Pulled along by the lead tethered around his neck, Miraha winced. It had been humiliating enough to be bested in ritual combat in front of the entire tribunal, but being collared and hauled away by Ushindi had made the entire situation all the more demeaning - still, there was little he could do. He’d lost the competition fair and square, if facing off against a zebra more than twice his size could be considered fair, and now he was going to have to suffer the repercussions.
As a Prince of one of the more sophisticated, less hostile tribes, Miraha had never been all too keen on the more boorish ceremonies of his kind. Where other stallions valued strength and barbarism, his tastes were much more refined. Unlike a great many of his kin, heaped with slabs of muscle and more than happy to excerpt force at the drop of a hat, he greatly preferred a more genteel and civil touch - that being said, he had been woefully unprepared to square off against his rival.
Ushindi was, for all intents and purposes, an absolute titan of a stallion. Exceptionally tall and well built, even by larger tribal warriors’ standards, his fellow Prince was a paragon of barely restrained violence and impulsive wants. The behemoth took what he wanted, whether he had a rightful claim to it or not, just as he’d unceremoniously taken Miraha after their all too brief skirmish. Where the svelte Prince was being brought or what he would be subjected to, he couldn’t say, though he hoped he wouldn’t have to suffer through anything too undignified.
Keeping his eyes on the ground, less he be face to the shocked stares of his captor’s tribe, Miraha sullenly followed along behind Ushindi. It would have been bad enough to be defeated and forced to enter a trade agreement with the other noble, but he’d had no way of knowing he’d be treated as the hulking Prince’s plaything for a time. Being beaten in the right of mọkanlelogun technically granted the victor control over the defeated for a day and night, though it was exceptionally rare for anypony to fully exploit the age-old rule.
“Wait in there,” Ushindi growled, pointing to a small yurt. “And make yourself presentable.”
Giving a curt bow, Miraha did what he could to maintain his dignity - he was, after all, still a Prince. “As you wish.”
As the massive zebra plodded away, he saw himself into the small structure. While he was less than enthused to acquiesce to Ushindi, he was not about to challenge the ancient traditions of their people. There were twenty-one tribes among their nation, with each having unique traits and skills, and their alliance fluctuated between tenuous and cordial. Had they not unified and worked together, all those centuries ago, there was a very real chance that their kind would have long since gone extinct.
He’d always considered his tribe fortunate, since they controlled one of the more temperate and more accommodating areas of the continent. The moderate climates and warm rains afforded them the opportunity to excel at agriculture, making his clan one of the largest producers of grain and fruit in the land. The fact that the fertile grasslands held few predators was yet another boon, freeing his people from the constant dread of being hunted.
Ushindi, in comparison, was almost a diametric opposite of himself. From the western fringes, his people eked out an existence on the edge of the badlands. It was a harsh, brutal living where only the strongest and most ruthless survived. Hundreds of generations had crafted his clan into some of the largest savages to walk the earth. On the rare occasions where the tribes needed the best warriors their kind had to offer, they would always call upon the westerners.
All told, it was a balancing act between the various clans. They couldn’t live without one another, even if they did occasionally butt heads, and their codependency had led them each to prosper - in their own ways, of course. The scholars became wiser, the farmers became more productive, the warriors became more powerful, and their species thrived as a whole. Though each tribe had eventually diverged, growing apart in appearance and mannerisms, they formed the entirety of their kind.
Stepping into the spacious tent, Miraha gave himself a moment for his eyes to adjust. Compared to the blazing sun outside, the interior of the structure was dimly lit and cramped. Blinking and surveying his surroundings, he found himself in what appeared to be a bedroom of sorts. A hide lined bed rested to one side, and a standing mirror rested opposite, with crates of garments and fabric stacked about.
His interest was immediately piqued, since the westerners seemed to care little for fashion or clothing, leading his curiosity to get the better of him. Creeping towards the closest box, he cautiously inspected the contents. Intriguingly, every garment he came across seemed to be fitted for mares. Moving to a second chest, followed by a third and a fourth, he discovered that apparently all of the apparel was meant for females.
Many stallions wouldn’t have concerned themselves with effeminate garments - then again, Miraha wasn’t exactly an ordinary stallion. His tribe had long ago discarded the antiquated and lamentably short-sighted need to separate stallions from mares. Males in his tribe were free to be as gorgeous as they saw fit, with females being afforded the opportunity to do the same. The luxuries fate had imparted upon his clan were represented by their splendor - and he was the crown jewel of his kin.
Taller than many mares, his form was beauty incarnate. The dark bands of white and black which drifted down his body were complemented wonderfully by his flowing, monochromatic mane and brilliant teal eyes. His broad hips and full, luscious rump were the envy of many, his elegance was unparalleled, and his tone was soft and inviting. The only part of him which could be considered lackluster was his stallionhood, though he was far from bashful about his relatively meager endowment.
Rifling through one of the crates, the shimmer of gold caught Miraha’s eye. Carefully pushing the garments aside, he revealed a neatly folded article near the bottom of the box. Why the westerns had procured such goods was beyond him, as were they’d been purloined from, yet he couldn’t help himself from admiring the article. Pulling the outfit free, he gave himself a better look.
The thing was an honest to goodness bedlah and it was absolutely stunning. Crafted from gossamer thin silk, the sapphire garment was adorned with gold accents. Stepping away, with his find draped over one forehoof, he moved towards the mirror. Even if he was relegated to a servant for the day, he could try to barter for the exquisite piece.
As he held the garment over his chest, imagining how it would look on him, an ominous chuckle cut through the air. “A fine choice...Now put it on…”
Miraha turned to the door, where an utterly colossal figure lingered. The vaguely red eyes, contrasted against the ash grey coat with umbral stripes, left little room for doubt - Ushindi had returned. The stallion was in every conceivable way the epitome of masculinity. Heavily muscled and bigger than any other zebra in his or any other tribe, the behemoth had quite literally fought his way to the top of the ladder - earning his crown through violence and insurmountable strength.
“That was not a request, little Prince,” he growled, standing firm. “Or should I say, little Princess…”
“As you wish, my Lord,” Miraha murmured, dipping his head. Like it or not, he was bound to follow the stallion’s orders.
Turning towards the mirror, hoping to avoid the harsh gaze of his temporary ruler, he slipped one hoof into the article. As fate would have it, he was more than familiar with donning such garb, making the affair a simple task. As the sheer, flowing garment settled over his hips and generous posterior, he appraised his reflection. The outfit really did look ravishing on him, complimenting his figure and natural markings exquisitely, and it set his resolve to procure it once his trial was finished.
“Your crown,” Ushindi intoned, stepping closer, “give it to me.”
“I am still a Prince, even if I am deigned to do your bidding until tomorrow,” Miraha softly shot back, turning to face his rival.
“Foolish Princess, I didn’t say you wouldn’t be without a symbol of your authority,” the titan snarled. Extending a hoof, he presented a small, gilded chastity cage of gold and silver. “This shall be your crown for the day…”
Though Miraha was well aware of what the device was, he’d never dreamt of wearing one himself. He’d heard tales of particularly effeminate stallions locking their endowment away, fully submitting themselves to more dominant males, yet the notion of using one of the contraptions was an abstract concept. Though he rarely used his stallionhood, outside of the odd bout of impassioned oral or a hoof job, the thought of imprisoning his bits simply felt wrong - still, considering he had little choice in the matter, he steadily reached for the cage.
“As you wish, my Lord,” he whispered. “Just give me a moment’s privacy to -”
“No,” Ushindi interrupted, “you will put it on now - furthermore, stop referring to me as Lord. While I am your superior, I think a different title would be much more fitting.”
Gathering his strength, Miraha peered up into the larger zebra’s eyes. “And what title would that be…?”
The giant’s sneer shifted into a twisted grin, as he locked eyes with his newfound plaything. “Something a bit more humbling. For the remainder of your time with me, you shall refer to me as Daddy.”
The demand, while making the femcolt slightly uncomfortable, wasn’t totally unexpected; there were many who would refer to their sexual partners as such, particularly those who were extraordinarily subservient or craven. With no other options, knowing he’d make the situation worse if he refused, he simply nodded. “As you wish.”
“Good. Now then, cage yourself and be done with it. I assure you, you won’t be needing that pathetic colthood while you’re in my service,” Ushindi hissed.
Turning slightly and spreading his hind legs, Miraha awkwardly craned his neck and attempted to affix his mandatory accoutrement. The cold metal against his nethers, while uncomfortable, caused his flaccid length to wither slightly and made the endeavor a bit easier. Totally fixated on the task, he failed to notice his host moving behind him. It wasn’t until the sound of ripping fabric caught his ear did he shift his attention abruptly.
“Much better,” the Prince mused, discarding a length of the torn bedlah away and leaving the slender stallion’s ass largely exposed. “Now everyone will be able to appreciate your regal assets.”
The crude comment, paired with the knowledge that Ushindi had needlessly destroyed the beautiful garment, was eclipsed entirely, as something cool was jammed into Miraha’s backside. With an all but audible Pop, what had to be a plug settled into his rear. He was no stranger to the fun little toys, oftentimes using them when he saw fit to bed a concubine, but having one so unexpectedly inserted caused him to start.
Hastily clasping the cage around his stallionhood, he wheeled around to get a better look at himself. As he’d suspected, Ushindi had ruined the bedlah and, in so doing, reduced his look to that of a common whore. The plug in his behind accentuated his depraved and shabby appearance, further cementing his slatternly state. He wasn’t sure what was worse - the fact that the exotic article had been ruined or that he could be mistaken as an exhibitionist.
Turning back to face the barbarous Prince, he set his brow. “You didn’t have to - Ach!”
Pulling upon the leash around Miraha’s neck, Ushindi either ignored or wholly dismissed whatever grievance his fellow royal was about to lodge. “Paint yourself like a mare, then we shall be off. My time with you is short and I want everyone to remember this day.”
Forcing a humble nod, Miraha turned his attention towards a small vanity that sat against one wall. “As you wish…”
Many years ago, while he was still a colt, he’d learned the artful skills of makeup from one of his family’s vassals. Though his father wasn’t exactly pleased that he’d taken an interest in such a feminine endeavor, he’d been allowed to hone his craft and refine his techniques for years. Eventually, after his talent had become known, mares from his tribe would, on rare occasions, ask him to paint them for ceremonies or particularly heartfelt courtships.
Thankfully, though he knew not why, Ushindi had a wide array of makeups in a striking assortment of colors - including a particular shade of turquoise he’d always been fond of. With practiced precision, ignoring his heavily breathing host, he anointed himself with eyeliner, lipstick, eyeshadow, and even a touch of blush. It wasn’t his best work, since he didn’t wish to upset the savage Prince, but it would do.
“I am ready, my Liege,” he intoned, turning to face the brute.
Ushindi, eyeing him from top to bottom, gave a terse nod and plodded away. There was no compliment, nor even the slightest trace of a smile on his face, as he tugged on the leash and pulled his guest towards the door. The giant lout only seemed capable of negative emotions, which left the effete zebra disheartened and frustrated.
Biting back his vitriol, the chaste Prince pursed his lips. He just had to deal with the boorish monster for a day and a night - no more, no less - so he’d have to swallow his pride and do as he was asked. As the brute led him away, stomping towards the exit, he quietly trailed behind. He assured himself that it wouldn’t be that bad, that whatever ignominy he suffered wouldn’t deal any lasting damage to his image, and that he’d soon put the entire unfortunate experience behind him - if only he knew how wrong he was.
Being led through the relatively small settlement, a village on the western border of his territory, wasn’t nearly as disquieting as he’d assumed it would be. Several stallions and mares shot him glances, with a few eyeing his prominently displayed flanks and bottom, though nopony dared to address him or his host. Despite being paraded about like a harlot, he was still royalty and the tribesponies knew it.
Under the setting sun, the pair aimlessly wandered throughout the settlement, down dusty paths and backstreets, until nearly an hour had passed. Miraha had begun thinking his mountainous host had no real plan, that he was simply being shown off as some sort of trophy, until they approached the commons. The town had been founded around a watering hole, which had effectively come to serve as a park for the village, and it often attracted those who wished to relax after a day’s toil.
“It’s an unseasonably hot day,” Ushindi grunted, causing his guest to glance over at him. “Perhaps we should rest and you can bathe me.”
The striped goliath had stated the obvious. The cloudless day and extended stroll had left Ushindi glistening in sweat, with beads of perspiration rolling down his powerful form and accentuating his impressive build. If the cruel Prince wished to be bathed in the cool waters of the spring, it would be a simple affair and yet another easy way to dally away the afternoon.
“As you wish, my L...Daddy,” he murmured, only barely catching himself.
Acting instinctively, his hooves led him towards the pond at the town’s center - that was, until the lead around his neck snapped tight. Peering over his shoulder in confusion, wondering if Ushindi had changed his mind, he cocked his head. The giant glared back at him, hauled upon the leash, and turned away - presenting his chiseled backside.
“Bath me,” the savage grunted.
“Accompany me to the water and I shall,” Miraha softly muttered, unsure of why the oaf had stopped two dozen paces from the spring.
“I never said to bathe me in the oasis,” Ushindi snickered. Seeing his charge’s concern, his eyes went alight. “Use your mouth…”
The marish Prince’s mouth went agape, hearing the order. Licking somepony clean was an affair for the bedroom, not some crass public display! Unsure of how to proceed, keenly aware that several dozen citizens were eyeing the exchange, he gulped. He knew he had little choice, that to challenge the old laws was heresy, yet he couldn’t bring himself to do something so debased in public - could he?
“Do it now,” the titan coldly breathed.
Slinking forward, feeling his heart drop into his stomach, Miraha resignedly accepted his fate. All he could do was ignore the audience and hope that word wouldn’t spread of his inglorious deed, lest his tribe inevitably think less of him. As he steadily approached his liege, an overpowering musk accosted his nostrils.
Strong, earthy, and sour, the reek of the unwashed stallion was so strong that he could almost taste it. He couldn’t say if bathing was a regular activity of the westerners but, if their Prince was any indication, they rarely washed themselves. Even after working up a sweat from a walk in the sun, nopony would have a musk that potent without having abstained from cleaning themselves for some time. Closing his eyes and accepting his fate, he leaned in and dragged his tongue up the giant’s thigh.
His initial assumption that the aroma was overwhelming was immediately surpassed by the taste itself. Salty and bitter, his taste buds were instantaneously coated by the powerful creature’s sweat. Though he had to force himself from shying away, he stood his ground and dutifully licked at Ushindi’s hind leg. It was beyond demeaning and, sure enough, the sound of hushed whispers and surprised gasps quickly caught his ear.
“It seems you have a small audience,” Ushindi casually noted.
Miraha retracted his head and glanced around, praying that the colossus had been playing a prank on him, but it had been no exaggeration; no fewer than twenty zebras were gathered around, watching the display with mixed expressions. Some looked disgusted by the sight, openly sneering at the pair, while others hungrily eyed the exhibitionistic act with unabashed erections hanging from their groins. As unsettling as the revelation was, he had no time to dwell on it; with his attention away from his host, he was knocked from his hooved and fell to his back.
“Such a miserable Princess you are, you can’t even follow simple commands,” Ushindi chided, looming over the stricken stallion. “In that case, let me make your job easier for you…”
Before Miraha could even get his bearings straight, reeling from finding himself suddenly on the ground, Ushindi’s massive backside eclipsed the sun. Like a deer in the headlights, he sat mute and watched the colossus looming over him - no, not looming, lowering himself. Frozen in shock, unable to move, his snout was buried between the rock-like glutes of his master.
Humming to himself, waggling from side to side, Ushindi triumphantly ground his sweaty ass on Miraha’s face. Though the femcolt tried to escape, there was no conceivable way to get free. He was overpowered in every way, both physically and in rank, and his fate had been sealed. Blinded by the muscular glutes, with his nose pressed to the deep, dark crevasse of the Prince’s behind, he screwed his eyes shut and obeyed.
The sensation of being so thoroughly subdued was mind boggling and something he thought he’d never be subjected to - that being said, some dormant part of his mind took note of the subjugation. In defiance of his rapidly welling shame, his stallionhood railed against its cage - adding a layer of discomfort and arousal to his tumultuous mental state. Though he couldn’t say why his treacherous body was becoming aroused by something so disgraceful, there was no denying a certain depraved thrill from being treated so poorly.
Lapping away, lavishing the stud’s pucker with his tongue and lips, he did what he could to service his Lord. His very being was drowned out by Ushindi. The stallion was his world, robbing him of sight, muffling his hearing, and totally dominating his sense of taste and smell. Though he was fully aware of how unbecoming he must appear, his latent submissive urges gradually gained ground.
He couldn’t say how long he lay there, worshiping the monstrous zebra’s rear, thought it ended as swiftly as it had begun. The stallion above him shifted and stood, leaving him to breathe freely. Staring up at the heavens, seeing the Prince shift, he only eventually noticed the fruit of his labor. Standing over him, effectively straddling his supine form, Ushindi’s monumental package swayed slightly.
Easily rivaling the length and girth of one of his forelegs, his master’s length was easily the largest he’d ever laid eyes upon. Covered in ebony flesh, from trunk-like root to bloated tip, angry veins traced the prodigious shaft. To complement the godly tool, a pair of ripe, succulent nuts hung from the zebra’s groin. Each prolific testicle had to be the size of a small melon, doubtlessly capable of inseminating countless mares and containing untold pints of rich, virile seed.
Truly, if ever he had doubted how abjectly superior Ushindi was to himself, the sight of the stallion’s package truly showed him his place. Compared to his rival, Miraha may as well have been yet another mare - a ripened fruit free to be plucked. His mouth began to water, his pitiful erection vainly struggled against its bonds, and his mind wandered into perverted waters. If he was supposed to clean his master - surely, he’d have to clean all of his master.
“I know that look,” Ushindi grunted, breaking the spell and causing the lesser Prince to look away. “I’ve seen it hundreds of times - there’s no mistaking it, you want me to make use of you…”
“I...I don’t…” Miraha faltered, desperately trying to stem the tide of lustful thoughts.
“I will completely ruin you either way - the only difference is that, if you admit it, I may use some restraint,” the giant grumbled.
To be sure, the colossus had meant what he said. Though Miraha only had a hooffull of experiences with Ushindi, he knew for a fact that the Prince was two things - a stallion of his word and excessively aggressive. With his excitement mounting, only barely restraining growing enthusiasm, he swallowed hard.
“M...may I?” he sputtered, unable to keep himself from stealing glances at the log of flesh above him.
“May you what, my little Princess?” Ushindi purred.
The effeminate stallion squirmed for a moment, only hesitantly giving voice to his desires. “May I s...service you…?” he timidly asked.
Ushindi nodded and strode away, stepping over the small Prince and moving towards a nearby bench. “You may, although I’d prefer you to do it somewhere more accommodating.”
It didn’t take Miraha to put the pieces together; if he was about to orally service the stallion, he was to do so in clear view of anypony and everypony in the immediate area. Though some part of him was reluctant to give in, a stronger, much more insidious portion of himself wished for nothing more than to worship the titan - besides, if he’d been ordered to do so, nopony could blame him for obliging. Rolling to his side, he pushed himself up.
“As you wish, Daddy,” he whispered, trotting past his host.
As he moved to the bench and seated himself, he slowly became aware of just how worked up he was. The Ushindi’s taste lingered on his taste buds, thick musk clung to his sinuses, and his heart heavily pounded in his breast. As he got into position, with his stallionhood securely locked away between his meaty thighs, he peered up at the approaching brute. Seeing no reason to delay the inevitable, and because he wished to feel the velvety cockflesh against his tongue, he obediently opened his maw.
Rearing back and taking a step forward, Ushindi slammed his forehooves to either side of his companion’s head. “There’s a good mare…”
Facing with the enormous cock, staring down its seemingly infinite length, Miraha’s pulse quickened. He wasn’t sure how he was going to manage the impending task - then again, he felt reasonably certain that wasn’t going to be much of a concern. Judging from what he knew of Ushindi, the bestial Prince would be more than happy to do most of the work. For all intents and purposes, he’d just have to do what he could to keep up.
Sure enough, the massive zebra shuffled into position and flexed his hips; the move sent the battering ram-like tip careening forward. The stallion’s aim had been a little off, causing his tool to graze his lithe partner’s cheek, yet he was undeterred. Gazing down at himself, he adjusted his stance and made a second thrust.
His next attempt was met with far more success. Driving his waist forward, his stallionhood landed a direct hit - squarely popping into Miraha’s awaiting muzzle. The lesser Prince was given no time to steel himself, as his head was rammed backwards by the giant’s near-unstoppable force. His back arched and he drew a deep breath, mere heartbeats before the thick shaft plunged down his gullet.
The power - sweet stars above, the power Ushindi wielded bordered on the godly. Even if he could have fled, Miraha was honestly unsure if he would have wanted to. With his lips painfully stretched around the fat length, and his airway wholly cut off by the divine stallionhood in his throat, there was something undeniably thrilling about being used in such an unseemly fashion. In that moment, his regal status and rank meant less than nothing; he was simply a sexual outlet for his host.
With nearly half his dick firmly lodged in his plaything’s muzzle, a contented hum escaped the Ushindi. “Do your job well and I may reward you further.”
With those final words, he began bucking his hips. Each plunge drove his stallionhood deeper into the slender Prince’s spasming gullet, causing the small zebra’s eyes to water. He swore he could feel it near his stomach, warming his core with its inexorable heat. Though neither could fully appreciate the sight, the marish royal’s throat visibly bulged outward - struggling to accommodate the massive intrusion.
Closing his eyes and bucking away, Ushindi made use of his mate. For the second time in less than an hour, the soft murmurs of onlookers drifted to Miraha’s ears, but he no longer cared. Compelled, acting on instinct, he blindly reached out to caress the pendulous pair of fat nuts swinging before him. The soft frogs of his forehooves, delicate from a pampered life of luxury, gently squeezed and fondled the twin orbs.
The face-fucking was tantamount to sinful torture and it filled Miraha with a heady cocktail of dread and wonder. His lungs burned and his heart raced wildly, as his oxygen starved body gradually started to rebel against him - still, throughout it all, he did what he could to pleasure his master. Gently massaging Ushindi’s balls in his hooves, while making sure to mop the pistoning shaft with his full, pouting lips, his efforts waned.
His limbs grew heavy, his vision faded, and a lightheadedness settled upon him, yet the giant’s motions never ceased; if anything, the massive Prince was moving harder and faster than ever. It was only when his consciousness began to wane, did the abuse slow. His eyes, blurry and unfocused, watched the zebra shift and pull away, clearing his throat and finally allowing him to draw air into his lungs. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep himself from weakly coughing and wheezing.
“Look at my little Princess,” Ushindi smugly noted, lowering his head to his panting charge’s face.
While Miraha couldn’t see himself, he had little doubt that he was a complete and utter mess. Streaks of his lipstick lay smeared on Ushindi’s cock, his eyeshadow had to be running, and a combination of saliva and pre-cum dripped down his chin. He would have loathed to appear so shabby in private, yet there he was, beneath the sun, free for all to see. It would have been mortifying, had it not been for one befuddling thing - why had Ushindi stopped?
Wearily, he peered up at the looming Prince and froze. Staring down at him, with a frown plastered on his muzzle, the monstrous stallion stepped back. Following where his master was looking, his eyes widened. His stallionhood, despite having gone untouched, was drooling pre-cum over the bench and his inner thighs. He’d known he’d gotten excited from the discourteous treatment, but he would have never expected he’d been that worked up.
“Looks like my little mare has gotten a bit worked up,” the colossus mused, eyeing the pathetically caged stallionhood. “Tell me, are you in season?”
Miraha wasn’t sure how to react to the nonsensical question, although he realized he couldn’t dally for too long. If he didn’t reply and reply quickly, there was a good chance that his day would get far, far worse than it would have been otherwise. Clearing his still sore throat, he humbly closed his eyes.
“Perhaps, Daddy, though I can’t be sure,” he responded, keeping a neutral tone. He wasn’t a mare, even if he may look and occasionally act like one, so it would have been impossible for him to be in estrus - even still, something told him that answering with a definite no would have caused more trouble.
“Then let us find out together,” Ushindi grunted, turning aside and trotting away. As he approached a small clearing, with the nearly thirty onlookers giving him an exceptionally wide berth, he came to a halt on a soft patch of grass. “If you are in season, I’ll be sure to pump a foal into that fertile womb of yours - if not, well, I’m sure you’ll appreciate my generosity nonetheless…”
Though Miraha couldn’t say what he’d been expecting, but it most certainly hadn’t been the Prince’s proposition - no, not a proposition; Ushindi sounded like he’d made a demand - a coy demand but a demand nonetheless. Being sat upon or having his throat swabbed, as mortifying as they had been, paled in comparison to being plowed in public. Sadly, as he processed what he’d just heard, his master grew impatient.
“Is my poor mare shy?” Ushindi growled, turning to face his indecisive guest. “If that’s the case, I’m sure I could motivate you.”
Uncertain of what the threat meant, the svelte Prince unseated himself and moved forward. He shuddered to think what the behemoth would do if he refused or took too long, considering his treatment for being obedient. Moving to his master’s side, he lowered his head and waited for the inevitable. As the seconds passed, the brute began to chuckle.
“Well?” Ushindi asked, cocking his head.
“W...well?” Miraha parroted, more confused than ever.
The giant waved at hoof at the clearing and nodded. “If you wish to be bred, present yourself and beg. You are nothing but a worthless whore, for the time being, and I am a Prince. If you convince me, I may indulge you.”
Glancing around, seeing the growing audience they held, a cold bead of sweat rolled down his cheek. Not only was he about to be plowed, he was about to be plowed in front of his own tribe. The degenerate part of his mind rallied its strength, convincing him that he had no choice in the matter. If or when his clan questioned him about the endeavor, he could honestly admit that it was custom and that he was obligated to obey. While the excuse was wholly valid, it was only a convenient cover; in truth, his carnal hunger for the savage was rapidly increasing.
“P...please,” he falteringly began, creeping towards the glen.
“Please what?” Ushindi jeered.
Slowing to a halt, in the middle of the clearing, the marish Princess lowered his upper half. As he raised his waist, while his chest pressed into the soft grass below, his back arched and tail flagged to the side. While he braced and spread his hind legs, allowing his restrained package to dangle from his crotch, a certain catharsis settled over him.
He was about to get rutted, there was no denying that, and knowing that fact brought with it a certain peace. Like facing a hurricane, with little time to prepare, he did what he could to prepare himself. There was no escape, no way to keep the event from happening, so all he could do was embrace it. He was going to play the part of a common tart, he saw no reason not to play the part as well as he could.
“Please,” he cooed, peeking over his shoulder. “Make me your mare.”
Walking up behind the presented femcolt, Ushindi thoughtfully hummed to himself. “You don’t appear desperate enough. Perhaps several of your more needy tribe would be a bit more persuasive with wishing me to sire their foals.”
“I...I…” Miraha began, his willpower bowing under the indomitable weight of the barbarian’s threat. If he, a Prince, was turned down, it would be a black mark on his entire tribe! Reaching back, he prized his backside open and sharply drew a breath. “Please, claim me. Ruin me for any other pony and k...knock me up. Please, Daddy!”
The air was still and silent, disquietingly so, causing his blood to chill. Eying the femcolt’s rear, Ushindi took a step forward, followed by a second, until he was briskly approaching his prey. As terrifying as the sight of a plodding goliath was, he paid it little mind; the only thing he was focused on was the fifth leg swinging between the Prince’s hind legs. As his master reached out, caressing his inner thigh, a shiver went up his spine.
“Since you asked properly, I will accommodate you,” Ushindi whispered.
As he was mounted, Miraha’s heart skipped a beat. Though the weight on his hips was tremendous, the sensation of the bloated head of noble cock nudging at his meaty pucker outshone the strain. His fear warred with his excitement, unsure how he’d ever manage taking something so large but more than eager to find out how it felt, yet he didn’t budge. Rocking his hips back, silently pleading for the inevitable, he was eventually granted his wish.
While he was no novice to having his backdoor played with, his tail-hole was not prepared. Ushindi’s crown battered its way inside him, causing the air to hitch in his throat, yet that was only the beginning. Like some unstoppable dreadnought, inch after inch incredible inch of dick was forced inside him. Were his hind legs not locked, he surely would have been driven off his hooves by the inexorable force of his mate.
Deeper and deeper still Ushindi plunged, until his thick medial ring nestled against the femcolt’s stuffed pucker. The abject feeling of fullness was insane and unlike anything Miraha ever experienced before. How any female was capable of accommodating such a stallionhood was beyond him, since he’d only barely managed to cope with a portion of the Prince’s sizable length. Finally remembering to breathe, hoping to have a moment to acclimate to the intrusion, his partner began to move.
As Ushindi withdrew his shaft, he nearly lost his balance - that was, until the elephantine cock was rammed back into his behind. Gradually picking up speed, pumping his hips into a steady rhythm, the brute started fucking him in earnest. Normally, while using a toy on himself or being bedded by one of the stallions in his tribe, he would have savored having his prostate tickled by something in his rump, but this was completely different.
The sensitive organ in his tush was utterly crushed by Ushindi’s girth, causing a steady stream of pre-cum to dribble from his caged prick. The sheer intensity of being rutted by somepony so powerful was beyond intense, overwhelming notions of discomfort and joy. He was little more than an object to be used, screwed for his master’s amusement, and that is what ratcheted up his fervor.
Every fiber of his being belonged to Ushindi, and the primal Prince knew it. It didn’t matter if he enjoyed the experience, that wasn’t important - all that mattered was that he served his purpose. His subconscious, realizing his role, seized the reins and put his body to work. Rocking back, timing his movements with his master, he pressed back to meet Ushindi’s thrusts.
“There’s a good mare,” the behemoth amusedly noted, slowing marginally, “show them all how badly you need it.”
Though there was truth in the cruel zebra’s words, Miraha couldn’t voice his acceptance - instead, he let his body speak for him. Drool dangled from his chin, he could practically feel his innards being rearranged, and yet he eagerly threw his ravenous ass back at his master - still, try as he might to please his mate, the trunk-like root of the Prince’s shaft was beyond him. No matter how hard he moved, nor how deeply he pined to feel the thick root enter his stuffed behind, he simply lacked the strength.
“You must try harder than that, if you wish to hilt me,” Ushindi snidely noted, adding insult to injury. He gradually ground to a halt, content to let his toy do all of the work. Looming over the lesser zebra, watching him wantonly fuck himself, his twisted grin returned. “Perhaps if you beg, I may take pity on you.”
“Please,” Miraha blurted, yearning to feel the nigh omnipotent impetus of his master’s thrusts, “hilt me! I...I’ll do anything!”
“Anything?” Ushindi repeated, his voice tinged with menace. “Including letting the stallions have their fill with you once I’m done?”
Caught in a cyclone of bestial lust and salacious wants, Miraha’s judgement was left clouded. “Yes, so long as you are the one to ruin me for the rest of th-OH GODS!!!”
No sooner had he agreed to the terms than Ushindi started violently fucking him. Compared to the rutting from before, this was on an entirely different level. His own motions ceased entirely, as he was wantonly plowed from behind. His eyes rolled and his jaw hung open, yet that was all he could manage to do; in the face of such ruthless force, he was reduced to less than nothing.
“If this is what you wanted, thank me,” Ushindi barked, raising a hoof and clapping his mate’s bountiful tush. “Thank me for breeding you like the sow you are!”
“T...thank you, Daddy!” Miraha bleated. The tinge of pain mingled with the unbelievable pleasure welling within him, fracturing what little was left of his sanity. “Thank you for breeding me!”
On and on the rutting went, yet Ushindi showed no signs of slowing - if anything, he grew increasingly frenzied with every passing moment. Resting on his cheek, peering back at the barbarian’s brutal thrusts, a motion at his abdomen caught his eye. With every plunge, his stomach distended; as unbelievable as the sight was, it only managed to get him all the more excited.
With one particularly brutal drive of his hips, Ushindi’s medial ring ground into his mate. The small zebra gasped and mewled, all but collapsing as his backside was demolished. The bulge in his gut shifted deeper, creeping to just below his rib cage, yet he somehow managed to remain standing. Throughout it all, the titan continued bucking away like a beast possessed.
Sensing his mate beginning to flare, feeling the titan throbbing deep within him, Miraha knew his time had come. Though he knew full well what was coming, his impulses got the better of him. Steadying himself, ineffectually clenching around the shaft pistoning his backside, he drew a breath.
“Destroy me! Fill me with your hot, virile foal-batter!” he pleaded.
The second his plea cut through the air, his desires came to fruition. A scalding tsunami surged into him, filling him to the core and causing him to cry out in bliss. Even if he hadn’t been teetering on the brink for some time, the influx of such a tremendous load would have pushed him over the edge. Weakly sputtering and gushing his worthless seed to the ground, he came with all the devastating force of an apocalypse.
Everything up to that moment was washed out by blinding, all-consuming rapture. His very existence was bliss, knowing he’d fulfilled his role and satisfied the Prince - his Prince. His stomach bloated and sagged, swelling under the influx of what felt like gallons of spunk, as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Despite his shaking legs and seizing muscles, he managed to stay on his hooves like the subservient whore he was.
Fitfully bucking his hips, ensuring every last drop of his spunk was deposited as deeply as possible, Ushindi chuckled to himself. “Satisfied?”
Though Miraha couldn’t answer, he numbly nodded. It didn’t matter if he was viewed with disgrace, or if his tribe were to talk ill of him, he’d accomplished something few others could. Shuddering, feeling the Prince starting to withdraw, he felt the gigantic shaft slipping from his once taut confines. As the softening head and floppy shaft slipped from his battered rear, a shiver shot through him.
He could only imagine the sorry state he was in. Though he couldn’t see it, he felt the cool air gracing his gaped, leaking hole. Even if his ass could eventually recover, some part of him knew that he’d never be the same; nothing could ever compare to a rutting of Ushindi’s caliber. As his heart sank, aware that the chances of being plowed again so soon were slim and none, a pair of hooves locked around his hips.
Wearily peering back, seeing a stallion mounting him, he smiled. He couldn’t say why his next suitor, nor any of the half dozen lining up behind him could dream of rivaling the bestial Prince, yet a fair number seemed intent on getting some action from him. Raising his waist and making himself ready, his once snug pucker embraced the relatively meager cock driving into him. If his master wished for him to be bred by his tribe, so be it - as long as it meant even the slightest chance of being graced by the divine dick of his daddy, he’d do what he must…
