Overwhelmed and Overthrown

“Shake it, you magnificent bastard!!!” some nameless voice raucously yelled over the din of the crowd.

Hooking his leg around the chrome pole in the center of the raised dias, Sombra leaned back, extended one arm, and spun around the polished shaft. The snow white pleated skirt fluttered about his waist, giving the throng fleeting glimpses of his alabaster panties. Emblazoned with a scarlet cross, similar to the extraordinarily snug and shortly cropped top he wore, his outfit was nothing less than an obscene parody of a slutty nurse.

His piercing gaze swept over the crowd, as he halted himself at the center of the platform. Twirling around, he took a broad stance and brazenly presented his rear. Sinking to the ground, in the crimson toe-less heels on his feet, his obsidian cheeks peeked from beneath the sheer petticoat around his waist.

The hoard went ballistic, whooping and hollering like mad. Beneath his surgical mask, he smirked to himself. As he leaned one shoulder to the pole, he looked back at his adoring fans. Stallions of all shapes and sizes, as well as a handful of mares, watched his performance in awe. Yes, making the decision to flaunt himself in feminine garb had definitely been a wonderful idea.

After his apocryphal second encounter with Tack, his eyes had been opened. His problem hadn’t been with bottoming - no, it had been his misinformed and ignorant concept of the matter. He’d wrongfully assumed that any stallion who was being fucked was submissive, bending to the top’s will and prowess, but he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Taking a dick in the ass didn’t mean he was beneath anyone, metaphorically speaking - if anything, it allowed him to have even more control in carnal affairs. Any stallion could wantonly buck their hips and sink their length into someone, only a true sexual god could force another to submit with their backside and zeal.

His second bottoming experience was followed less than a week later by a third, then a fourth and fifth, until he’d triumphed over half a dozen stallions. Something about riding them, or bucking his backside against them and making them pop, was supremely gratifying. He still got off, of course, but only at the very last minute.

As time passed and his skill grew, he relished such experiences with increasing intensity. He still topped quite frequently, rutting svelte partners into oblivion and oftentimes giving them more than they’ve ever had, yet he’d opened himself to a whole new world of experiences. If anything, his newfound tastes had brought him one step closer to divinity and perfection incarnate.

Surveying the multitude of ponies, as well as the small number of other creatures present, his eyes settled upon a particularly brutish changeling. Nearly a head taller than everyone else present, with a jagged horn atop his head, the muscular bug-horse noticed his attention and blushed.

Sombra’s mouth began to water, and his pucker hungrily clenched within his thin undergarment, as he shot the stag a wink. His show was almost concluded, the stage was littered in bits, and he was covered in sweat. He had little doubt that he’d be able to find the stud after his exhibition, so long as the shapeshifter didn’t abruptly leave.

Yes, perhaps he would treat the changeling to an exclusive show, one which he reserved for those who caught his baleful eye. Those chosen few who found his favor were forever changed, usually begging for more time or repeated engagements. Whether or not the hulking stallion was a top or a bottom was of little consequence - either way, he’d be sure to give the devotee an experience of a lifetime…