Horseshoes and Hoof Grenades
Zero-two-hundred western Equus time, somewhere on the shores of Luna bay. A summer night - fewer clouds than expected, but still dark enough. The rugged hills of the Olenian countryside sloping down to a winding stretch of beach. Sea spray on the rocks, cold as the grave because Celestia forbid the bugs build a radio station somewhere warm.
Four separate teams, eight ponies in total, to deploy via boat and link up once on land. Cut the power and com lines, rush the installation, grab whatever codebooks they could find and exfil before dawn. A difficult task, but for the mares and stallions of the Equestrian Special Service Regiment it was entirely textbook.
Textbook, that is, save for Private Gale Force’s estrus.
“Bloody Tartarus, Private. Bugs are gonna smell you from here.”
“Sorry, Captain. Can’t help it.”
The two of them were crouched behind a low scarp near the rendezvous point. Their secluded corner of beach was lit only by the glow of Prince's cigar - it was against regulations for commandos, but a stallion of his rank could afford to bend the rules a little. Gale was counting on it.
They’d already finished scouting out the target, and now all that was left was to wait on the rest of their team. That should have been simple enough, except that her mating secretions had already soaked through the pants of her uniform.
“You’re supposed to be on suppressants,” Prince grumbled. “The quartermasters hoof ‘em out to ponies in our branch like candy. This shouldn’t be a problem.”
“I didn’t think it was gonna start so soon. It’s fine, I have it under control,” Gale muttered as her hoof discretely slid down to her crotch.
It was a bold-faced lie on her part. She knew full well when her heat would begin, and maybe she’d skipped her suppressants and spent a little more time out in the sun lately in the hope it would come on stronger. She also most definitely didn’t have it under control; as evidenced by the warmth in her loins and the heady scent of horny mare radiating from her like a musk. All of that was, to some extent, intentional.
Captain Prince was peering over the scarp at the installation, with its radio tower silhouetted black against the night sky, and Gale took the moment to study him while he wasn’t watching. His stern, chiseled jaw, broad earth pony shoulders, the firm, defined muscles beneath his uniform…
She nibbled her lip as her hoof circled her aching sex. Prince was the kind of stallion mares back home would dream about, tall and strong and just stoic enough for it to be cute. Half the mares in the regiment had a crush on him, but she alone had managed to seize the coveted position of signaller in his squad. Sure, it had taken months of training to get certified with the signal corps, but the chance to be close to him was well worth it. It did mean he was her superior of course, so fraternization rules applied, but she’d never been able to stop herself from imagining what it would be like for him to wrap his powerful hooves around her barrel and plant rough kisses down her neck. Soon enough she might get the chance to find out: tonight it was just him, her, and a couple hours of waiting on a beach in the dark. And if she just so happened to be desperately, painfully in heat at such a unique moment - well, that was just a happy coincidence.
Time was limited, and she steeled herself as she prepared to make her move. “Now that you mention it…” she sighed to get his attention. He sat down and glanced her way in concern, and her lips curled into a nervous grin as she locked eyes with him. “I could use a little assistance.”
Prince cocked an eyebrow at her, and all of a sudden her limbs turned to jelly. The hoof between her legs froze - she had just become very aware that she was touching herself in front of her superior. She blushed and looked down at his chest, no longer able to make eye contact.
Alrighty, Gale. You’ve got this. Just play it cool.
“I was, erm, just thinking,” she said, her tail swishing back and forth in the sand. “If the whole thing with the estrus is gonna be an issue, maybe we could… I don’t know, do something about it? I mean, you could do something about it. Since you’re like, a s-stallion and all.”
Prince gave her a blank stare. He tilted his head slightly and grunted, but otherwise made no acknowledgement of what she was suggesting. Either he didn’t get it, or he didn’t feel like entertaining her prattle. Gale had a sinking feeling it might be the latter, and her mouth went dry. This wasn’t going to plan. She’d had a rough idea of what she’d wanted to say going in - something along the lines of “hey stud, please fuck my brains out” - but the words weren’t coming to her as easily as they had in her fantasies. The Captain’s disapproving stare and the hormonal haze she’d put herself in weren’t helping her think.
“I was thinking you and I could, um, rut.”
Prince didn’t so much as twitch. He was distinctly frowning, not a good sign. She hadn’t gone too far, had she?
“Y’know, just a p-professional thing,” she stammered. “Between the two of us. Like, a quick tactical fuck for the sake of the mission.”
His composure broke down and he furrowed his brow at her. “I’m only gonna say this once, Private. We have a job to do. Use the phrase 'tactical fuck' again, and you’re getting court-martialed. Are we clear?”
The words hit her like a brick, and though she tried to hide their effect her ears dropped anyway. She’d always known there was a possibility Prince would turn her down, but she’d figured even he wouldn’t be able to resist a mare in heat. Apparently that wasn’t the case. She’d had a couple ideas in mind to get him riled up, but now they just felt juvenile; though the heat in her belly was still present it was more painful than exciting now and she did her best to smother it. She pulled her hoof away from her crotch to wrap tight around the grip of her carbine.
“We’re clear, Prince.”
It’s just the mission, right? Of course he doesn’t wanna screw in the middle of a mission. We’ll get back to the sub, and-
“That’s Captain to you,” he grumbled.
Her heart sank. That was it, then: there would be no intimacy between them, period.
Why did you think that would work? What in Celestia’s name is wrong with you? He’s not going to mate with the first mare who throws herself at him. He’s an officer, for fucks sake!
Prince had already returned to watching the installation up the beach. Maybe he was just double-checking for any unexpected patrols, but it felt like he was making a point of ignoring her.
Gale curled her wings around herself and hugged her rifle. Her clit still begged for stimulation - now that her heat had arrived it was there to stay - but though her hoof slid into her pants to deal with the problem it was a mechanical reaction more than anything else. Her estrus mocked her, a persistent urge that was beyond her ability to fulfill. It was the first one she’d allowed herself to have since joining the service and she’d been planning it for months: the ultimate weapon in her arsenal, the big romantic gesture that would snag Prince’s attention. It had flopped spectacularly. Now all it did was keep her from focusing and make her reek of sex; why she’d ever thought he would find that hot was beyond her.
Was he just being professional, or was she not good enough for him? She’d always thought she was a bit big for a pegasus... What if he preferred smaller mares? Maybe he just wasn’t into her like that, but what if she had done something to push him away? It didn’t matter now. He’d already shut her down, and if she was going to salvage things between them she was better off keeping her mouth shut than asking about it.
An hour later the others arrived, black-clad ponies with submachine guns and cut-down rifles, barely recognizable beneath the camouflage paint on their faces. They moved so silently that Gale didn’t notice them until they were right next to her behind the scarp, and when she did she nearly jumped over her cover in surprise. Some of them bore hardened scowls while others grinned wildly, some were in their thirties or forties while others weren’t even out of their teens, but to a pony they were ready and willing to die - if not for Equestria, then for whatever insane personal reasons they might have.
“My team’s cut the telegraph line,” reported an older mare in a beret. “We’re good to move in.”
“Alright, listen up.” Prince raised his voice just enough for it to reach everypony. “Winter’s team takes the flank. Tune and Shot are on overwatch. The rest of you, on me. Stay close to your partners, and-”
Prince’s ears pricked up, and he stopped. The commandos held their breath. Gale listened: just above the wind, she could hear shouting. Someone at the radio installation was barking orders, and not in Equish.
The beach lit up with crimson light as a flare rocketed into the sky above them.
“Private! Sitrep!”
In an instant Gale snapped her wings open and took off, her trained flight muscles responding like clockwork. Adrenaline rushed through her as she climbed ten, twenty feet above the beach and scanned the area. There was movement where the flare had come up from, headed their way, and it didn’t take her long to tell what was going on. Gunfire rattled in her ears and she dove towards the ground just as a spray of bullets whizzed through the air.
“Bugs, two squads, third on the way,” she shouted to the Captain before she’d even touched down. “MGs and spell rifles. About a hundred meters, closing in on high alert.”
“Shit! The bastards must have spotted the boats.” Prince looked over the scarp and ducked as a shot grazed past his head. “Mission’s off. Pop smoke, we’ll fall back to Winter’s landing point and pull out from there.”
Two of the commandos primed grenades and lobbed them towards the attackers. Gale closed her eyes and gripped her rifle as she caught her breath. The spatter of shots against her cover made her flinch. Three seconds later she heard two pops followed a hiss, and she stood to run.
Immediately her vision swam, and she stumbled. As she recovered she saw her comrades spring from their cover and dash across the beach, blue beams of spellfire sizzling over their heads, but her own legs were too weak to move.
Blood loss? A quick check revealed she hadn’t been hit. She lurched forward, but again her head spun and her legs buckled. Her gut clenched, and she groaned as the realization hit her: good old estrus. She’d skipped her meds for Prince, and now the mother of all heats was bearing down on her like a tsunami. As if she didn’t have enough problems already, now her body was trying to get her ready to carry foals - in the middle of a warzone. Just delightful.
“Private! Get a bloody move on, NOW!”
Gale grit her teeth and forced herself to move. Idiot or not, she was still a commando and she wasn’t about to die from being horny. The rest of her squad was already in full retreat, using whatever rocks and dips they could as shelter while they scrambled along the beach, and as she dragged herself out of cover she dove into a sprint to catch up with them.
She started taking fire. Bullets struck the sand around her and spells flew by close enough to singe her mane but she kept her eyes forward. Her heart pounded in her chest as she kept her head down and ran like a manticore was hot on her heels.
Something struck the back of her neck with an audible crack, like lightning.
A freezing shock shot through her from head to tail and she staggered as her legs seized up. A strangled cry escaped her. She understood she’d been hit but her brain refused to process it and her lungs refused to breathe, as if she were trapped in her own body. Her muzzle twisted into a grimace as the spell overcame her, and though she tried to fight it an unnatural calm settled over her mind. She could feel herself falling, but she was out cold before she hit the ground.
***
Gale was shivering when she came to. Uncomfortable, but not all that unusual in the field. Her bunk wasn’t that large, and she must have thrown off her blanket in her sleep. She tried to reach out in search of it, only to find that her hooves wouldn’t move.
Odd.
Come to think of it, her limbs felt heavier than usual and her joints ached like she’d been twisted into a pretzel. She tried to stretch her wings, but they too remained still at her sides. A dull, throbbing pain lingered in the back of her head, growing stronger by the second, and the cool air made her bare coat bristle. Where was that draft coming from, anyways?
She lifted her face from the hard surface, and squinted as her eyes tried to adjust to the blinding light. That was her first sign that something was wrong: it wasn’t daylight shining on her, but an electric light above the table she was leaning on. Table. Why was she at a table? Had she fallen asleep at dinner? That would explain the aches. She’d been sitting in a chair for Celestia-knew-how-long, and she should probably get up and go to bed. She sat up and tried to lower her forehooves to the floor, but again they betrayed her.
Looking around at the concrete walls, she tried in vain to remember where she was. Vanhoover? Whitebell? There were a couple of ponies in the room with her, maybe they could-
“Ah, good to see you’re awake. Let’s begin, shall we?”
Her ear twitched. The mare speaking wasn’t anypony she knew, and there was an odd rasp to the voice that made her hackles rise even if she couldn’t place why. Though her sight blurred, she could see the speaker looking at her with bright green eyes from across the table. She could make out a horn and… fangs? There was a second pony just out of sight behind her and though she craned her neck to look over her shoulder she couldn’t get a good look at him. Her tail twitched rapidly as she tried to get her bearings.
The room, the ponies, the uniforms, it was all wrong. And why couldn’t she move?
Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she looked down and saw that her hooves were firmly cuffed to the surface of the table.
Well, shit.
She tugged at the restraints and found that she couldn’t so much as shift them. Her wings, too, were bound tight to her sides with a length of cable that dug into her barrel and slightly constricted her breathing. Only her hindquarters were left free, resting in the chair she was in. That was a small comfort: if need be, she could still kick.
Her surroundings offered few clues as to her location. The room was bare save for the table, the chairs, and the lamp overhead, the only exit was a heavy steel door set into the wall opposite her. From the lack of windows and the damp smell of the place she was probably underground, but beyond that she could be anywhere from Hjortland to Seaddle.
A bolt of fear shot up her spine as she realized what was going on. She had been captured by the enemy. They were going to debrief her.
“How are you feeling?” asked the changeling interrogator with a deceptive sweetness to her tone. The lapels of her uniform bore the pins of an officer - though Gale didn’t recognize the rank - and her congenial smile was just forced enough to make one’s ears prickle. “I can’t imagine you had an easy time getting here. Perhaps you’d like a glass of water?”
Though her tongue was parched, Gale didn’t answer. She’d heard enough rumors to know that anything the changelings gave a captured commando would be drugged. But what if she’d been drugged already? How long had she been out?
She kept her eyes on her hooves and focused on breathing.
The interrogator cleared her throat. “Why don’t we move on to some basic questions. Your name and rank?”
Those were the two questions she was allowed to answer, but she still hesitated to speak. What if she slipped up, gave away something the changelings could use against her? She got the feeling that she soon wouldn’t have much of a choice either way.
“Gale Force. Private,” she muttered under her breath.
“Very good!” The interrogator clapped her hooves and grinned, baring her fangs. “Now, what unit are you a part of?”
Gale tested her bonds again in vain - the table was bolted to the floor and she couldn’t move it. She shouldn’t have said anything, they were already demanding sensitive information and things were moving too fast; she needed to get her bearings and brace herself for whatever they were about to throw at her. She closed her eyes, trying to remember what to do if she was captured.
Resistance training had never been her strong suit, but what little she’d had gave her a vague idea of what to expect. Changelings didn’t much care for the rules of war: they would torture her, wear her down, try to tire her out and crush her will to resist. Her mind reeled, and not just from her situation - even now her damned estrus was acting up, the heat between her thighs making it hard to focus.
She did recall one thing from her training: lie. She just had to throw them off, avoid giving them real information long enough to be rescued. How long would that be though? Weeks? Months?
“First Royal Airborne,” she answered. Her old unit.
The interrogator tsked, and nodded to the guard. Gale’s chair was yanked out from beneath her and she fell against the table, her snout colliding with the sturdy wood on the way down. Her ears rang with the force of the impact and before she could recover she felt the guard seize her hindquarters and spread them apart with his magic. She grimaced as a pair of cold metal cuffs clamped around her fetlocks. Her legs were now too far apart to buck, but when she tried to pull them together she found a rigid bar between them kept them locked. It was not a comfortable position to hold, with her rear lowered and her thighs stretched almost to the point of pain. Deprived of her ability to buck, she was now defenseless.
She became conscious of the freezing air against her exposed nethers, and her breath caught in her throat as she realized the guard had unrestricted access between her legs. Instinctively she lowered her tail to shield herself. Then she felt the guard grab that too and lift it up, his magic resisting her attempts to break free; hard leather wrapped tightly around her dock and prevented her from lowering it.
Her sex - still wet and swollen with heat - was now on full display.
A blush crept into her cheeks as she sensed the guard stand back to admire his handiwork. Humiliation of this nature was one of the basic tactics she’d been warned of, but even training hadn’t prepared her for her dignity being stripped away and the sudden impulse to flee that came with it. Fortunately she’d already humiliated herself plenty today, and there couldn’t be much more the changelings could do in that regard. At least, she hoped there couldn’t be much more.
“I would advise against lying. We can always tell,” said the interrogator. “If you continue doing so, we may have to provide some… encouragement.”
Gale heard the guard come up alongside her. He seized her mane and yanked her head up forcefully, and she grit her teeth at the rough handling. He held something out in front of her: a sturdy baton made of black bakelite, about a foot long.
Her breathing sped up, but she did her best to hide it. She had to remind herself that she was a soldier, that she wouldn’t tell them anything. So what if they made a few threats? Her parents didn’t raise a coward, and she wasn’t going to back down that easily; if they wanted her to talk they’d have to beat it out of her.
“I’ll ask again: what unit are you from?”
Gale swallowed and bared her teeth at the interrogator. “Go to Tartarus, bug!”
She rode high on that declaration for a minute, staring down the interrogator with a confident grin as she tried to keep herself from trembling. The changeling merely stared back with a look of quiet amusement. The air in the room seemed to cool even further, and silence hung heavy over the table.
The guard let go of her mane, and the baton disappeared from view.
Seconds later it came down on her flank with a thwack, and she jolted at the sudden sting. Thankfully that was all it was - the pain subsided quickly and left only a slight discomfort where she’d been hit - but it wouldn’t exactly be torture if this was all they did, and she knew it was only a taste of things to come.
The guard moved around to the other side, and her breath hitched as she awaited the next blow. She could imagine him lining up for it, but without looking behind her there was no way to tell. She shifted on her hooves.
The baton struck again just beneath her cutie mark, and she hissed through her teeth as it dug into her soft flesh. He hadn’t been so merciful this time; her muscles ached from the hard smack and she could already feel her flank starting to turn red. Her leg twitched but she repressed the urge to kick - she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of showing off her helplessness. To her relief a few seconds passed without further attacks.
She grinned at the interrogator across the table. “Is that all you got?”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than she heard the swish of the baton. Pain exploded across her inner thigh and she whinnied aloud, jerking at the restraints. Another strike on the same spot immediately sent fresh waves of hurt through her vulnerable flesh. The air left her lungs as she gasped at the unexpected assault. Her legs trembled as a third harsh blow landed on her backside, and she clenched her jaw so as not to cry out again.
They had been holding back, she realized. Testing the waters. But she was still at their mercy, and they could still hurt her in ways she had yet to imagine. Panic rose in her chest.
The baton slammed into her opposite thigh with a thwack, and she didn’t bother trying to hold back the yelp that came to her this time. The pain was made all the worse by her uncomfortable position, her haunches protesting at the lack of relief. She writhed in her bonds, trying to lean away, but it was no use. The guard struck her across her rear again, and again, and then again. The blows came one after another, each one making her squirm like a trapped animal, until tears welled up in her eyes and the whack of the baton fell into a rhythm and the stinging where the blows had landed blended into one big throbbing ache.
Then it stopped. She waited for more pain, but it didn’t arrive.
Cautiously she sucked in a ragged breath, half expecting another impact at any moment. When a minute passed without one she shifted within the confines of her shackles, and though her nerves were frayed she let out an uneasy chuckle in spite of herself. She could still feel her haunches, could still feel the blood pumping through her sore hindquarters, and she was still intact. Her rear was no doubt bright red from croup to hock, and she doubted she’d be able to sit comfortably once this was over. Sweat soaked her coat and she still smarted where the baton had hit, but though her legs were sore from the position the throbbing pain from the baton was fading by the second.
Her snatch was absolutely dripping.
Her heart raced. It didn’t make sense. She was being tortured! She wasn’t supposed to enjoy it! But there she was, panting like a dog. It could have been the tight cuffs restricting her movement, or the awkward, degrading position she was in, or the intense feeling of having her ass so thoroughly abused. Perhaps it was some warped combination of the three, but something about it made her breaths come quickly and stoked the roaring flames of her heat.
The desire pooling in her core had coalesced into a knot, and just a little more pressure would make it snap. She wanted - no, needed - for that to happen, for her to get that little extra bit of stimulation that would finish her off, but she was also painfully aware of the two hostile strangers in the room with her. It had to be obvious by now that she was desperately in heat, enough that just about any contact would send tingles through her skin, but she wouldn't dare admit it to them. She was still a soldier, and no matter her current state she still had some diminished sense of pride.
Then she heard the guard move again, and her hackles rose as the baton grazed over her swollen, sensitive labia. Instinctively she tried to clench her legs together to protect herself, but the spreader bar between them kept her exposed and vulnerable.
She looked up at the interrogator, a cold sweat dripping down her brow as she realized that what they had in mind would be anything but pleasurable. “Oh no no no no please please please-”
“Are you ready to cooperate?” asked the interrogator with a smile.
She wasn’t, or at least she shouldn’t be. She was supposed to fight them right down to her last breath if she had to, that came with the job description. But the feeling of cold, hard plastic against her soft nethers lingered in her mind and made her legs quiver. How far was she really prepared to go? And for what, just the name of her unit?
Gale bit her tongue. She wasn’t finished just yet. If they were going to break her, she’d at least make them work for it.
“I’m waiting.”
“Third Royal M-Marines?” she squeaked out, knowing full well the consequences if her lie was discovered.
A pause. The interrogator cocked her head.
The baton whipped through the air, and Gale heard it strike before she felt it.
Every nerve in her body exploded in pain. Stars filled her vision. She buried her face in her hooves and howled, the white-hot agony inseparable from the release surging through her. The muscles in her belly contracted over and over while her tail twitched in its bindings, and she went limp against her restraints. Her abused marehood stung fiercely, the only relief coming from her own wetness. Her ruined climax quickly sputtered out, and she whimpered as it left her just as needy as before.
She felt the interrogator’s gaze on her shivering form, and her cheeks burned. They had brought her to orgasm by beating her with a nightstick. It was a sick, twisted thing to do, and she was a sick and twisted pony for getting off to it. A pervert. It made her a pervert, if what she’d done to Prince hadn’t made her one already. She’d never be able to face him again, would she? She could already imagine the look of disgust on his face.
And yet at the same time, some part of her didn’t care. Her juices pattered onto the floor even as her face grew hot. Her clitoris winked, still yearning for attention. She needed to touch herself, rub herself off to completion until her heat cooled down, but the cuffs restraining her hooves wouldn’t allow her. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess of pain and embarrassment and arousal and she couldn’t separate them. Her heat was a maddening hunger that she could neither suppress nor sate, and it threatened to drive her wild if she didn’t deal with it soon.
“I’m disappointed, to be frank,” the interrogator sighed. “I had hoped you learned your lesson last time. Ah, well.”
Gale heard the baton swing back for another blow, and her eyes shot wide open. She could already imagine the pain, a million times worse than before, could already imagine her body reacting against her will.
“Special Service! The Fourth Special Service Battalion, I swear!”
She blurted the words out before she’d had time to think about them. She felt the rush of air against her slit, but there was no impact. She held her breath waiting for it, and then glanced up at the interrogator as her terror subsided.
“Why, thank you, Gale,” said the changeling with a smile. “I knew you’d be able to see reason. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Just a little bit of tension left her: for better or worse, it was over. She’d given them what they wanted. Though her hindquarters burned and her heart still raced, she was surprised to find that her captor’s words rang true. A weight had been lifted off her chest. She hadn’t really betrayed anything important, so why had she worried so much about it? Surely that tiny bit of information couldn’t be worth what she’d been putting herself through. Besides, they probably knew it already.
She flexed her haunches in the limited space she had, trying to ease some of the pain in her stiff muscles. The others would understand. They hadn’t broken her, per se, she’d just made a decision to avoid more needless suffering. She’d had to! There couldn’t be anything wrong with that, right?
The interrogator scribbled something down with her magic. “My apologies for any unpleasantness. It’s truly regrettable that things had to come to that in the first place, but as I’m sure you’ll find, this doesn’t have to be a difficult experience if you cooperate.”
The guard set his baton down on the table. Gale glanced at it out of the corner of her eye and shuddered. The weapon was glistening with her fluids, and she could still feel the mark it had left on her most intimate of places. A little harder and it might have broken skin.
“In fact, I think we can both derive some benefits here.” The interrogator nodded to her comrade, who sidled around the table into Gale’s field of view.
She got her first look at the changeling who’d been tormenting her. Definitely male, early twenties maybe? It was hard to tell with the bugs. He had the posture of a soldier, but the little self-satisfied smirk he wore was anything but professional. Black uniform, not gray like the regular army - Luftwaffe? VOPS? Queen’s Guard? She wasn’t that well versed in Changeling military structure, but none of the possibilities were good.
He only stayed in his true form for a second before a flash of green enveloped him, and Gale’s ears pricked up as she recognized the stallion standing in his place. She was staring at an almost perfect impression of her commanding officer, right down to the mutton chops. She might have believed it was the Captain if it weren’t for a few key differences: the real Prince would never smirk like that, would never be caught dead out of uniform, and she knew for a fact that the package between his legs was nowhere near as massive as the one she was looking at now. Even if it was, the real Prince would never show it to her.
Her face became flushed as the memory of their last mission came back to her. How did they know about… no, they couldn’t have known about that. It had to be a lucky guess. It wasn’t the real Prince, but what if they’d captured him too?
The interrogator leaned forward and spoke delicately. “Now, Gale, I must admit I’m aware you’re having a small problem with your estrus.”
She pressed her face into her hooves and whimpered, unable to deny her leaking sex and twitching tail and unable to blush any harder than she already was. If she could’ve curled up and died right there, she would’ve. As it was, her restraints kept her exposed.
“I won’t judge you for it - it’s perfectly natural for a pony after all - but in the event that you need a little assistance, my associate here would be happy to offer you some much-needed relief. Would you like that?”
It took a few seconds for her to understand what the interrogator was suggesting. The sane part of her said no. Pointedly no. Having sex with a changeling soldier while chained in a bunker was not on her bucket list. It was disgusting, degrading, and depraved. As a rational, self-respecting pony, she would like nothing more than to go home, take a hot bath, and curl up in bed, and she should have stated as much.
Instead she looked up at not-Prince, with his muscles and his beard and his rugged steel-blue coat. Her eyes drifted over his massive, twitching, veiny cock, and she bit her lip as the pulsing heat between her thighs only got worse. She couldn’t help but think that he would have made a brilliant one-night stand: no commitments, no guilt, just her and a handsome, well-endowed stallion ready to dick her down. This wasn’t exactly the same thing… but it was damn close. And all the while her nethers burned with anticipation, telling her to just go for it.
“What’s the catch?”
Once more the rational part of her mind chastised her. She was being a bad pony. She was betraying Equestria and betraying her squad. She was a sick, awful mare for allowing her biological need to control her like this. But didn’t she deserve it? Hadn’t she put herself through enough? She’d already hit plenty of new lows, surely one more tiny carnal sin couldn’t hurt.
“No catch. We’re not barbarians, no matter what the Princesses may have told you. We take care of our guests.”
It was obvious that was a lie, no matter how they tried to patch it over with honeyed words, but it made no difference. Gale looked at the baton on the table: she could go back to that, let them beat her until she was unable to stand and then she’d give them whatever they wanted anyway. Or she could take the offer: swallow her remaining pride, let herself have the release she craved, and negotiate on her own terms. Yeah, that was it - she wouldn’t be surrendering, just negotiating. Buying time. That was as good a reason as any, right?
A quick nod was all it took. As the stallion brushed past her flank she caught a whiff of his scent, just as strong and musky as the real thing, powerful enough to overcome that of her own cloying arousal. It clouded her mind and dulled her senses - that wasn’t a changeling thing, was it? Whatever the case it was intoxicating, and she drank deeply of it. This couldn’t be wrong. She was just dealing with her heat the old-fashioned way; Ponies had done it like this for centuries. So what if she was a prisoner? She still had needs. She’d let him mount her, and he’d ride her until they were both spent, and when they were done she’d be able to think a little more clearly. That was a good thing, wasn’t it? It was perfectly natural, after all.
She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at the interrogator. Privacy would’ve been nice, but she wasn’t in a position to complain. It was just an itch she had to scratch, a little bit of aid she’d accepted. She thought about the stallion behind her, no doubt erect for her already; he wasn’t the real thing but it wasn’t hard to imagine otherwise. They weren’t exactly on a beach - the cuffs digging into her were a pretty good reminder of that - but it was close enough. Her fantasy would just have to accept a few modifications.
His breath was hot and heavy like that of a real pony as it brushed over her thigh, and though her tail was still bound up it tried to raise higher to accept him. To her surprise he didn’t mount her right away; instead she felt his stubble brush against her aching thigh and gasped at the warm, wet sensation of his tongue against her sex. He dragged it slowly along her exposed slit, and a moan escaped her.
This was what she’d been waiting for, whether she’d known it or not. After so long without proper attention, her need had become an unbearable tension that threatened to rip her apart. Just his light, gentle licks between her outer lips were enough to send waves of pleasure through her. Her hips jolted back on their own as she tried to get closer, to get something more substantial than just teasing. He obliged, pressing his snout into her and taking her clit between his lips. His tongue played against her sensitive nub, sending her careening towards release.Yes! Finally! She melted against him, jolting against her cuffs as she approached the climax she’d been denied for so long.
And just like that, he pulled away. Her breath caught. Her orgasm teetered on the brink and then faded, dead in the water.
“Wha…” She tried to twist around to look, tried to lean back into him, but her bondage denied her both. Her hind legs were spread too far apart for her to do much more than move her rump a bit, and her cuffs kept her front end secured to the table. Her clit ached in the cool air, even more agonizingly swollen than before. She thrashed about in frustration, but it was no use: prevented from touching herself, it was impossible to cum on her own.
“I’m afraid we still have some business to take care of. How many of you were on that beach?”
Gale drew her head up and glared at the interrogator for interrupting her reverie. “I don't know,” she lied without a second thought.
The interrogator sighed. “Such a shame. Ah, well, in that case I suppose you’ll have to content yourself with the stick rather than the carrot.”
The guard moved around to her side, leaving her winking clit unattended as he picked up the baton again, and she grit her teeth. It wasn’t fair! They couldn’t do this to her! She yanked at the cuffs with all her strength, bucked wildly at the spreader bar, but they were both immobile as ever. Her wings, still bound, fluttered weakly at her sides. She whimpered as the guard slapped her flank, a prelude to more substantial torture and a reminder of her hopeless position.
“Eight. Eight ponies,” she sputtered as her desperation overcame her.
“Very good. My apologies for the interruption,” the interrogator replied with a fanged grin. She nodded to the guard.
The baton was set down again and then Prince - well, not-Prince-exactly-but-close-enough -was back behind her, just as musky and virile as ever. Her outburst had brought her back from the brink, and her ears fell to the side as she realized he’d need to start all over. By now she’d been locked in this position and dripping wet for the better part of an hour, and even without the physical punishment it was starting to hurt. Were they just going to keep edging her like this indefinitely?
They were going to keep tormenting her whether she answered truthfully or not, and she held back tears as he started again, kissing her sore labia before sliding his tongue inside. His attentions still coaxed little sounds from her, but instead of helping her get off he was only making her heat worse, giving her just enough to make her quiver in anticipation while withholding anything more. Slowly but surely, the constant arousal was wearing her down.
Her body was just as pent up and ready to go as it had been all day but her mind was exhausted: the caress of his tongue occupied her every waking moment, ruthlessly ensuring that she was just desperate enough to be pliable, teasing her until she was just about boiling over and then letting her stew in it before starting all over again. What few coherent thoughts remained in her head were swamped in the pleasure rolling through her as Prince toyed with her clit, pushing her inexorably towards another orgasm she’d never reach. Her body reacted on its own, sweat dripping from her matted coat as she panted, but she knew it was all pointless. This was torture in itself, an inescapable pit of mind-numbing arousal that he was pushing her down into by the minute.
Her back arched as he continued licking, his lips pressing against her clit and his stubble tickling her thighs, and a sense of dread washed over her as she neared a peak she knew he wouldn’t let her reach. Something in her snapped, and she grit her teeth and fought the restraints in a wild-eyed, desperate battle to prevent the inevitable. The questions weren’t important anymore, her dignity and safety were mere afterthoughts: her heat would drive her mad if she didn’t get off now. She pulled against the cuffs until they dug into her fur, strained her hips as far as they would go, ground herself against the muzzle in her pussy like it was the last thing she’d ever do. But again he pulled away, she winked in search of stimulation that he wouldn’t give, and what should have been a gush of marecum became a pathetic trickle down her leg.
Her throat was tight and her face burned with humiliation as the high she’d been brought to petered out. And then he was back at it again, his tongue exploring her depths and occasionally pausing to circle her engorged nub. Before long she was submerged again in euphoria, her physical and mental anguish already forgotten. If she could speak she would have begged him to let her come up for air, but her tongue didn’t work and even if it did she wasn’t sure she wanted him to stop.
Her eyes had glazed over, fixed at a point on the distant ceiling. Her ponytail had long since come undone and frazzled strands of it now hung about her face, but she paid them no heed. She tried to calm her mind, tried to think clearly, but it was no use. She was helpless under the assault, her thoughts drowned out by the ocean of pleasure and the deep, primal hunger in her belly.
Her heat filled her, consumed her, a raging inferno that was beyond her power to control much less put out. She needed Prince. Oh Celestia, she needed him. She needed him to ravage her, to rut her until she was screaming his name and fill her with his cum. He pulled back from her moist snatch and she whined, once again left abandoned; she fought against her restraints again, feeling how they held her firmly in position to be fucked. The struggle itself had become sweet, a reminder of how her body belonged to him as much as her mind.
Some part of that made her pause. When did she… no, she wouldn’t entertain that thought. The stallion standing behind her was the only version of Prince she’d ever get. He could give her the fantasy she wanted, could give her what she so desperately needed, she just had to be better for him. If she was a good girl and did what he wanted this time maybe, just maybe, he would have mercy and let her finish.
She felt his hooves upon her flanks, massaging her sore rump, and as they slid up her back to rest on her withers she whinnied with delight. He was mounting her, and that could only mean one thing. She felt his warm belly press against her croup, the first extended contact she’d had beyond his muzzle, and she reveled in the bristling of his coat against hers. Her wings fought against their bindings as she instinctively tried to assume the mating position. She gasped as his flare pressed up against her entrance, and then she held her breath: this was it. This was the moment she’d been waiting for, when he’d sink into her and fill her with his girth, when he’d sate her need and vindicate her lust by making hard, forceful love to her.
Except he didn’t. He pressed against her outer lips just enough to tease her, to stretch her labia apart just the tiniest bit, but no more. Again she rocked her hips in an attempt to push him inside, but his flare was too large and her range of movement too small. All it did was stimulate her more and make her desperation all the more unbearable.
Prince leaned forward, and his breath brushed against her ear. “I’m going to screw you,” he growled, his voice every bit as husky and commanding as the real thing. “I’m going to make sure you can’t walk straight for days. I’m going to ruin you. But not yet.”
She was sweating profusely and paralyzed with anticipation. The only response she could muster was an animalistic whine, a pitiful expression of her base need. Whatever he wanted she would give it to him in a heartbeat: this time she would prove herself worthy.
“First,” he said, “‘I want you to beg for it.”
“Please please please put it in, I need it, sweet Celestia I need it,” she stammered, the words tumbling from her mouth barely recognizable as her own. There was no holding back this time, only unbridled want and her unrestrained instinct to mate.
“What was the objective of your mission?”
It took her a second to recognize the voice, and when she did her eyes drifted to the green-eyed mare still sitting across the table. She tilted her head slightly, still trying to wrap her mind around the question. Mission. What was her mission, anyway? What did it matter? It was all so distant, her memories drowned out by the thick smell of sex in the air and the all-consuming desire to breed.
Prince nibbled at her ear. “Gale, just give the mare what she wants.”
A single word rolled about in her mind, though it’s meaning was lost on her. “C-codebooks.”
The green-eyed mare smiled. “Now there’s a good pony.”
If Gale had any last-minute doubts, they were scattered the moment she was penetrated. Prince's cock was far bigger than what she was used to taking and the moment it pushed into her she let out a hoarse cry, the sudden sensation almost too much to bear. She shuddered as it pushed deeper, the medial ring slipping in with a wet squelch and stretching her canal until she thought she couldn’t take any more. Her legs felt weak, and her pussy convulsed around him as it tried and failed to adapt to being utterly filled. She could feel every inch of him pressed against her insides, and as he pulled back the sensation of his flare grinding against her g-spot made her throw her head back in a silent scream of ecstasy. It was so much more than she’d imagined, the tremendous friction making her eyes roll back as she tried to process it. She didn't even notice the pain in her legs anymore, couldn't even remember where she was. All that was important was that she was being fucked, rutted, bred.
The heat from his barrel on top of her was almost smothering, and she squirmed a little more just to feel his weight pinning her down. The punishment for her insolence was swift and fierce, and she squealed as she was stuffed again. The lewd smacks of his rutting filled the room as he slammed into her over and over. This was not quite the gentle lovemaking of her fantasies: she was being used like a toy, her supple body serving only to quench his lust.
It couldn’t have been more perfect. She was his little mareslut, and he reminded her of that with every thrust of his rock-hard girth. It stretched her walls and ground against her clit, scratching an itch that had been building up for hours. His hips slapped loudly against her rear, and she gasped as it sent shocks through her tortured flanks. This was her place, captured and degraded and subject to his whims, the willing object of his affections. She didn't have to try to seduce him anymore, didn't have to guess whether he was interested; his enthusiasm was everything she'd needed and more. Another climax was rapidly building within her, driven on by the aggressive force of his rutting, and she collapsed against the table as it broke over her.
It hit all at once like an avalanche, hours of built up stress released in one massive cascade. The blood thundering in her ears drowned out the sound of her own screaming, and for a moment she forgot all about the pain in her rear. It was everything she’d sought and more, an endless torrent of ecstatic bliss punctuated only by his continued thrusting into her squeezing depths and the sound of her own incoherent cries. He dragged out her peak, the extra stimulation pushing her further and further until she felt she would snap, but finally it relaxed enough for her to breathe while the aftershocks ripped through her.
But Prince wasn’t finished. He kept rutting harder and faster, still seeking his own relief with enough force that her bonds were the only thing keeping her in place. She took it without complaint, even as he bit her mane and tugged at it in his passion; it simply meant he wanted her, that she was fulfilling her purpose to him. He laid on her back and hugged her barrel with his forehooves and she purred, ever eager to have more of her stallion against her. He rode her even harder as he neared his climax, enough that if she weren’t secured in place she would have been pushed to the ground, then he rammed his twitching member deep into her and she moaned in happiness as he came. She was filled with a warmth that spread out within her, and a mix of sticky fluids escaped her folds to trickle down her haunches. She knew that might be a problem, but it barely registered in her dazed mind. A changeling wouldn’t be able to knock her up anyway, even if he looked like a stallion, and smelled like a stallion, and…
It was probably best if she didn’t think too hard about it. She was good enough for him to finish inside, and even if she'd known he would she wouldn't have tried to stop him. As the stallion slumped down on her back she rested her head on the table and found it was wet. Had she been drooling? It didn’t matter. With her heat sated for the moment thoughts were starting to return to her, but she tried to push them from her mind anyway. The fluids dripping out of her and the shackles digging into her cannons and the uncomfortable strain from the spreader bar were distractions - she would rather enjoy her afterglow as Prince’s cumslut than think about how much her body hurt or what she had done or what was going to happen to her.
The good news was she wouldn’t have to think about any of it for long. That was the thing about estrus: she could reach completion again and again, but the hormones would remain until her heat passed naturally or she had a foal in her. She’d planned to take her suppressants before it became too much, but now… now she didn’t want to. Soon her heat would be back, as inevitable and unstoppable as the tides, and all her pain and worries would be washed away with it.
She heard the mare across the table get up, and through her haze she felt a hoof petting her mane. She leaned into it, thankful for the almost loving touch.
“You’ve been quite the helpful pony, Gale,” the mare said sweetly. “I think you’ve more than earned your reward. You can stay here for a while with this nice fellow, and I’ll get everything sorted out in the meantime. Won’t that be nice?”
The air was getting cold again, and Gale couldn’t feel her legs. She rocked weakly against the stallion still embedded in her in an attempt to generate some heat, seeking out the friction like a drunkard seeking more booze. The mare kept petting her, apparently waiting for a response.
Gale already knew how she would answer.
