An indeterminate time later, Clover stumbled out the room with her head spinning. The pegasisters had their fun with her, and it had taken its toll on her mind. A mare could only take so many orgasms in one night before she simply ceased functioning.

Outside, the guards took charge and ushered her from the building. Had she the wherewithal, she might have thought to blush, but being rendered a borderline catatonic mess by a couple of kinky, incestuous mares put a damper on thought of any kind.

So she followed the stallions without a word. Or, more accurately, they kept her steady between them as she drunkenly waltzed forward. An embarrassing amount of times, they had to stop her from nearly tripping over herself, but by then being embarrassed was a rather moot point. She presumed, and would be correct to do so, that she looked a mess of a mare.

Her mane, tail, and coat all stuck out every which way, matted flat or slick with various fluids elsewhere. Her glasses hung askew on her snout, almost but not quite slipping off her face. As for her expression, she looked positively shitfaced. Her eyelids sank low, her eyes stared forward hazy and unfocused, and her jaw remained partially slack. Worst was her junk, all visibly dripping with her juices and the spit from Flitter and Cloudchaser. On her crotchtits in particular, several hickeys were visible, and her nipples stood at attention, passively dripping milk.

The feeling of her slick inner thighs grinding together was initially pleasant, but it diminished as they grew colder with each moment that passed. Upon reaching the car, they had begun to dry, and she was thankful to sit still.

Her head bobbed left and right with the vehicle's movements. On occasion, she'd catch her lids drooping lower, and her consciousness began to fade, but then the car would lurch or jump, and she'd be thrust back into awakeness.

After a while, the ride pulled over, and both stallions stepped out. They helped her onto the sidewalk and, from there, led her back to her apartment.

When she was inside, she locked the door and made a beeline for her bedroom. She saw through the windows dawn encroaching and wondered if she had been fucking for the entire night. She must've, and it certainly would explain her utter lack of energy.

She had a lot to think about, but had at least enough self-awareness to recognize she was not in a state to do much thinking.

Giving one good, long look at her frameless mattress, she pitched forward. The warm and familiar sheets welcomed her home with a hug, and she was out before she could even remove her own glasses.

The first thing Clover did when she woke up was take a shower.

The soothing rains did wonders for her discomfort, that digging sensation of filth. With each layer of fur and mane that came away clean under the showerhead's downpour, so too was her mind lulled.

Her memories from the previous night were hazy and uncertain. Could she really be sure any of it had happened at all?

Those thoughts, or any beyond settling into her usual routine, were pushed aside to subconsciously preserve her own mental security. Stepping out from the tub, damp and dripping fresh water, she brushed her teeth, removing the lingering taste of Flitter's cunt, Cloudchaser's balls.

She made breakfast as she did every morning. Scrambled eggs were the easiest go-to and the least hassle for her to prepare. Mixed into the scramble were cheese, mushrooms, spanish yellow onions, and sundried tomatoes.

While she may have been seriously in debt and unemployed, she had to care about her own well-being. So, whenever she was able, she tried to cook for herself something nice, if mundane. A pony had to allow themselves some amount of dignity, else they'd give up the battle long before the war was won.

If nothing else, her failed venture had given her the skills of a decent cook.

Sitting at her desk to eat, she realized breakfast was something of a misnomer as the clocks read past noon.

She didn't care. She was hungry, shoving forkfuls of the scramble into her maw, not finishing the first bite before she'd begun to chew her second.

When she was done, she resolved to look for employment, as she had done for the past month. That was how her days were often spent, sitting at her desk and flipping through catalogues of job listings, openings, temporary hire - anything that could put much-needed bits in her pocket.

They were low-paying, menial work mostly involved in the kitchen. While a pony could find a dearth of such work in the city, actually being hired was another matter entirely. Because they were so low-skill, she was in a highly competitive market. Thus far, she'd never made it past the first interview.

After that daily ritual, she relaxed the remainder of the afternoon away - or at least tried to. Her living room boasted a personal library, stocked from end to end with fiction and non-fiction novels. When she wasn't occupied job searching, cooking, or cleaning, she could be found in her recliner reading a good book. It was one of the only ways she could escape her real life, by delving into that of another through the text on kind paper pages.

That afternoon she felt especially wanting for escapism, so she plucked out a fantasy vampire novel she had yet to start. She'd owned it for long enough she couldn't remember buying it; for all she knew, it was something she bought as a teenager. Perhaps it would be the cure for her unease.

But why was she so uneasy? The prior night's events had not grown clearer with time. They remained foggy as the mirror was fresh after her shower. She could recall nothing specific, no one memory in particular that might enlighten her to the rest. Increasingly she grew convinced the whole thing was a dream.

Or maybe a nightmare? She couldn't say.

What she could say was the book was terrible, and she became certain it was indeed a holdover from her youth. The prose was more plain and dry than a communion wafer, the plot - if one could call it such - was paper thin, and the characters were not so much two-dimensional as uni. But, that aside, it entertained her, if for no other reason than how laughably awful it was.

It turned out awful enough she'd barely read a hoofful of chapters before passing unconscious.

Her slumber was short and disturbed. To the outside observer, her face contorted into expressions of fear, pain, pleasure, and occasionally a mix of or all three at the same time. Her body twisted, screwing this way and that, and sometimes so violently her glasses slipped from their perch. Internally, her dreams were an incomprehensible mess she'd forget the second she'd awake - of writhing bodies and twisting tongues, wordless moans and fitful cries.

She awoke when three things happened at once. The first was her hoof coming between her legs to massage her folds. The second being, in the process of doing so, knocking her book from her lap and onto the floor. But the third was what had her bolting upright, adrenaline rushing through every vein in her body.

Knock-a-knock-knock!

In the pits of despair, during times of hopelessness, some ponies hold onto the idea that what they're experiencing isn't reality. Or, like Clover, when they seem to be out of the woods, they choose to push down true events and consign them to the realm of dreaming. Many more, when faced with the truth, double down, or at least for as long as they're able to get away with.

Consciously, Clover was aware she was lying when she told herself that knock could've been anything. But she knew. The forbidden, seductive tingle between her legs spoke more honestly than her words ever could.

She clung onto hope despite calling out to the unknown knocker.

"Who is it?"

A shuffle of things behind the door. A giggle. Then a voice, bright and familiar.

"Just your old pal Sola" it rang. "I hope you're ready to go. The bosses don't like delays."

Clover shuddered at the smile in the mare's voice - not because of its falseness, but because of its sincerity.

"G-give me a moment!"

She didn't hear a response from the other side. Taking that both as permission to do what she needed and a warning to speed her ass up, she wasted no time. She washed her face, gargled mouthwash, and considered removing her glasses in favor of contacts.

Before she could, the knocks came again.

"Time's up, hun! Gotta go-oo~."

Clover raced to the door as though her life depended on it. For what she knew, it may well have. She tossed one last glance at her kitchen, thinking about grabbing a snack as her stomach growled. There would be no point, though; she'd be getting plenty of protein for dinner.

Upon opening the door, Solar practically yanked her out into the open. Clover shrieked in surprise, but was quickly silenced by the other mare's tongue wantonly invading her mouth. She struggled, attempting to pull free, but the unsolicited makeout session was kept brief. She tugged herself away just as the kiss broke, making her stumble and almost plop backward onto her rump, but she managed to re-orient first.

"Cutie pie," Solar purred, and to make her shame burn worse, Clover received a harsh smack of the mare's hoof on her ass. She struggled not to moan, and rubbed the sore spot with her wing.

Evidently, now that Clover was officially 'in the business,' Sola felt no need to be shy with advances, desired or otherwise.

"Let's go."

The voice was a new one, not Solar's or either of the sisters'. The very presence of it shook the air, deep and masculine. Clover turned to the source and saw it was Dusk Rider. She was fairly certain that was the first time she had heard him speak because the effect was immediate. She froze, rigid in place.

"Oh, hush up, Dusky. I'm just having a little fun with the newbie. The Mistresses will understand."

Solar received an unamused grunt in reply. The mare huffed and acquiesced. "Fine," she said, and under her breath, intentionally loud enough for Clover to pick up. "I'm asking the bosses if I can get some time with her later, though."

The route to the car was the same as last night, as with the blindfold. Once inside the club, however, Clover was taken along a different path.

The room she entered was familiar from film and magazines - a dressing room, but the kind meant for professionals. Bright yellow bulbs illuminated the area, situated above a large mirror. Below that was a table with a sink in the middle, makeup kits and tools set up everywhere, and an empty rack for clothing besides. She took but a few steps inside before Solar whisked her forward into the swivel chair, biting her neck to say goodbye.

"The Missies will be in here soon to lend you a hoof. Good luck on your first night, baby! Mwah, mwah."

Clover jumped as the door slammed shut, then tried to make herself comfortable. Comfort did not come naturally, however. Not here and not now. It was her first evening on the job, and she didn't know what to expect. More frighteningly, she had no idea what repercussions might be in store were she to fail or disappoint in some way.

Thankfully she wouldn't have the opportunity to ruminate on it long. The door flung open, and in slinked the two mares who now had ownership of her life. They appeared to be dressed the same as before, albeit in a state of post-coitus judging by the blush on Cloudchaser's face and the lipstick marks smattering them both.

She got confirmation when she saw the still glistening, half-flaccid cock dangling below Cloud's belly. Further evidence, more than Clover would have liked, was displayed brazenly before her in the form of Flitter's visibly dripping, creampied pussy.

"Well, if it ain't the cute milky bitch," Flitter cooed. Like a coiling snake, she wound around Clover's side, brushing a hoof from her shoulder to her stomach. Clover involuntarily shivered.

"Ready for your first run?" asked Cloudchaser, who took up the other side. She, more openly flirty than her sister, papped her hoof against Clover's left breast. The motion caused a jostle, and resultant drip of milk to bead on her nipple.

"I-I... I'm not so sure."

"Well relax, Spicy. I'm sure you'll be fine if last night's performance was any indication. That's why we test our girls before anyone else, y'know. Gotta make sure they're a good lay, aheehee."

Clover's face burned with angry crimson shame. She hated how objectified she felt, sexualized to the point of being described not as a pony, but as a good lay. She hated being eyed over and handled like she were little more than a piece of meat.

Most of all, she hated there was a part of her that was starting to enjoy it.

"It won't be necessary for what we got you lined up for," said Flitter. "Can't throw ya into the deep end too soon, but we're gonna doll you up real fuckin' nice before you get your big cutie booty out there. Trust me, you're gonna feel like a million bits by the time we're done with you."

Clover did not, in fact, trust her.

But it also wasn't like she had a choice. She bobbed her head weakly and allowed them to do as they wished.

She was thankful that, for as chatty as they were, the twins were silent in their work. It was as if they moved in sync with each other, like they were so closely related they could communicate and function in tandem without the need for speaking. During the process, with her eyes closed, Flitter would come in from one direction, Cloudchaser from the other, and they would, with speed, precision, and mastery touch up her face.

As something was dusted upon her right cheek, Cloudchaser spoke in her ear. "Just a 'lil heads up that we're only doin' this once for ya. After tonight, you'll be prepping yourself by yourself."

A thin, cool brush dragged along the curvature of Clover's bottom eyelid. Cold shivers reached down her spine, but she held her breath and posture firm.

"But if you need anypony's help, there's a bigger room like this for all our other girls. They've been eager to meetcha, so I'm sure they'll be delighted to show you the ropes," Flitter added. Pausing, lifting the thin brush from Clover's eye, she turned to Cloudchaser. "Think she's done, Cici?"

"Mmmh, not yet Flitts. You always forget the lipstick. That's, like, the most important part of a tramp!"

"Oh, right, duh. Silly me." Clover heard Flitter's hoof gently 'clop' against her forehead. "Pucker up, sweetcheeks. Kissy time!"

Before any actual gloss was applied, first one pair of lips pecked her own, then another. Afterward, a tube pressed into her upper lip, slowly coating it from left to right, then the bottom, right to left.

"Mwah, mwah, mwah! Magnifique! Excellent job, sis. She looks like the perfect 'lil cocksucker."

"She sure do, don't she, Ci? Well, come now, Clovy. Open up those gorgeous eyes of yours and have a look."

Flitter, audibly beaming, jabbed her in the ribs. Clover didn't react for a couple seconds, heart thudding inside her chest. She was, in all honesty, terrified of what she'd see in the mirror, but she inevitably complied.

Clover lacked for words. Simply put, she looked cheap. In the span of a few minutes, Flitter and Cloudchaser had turned her from a plain, traditionally cute mare into a two-bit streetwalking whore.

There hardly seemed a part of her face that hadn't been violated - or 'improved' upon, as no doubt the sisters would see it. Heavy mascara and eyeliner framed her eyes, shifting them away from curious and doe-like to seductive and lidded. The more sexualized gaze served to show off her eyeshadow, a bright blue of open sky that matched her lips, a touch lighter and more colorful than her irises. The last noticeable alteration was the added blush on her cheeks, subtle enough it appeared genuine.

When she closed her eyes again, she could envision more changes. Big trashy faux-gold hoops dangling from her ears, fake fuller eyelashes, a longer and more luscious mane, lips plump and pillowy so no matter what expression she held they'd be stuck in a permanent state of uncertainty.

Another involuntary buzz rocked her body. Whining, she pressed her legs together and faced away from her reflection. She stared in abject mortification at whatever wasn't herself.

"Aw, does she not like it? Flitts, I don't think she likes it. Do you not like it, Clovy?"

Cloudchaser's tone betrayed earnest disappointment. Clover felt somewhat guilty, but only somewhat. The mix of emotions at seeing her familiar reflection made so very unfamiliar was too confusing to have a solid grasp on any one feeling in particular.

"N-no, that's not it. It's just... new, is all. I don't usually... wear makeup."

"I kinda got that sense. You're too much of a girl next door to worry about things like that. Don't worry, though," Flitter said. Coming up to her sibling, she laid a wing over to ease her. "You'll be as slutty as the rest of us eventually."

Under her breath, where neither pony could hear, Clover whispered.

"That's what I'm afraid of."

[hr[

Minutes later, Clover was more afraid of the hole she was staring into than anything else.

She knew where she was. The two pegasus kinksters didn't have to inform her; they understood she'd put the puzzle pieces together by herself. That was why, when Clover gathered the courage to start her shift, they had shoved her into this stall without so much more than goodbye and good luck.

Her surroundings were clean, and for that, at least, she was thankful. Despite all the dirtiness pervading every single action that went on inside this building or under the watchful eyes of the sisters, she had never gotten the sense of uncleanliness.

It made sense. Whether Flitter and Cloudchaser were the top sharks of the syndicate running the city or simply employed by them, she didn't know, but they ran a tight ship. She could almost consider it respectable were they not criminals.

But so was she. She was an active participant in their organization now, even if it wasn't entirely consensual.

She wouldn't be in her current position, however, if she hadn't taken loans from them in the first place, but what option had she really had?

Oh sure, she could've gone homeless, and where would that have left her? There were shelters around, but they were underfunded and had waiting lists that could see her scraping by for months, forced to sleep under dank bridges or atop hard stone benches. Ultimately she probably would be in the same position that she was in now, just without her apartment and personal belongings.

She would sell her body for what she needed to get by. Yet, without the Mistresses, she would have nopony to protect her if something went wrong if somepony took things too far. She was small in stature and not especially strong. Unnecessary risks were not worth taking for a mare like her.

That was all assuming prostitution outside the ring's control was allowed. There was a not insubstantial possibility they would either bring her into the fold with promises and threats or drive her out for refusing to pay her dues.

It was a pill most bitter to swallow, but she had to admit - her present arrangement was the best she was going to get.

Inhaling deeply, she tried to calm down. Her heart raced like pitter patter, pitter patter, preparing for the inevitable to push its meaty, throbbing way through the hole.

While waiting, she continually re-adjusted her clothing. The motions weren't necessary, but the repetition gave her something to focus on. Anything that could occupy her unsettled mind was welcome right then.

The clothes, though, Princesses they were mortifying to wear - fishnet thigh highs, a magenta thong, and star-shaped nipple pasties. She was impossibly grateful nopony would be seeing her like this, but that only applied for working at the gloryhole. Eventually, she'd have to learn to present herself like this to strangers. Furthermore, she'd have to learn to flaunt it.

But for tonight, she didn't have to worry about that. Perhaps she'd grow used to it, just be able to ignore she looked like a total whorse.

Her mental musings and fiddling with her stockings were interrupted by the sound of approaching hoofsteps. Her body tensed, wings partially flared as though ready for flight.

An unsheathed, flaccid cock shoved itself through the hole, thick and dark purple in color. The sounds of lady-like fussing briefly emanated from the wall's other side, followed by the sound and sight of tinkling blue magic, then a relieved sigh as a pair of pendulous, dangling nuts popped into view. Each were the size of large apples, absolutely too big for a petite and untrained mare like Clover to fit inside her jaw. On the left testicle was emblazoned a mark, three blue diamonds arranged so one fit above and between the others.

Small wonder how a set of equipment that hefty could squeeze through a cut-out so comparatively diminutive, but that was the power of unicorn magic.

Ears hot, Clover stared for several long, uninterrupted moments at the anonymous junk. She grasped what her purpose was, what her next actions should be, but her brain temporarily blocked her from executing them. Flitter and Cloudchaser had been different, because they were actively taking charge while she, for the most part, had to endure.

For this? Here, she was an active participant.

"Ahem."

The voice from the other side snapped her attention back. They must have been either an effeminate stallion or a dickmare, judging by it. Clover's imagining leaned towards the latter - dickmares were on average more well-endowed, and she just had the gut feeling.

Interestingly, the stranger's voice compelled her to think of somepony sophisticated, high-class, not the kind of clientele you'd expect for a brothel. Then again, the business Flitter and Cloudchaser operated was, for all its illegality, not that seedy.

"I'm waiting, darling," the voice continued. "And do be a dear. Take care of my balls. So many forget they're not the only part of a lady that's good to worship."

That confirmed Clover's suspicions, but it wasn't important for fulfilling her role as a diligent dicksucker. The notion reminded her of the vibrant lipstick coating her lips, and she tried to ignore the simultaneous feelings of shame and arousal that brought her.

Would the lipstick leave marks behind when she was done? Would the owner of such a magnificently proportioned spire see with admiration the canvas of carnality she'd paint upon it? Would it make their shaft throb, their balls churn, knowing the dedication put forward so visibly?

Surely that was the point, the reason why the Mistresses had put it on her. They were smart and fully knowing of what they did. They wanted her to give her clients something to remember her by, but more importantly a mental image that would stick in Clover's brain.

Their tactics were insidious, but effective. Slowly, gradually, bit by bit, they were going to wear down her innocence until she'd been corrupted into their perfect plaything. To them, she was purity to be tainted - nothing more, nothing less. Repayment of her debt was merely a bonus. Call it a gut feeling, but she believed it.

Clover shook her head. She couldn't let it get to her. Thinking on the matter would do her no good.

Not wanting to waste her client's time any more than she had, she approached the dangling rod as if it were some variety of dangerous snake. For what it was worth in regards of preserving her sense of self, it may as well have been.

As though to punctuate her inner fears, the thing twitched violently on her approach. Its weight carried upwards in an uneven arc, and before she had the chance to flinch away it attacked. Less like a viper, it was a spitting cobra, its wide flare serving as the hood before spurting a gloopy strand of pre-cum across her whorish features.

She cringed, but recovered quickly. She knew observing it any further would only paralyze her, so she made the decision then to close her eyes.

That merely put the dickmare's scent to the forefront of her senses rather than the visuals, but she could tolerate that. Maintaining her blindness, she moved forward and daintily pressed her lips to some non-specific part of it.

It pulsed hard beneath the plush softness of her lips, and once more did she struggle not to instinctually pull back. It wasn't that Clover had never had sex before - the prior evening's events aside - but she was not what anyone would describe a sexual pony. Still, the reaction gave her an unexpected sort of thrill. The rate of her heartbeat increased, but rather than dissuade her from continuing, it urged her forth.

The first peck became two, then three, then several more. She never dared crack open an eye once throughout, but the heat, smell, and general sense of where she and it were relative to one another served guidance enough.

Before long, her gentle kisses had progressed to tiny licks, which themselves grew larger, longer, more feverish and less inhibited. Like a spell of cock drunkenness had been cast upon her, she lost herself in the moment, slurping away and making out with a mighty shaft and dangling sack beastly enough in size to smother her beneath it. Briefly, tossed about in that state of half-consciousness, she allowed precisely that to happen, willingly prostrating herself beneath the whole package so its warmth and moisture soaked into her open-mouthed face. In that position, she panted, lapping at the crease between the mare's nuts as a hoof, acting of its own accord, massaged the cunt between her thighs.

By the time she'd begun facefucking herself on the turgid pillar, the mare known as Clover Spice was functionally nowhere to be found. Her conscious brain powered down, and in its place a ravenous, slutty nymph was released. The task was by no means easy. She, after all, was not versed in the career path of deepthroating dicks for a living, but she was eager. And, in her new line of work, enthusiasm counted for a great deal.

She was barely aware of herself when the mare on the other side erupted in orgasm. The subsequent explosion of creamy fuckbatter pumping into her esophagus and stomach, however, swiftly rectified that. Her muddled brain was unceremoniously dredged back into the land of awareness, just in time to experience the humiliation of having too much cum flood her body at once.

Cheeks bulged, throat contracted, and as her gag reflex finally caught up with her, the stranger slipped out. Clover hacked and sputtered as mugs' worth of sperm poured out her open maw, which received further wounding as the raging erection painted her with its tacky loads. The thick fluid slid down her face to her chin, splattering onto a growing pool of off-white to the tiles below, but much more was left behind, adhering to her fur.

For the second time that night, Clover was glad she didn't have a mirror around.

The remainder of her evening passed by slower. Having been bukkaked, and having that bukkake serve as a punishing reminder of how she'd lost herself, made her conscious for those who came after.

But, one pony at a time, she managed. No other cocks that appeared that night proved to be as large or virile as her first, which made her life a lot simpler.

Simple or not, an eternity seemed to have elapsed by the time her shift ended, denoted by the ring of a bell above her station. She didn't get up immediately, both too weak and too ashamed to move from her spot on the floor, sitting and covered in the leftovers of various orgasms. She obviously had progress to make when it came to swallowing.

Eventually, she picked herself up, but only when the mare to take her place knocked on the door. She didn't say anything, avoided both the girl's comments and gaze, and slipped away as quickly as possible so the sheer state of her defilement wouldn't be seen.

Blessed be the Crown that this establishment had backroom showers, blessed yet more that no one else was present. Inside, heat turned as high as she could tolerate, soap lathered enough to obscure her features, Clover had time to reflect, and she came away with one conclusion and one conclusion alone.

She had to get out of there as soon as possible. Because if she didn't?

She wasn't sure if she'd ever be the same mare again.

Author's Note

This story was commissioned by Clover Spice. If you enjoyed this story and would like to receive one of your own, see here for more details!