him twisting, rocking, even as she laughed, in the perfect position now that his balls had reduced in size a little to grind it deep into his anal passage. She didn’t care about the old scar in there and all the memories that the scar held for him, almost used in the same way that he had been back then, only that she locked it in place, a strap of latex and a buckle ensuring that it was tightened around the base of his tail and his legs like a reverse strap-on. It drove deep and he groaned, even as it pushed him into a deeper orgasm, the driving pressure up against his prostate making him want to cum and cum all over again.
Yet that was not his choice, not in the slightest, her cruelty only a reminder of his place there. It was not his place to take any kind of pleasure from any of it as she moaned and rode him, her stomach plumping out, bigger than a beach ball and bearing viciously down against his stomach. The roundness of each of them bloated out as if they were competing with one another but it was most certainly no competition in the fact that Prism would win that one.
Prism always won.
Slowly but surely, however, his balls were emptied, the strain of it all passing in a daze. There was an odd sense of patience in the slowing-down after the brutality of her actions, leaving Arctic stinking and reeking of her piss, covering in her juices, her arousal drooling from her pussy to mark his balls and cock in her stain. There was no escaping it and neither, not right then, did Arctic want to, his mind broken, abusively submissively, lips parted only to wait for her next command.
There was nothing else for him, although Prism would, eventually, hand him back off to Fluttershy, thanking her for the use of her pet after the pegasus pony had so very kindly sent him off on a false errand so that she could play out one of her favourite fantasies. Of course, that dildo went right along with him, staying deep inside his tail hole as he was denied the relief of emptiness, his ring strained constantly and his tail pushed up simply to accommodate it.
Arctic moaned, though the gryphon, her belly bloated out to completely take the seed of his drained and empty balls, couldn’t have cared less.
“These will refill by the morning, slut... Though I have something for you in the meantime.”
He could not object, would not object, malleable to her will as he was locked into a full-body latex suit, similar to the one he’d worn as a real piss-pony and still reeking of it, stiff and standing like a statue on display. He breathed shortly and shallowly, a vibrator strapped to the full length of his cock and another ring around his shaft denying the orgasm that the other sex toy sought.
The stallion-slave groaned in a state of half-wakefulness, not able to sleep nor rest truly. It was where he was meant to be, playing out the part that he was supposed to the whole while, his mistress waiting for him when he, once again, became useful to her. It was the right way for things to be and, even in the darkness of the suit, he relaxed into his abuse, balls backing up as the vibrator was set to a cycle that would surely have them nearly the size of the room by morning – if Prism’s calculations were correct, that was. And if she was wrong, there would only be a delightful end in store for her, always for her...
Maybe not so much for Arctic though.
