Under the Rule of Yaks

by Kiernan

Rating: mature
Tags: Yaks, Tragedy, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Narcotics, Sweetie Belle, Porn, Apple Bloom, Fetish, Cutie Mark Crusaders, Non-consensual, Scootaloo, Sex
Length: 22637

The soldiers of Yakyakistan have conquered Equestria. In the town of Ponyville, we see the spoils of their conquest carried out in grand fashion.

Life in Equestria no longer shimmers, nor does it shine. And the citizens know for absolute certain that everything is far from fine.

The yaks have taken over the town of Ponyville, as well as several other places with the aid of their allies. Equestria is under new management, and its citizens are made to serve their new masters.

Ponyville is in a particularly sad state, with all manner of sordid acts being performed for the entertainment of the new overseers of the place. In this story, we follow the Cutie Mark Crusaders as they grow accustomed to their new lives under the command of their yak master, doing as he commands.

Warning: Contains beastiality, foalcon, wrestling, mild chastity, large insertions, mild foodplay, mild inflation, communal toilets, tongue bathing, unclogging a toilet, a pie-eating contest, and lots and lots of watersports and scat.

Requested by clopandcircumstance and a user who asked to remain anonymous.

Published 2024-07-12 20:20:00 UTC
Last updated 2025-02-04 19:43:27 UTC

Chapter the First: The Founding of Yakville

Apple Bloom scooted the shovel forward, filling it with excrement, which she then lifted to dump in the bucket. “Ah wanna know why they don’t just keep the buckets underneath the holes in the first place. It’d be a lot easier ta clean it up if the yaks would just shit in the bucket.”

“Because if they didn’t, we’d be doing something else?” suggested Scootaloo, replacing the now-full bucket with an empty one. “I mean, it’s a crap job, sure, but I’d rather be cleaning out down here than in the stockades, or worse, pinned down as a private toilet.”

“Yeah,” agreed Sweetie Belle, letting her own shovel come to a stop. “We all wish we could be entertainers or cooks or outfit designers, but sanitation engineer isn’t the worst job.”

“Ah’m not sayin’ it is,” growled Apple Bloom. “Ah just think that it would be a lot easier if we just put the buckets under the entrances. That way, we could all just be doin’ Scootaloo’s job, which is a lot easier.”

“Well, let’s think about this logistically,” calmed Sweetie. “If we were to do as you’re suggesting, it would be a lot easier. However, we’d probably need more buckets. They’d fill up pretty fast, too. You’d probably need a drum, or something.”

“Yeah, but you’d have to use one of those big bass drums,” waved Scootaloo. “You know, the ones that have the band’s logo printed on the front? Or maybe a timpani. Something big, you know?”

“Not that kind of drum.”

“What, you think a snare drum’s going to solve the problem? You’d have to empty it out six times a day! And we’d probably still have to deal with all of the overflow.”

“I meant one of those fifty-gallon drums that are used to ship large volumes of liquid!”

“Both a’ y’all, simmer down! Ye’r missin’ tha point.” Apple Bloom took a deep breath, then scrunched up her nose when she remembered where she was. “We’re just fillies, right?”

Her friends nodded in unison, and Sweetie Belle even posited an “Uh-huh.”

“Do y’all remember a month ago, when that meant that we didn’t hafta work as hard?”

“That was a long time ago, Apple Bloom,” sighed Scootaloo. “We were different ponies back then.”

A loud splat drew all of their attention as a fresh patty of yak shit slapped onto the floor right where Apple Bloom had finished cleaning up.

“Oh, come on!” she groaned. “Ah just cleaned that spot three times!”

Sweetie Belle sighed, scooping up the fresh patty with her shovel. “It was just a few months ago,” she admits. “I remember what it was like…”

There was unrest in Ponyville. There was talk that Twilight had abandoned the town, and while it was true that she wasn’t here, her closest friends and fellow bearers of the elements had been trying to calm their tempers. Every one except Spike, that is. When news of the invading yaks had reached him, he had left to go “talk” with their leader. But everyone knew what that was code for. He was deserting them, to make sure he was on the winning side.

Applejack was the only one to not discredit the rumours. That, in particular, had convinced everypony that Spike had left them to their fate. She was routinely quoted as saying, “If’n y’all have time ta be flappin’ yer jaws, then y’all have time ta shore up these here defenses. Pull yer hooves outta yer keisters and grab that there sand bag.” Apple Bloom couldn’t even ask her at home, because she was always either busy or sleeping.

The first place they heard about was Fillydelphia. It had fallen in three days. Then Trottingham in two, and when the yaks reached Whinnyapolis, they took it down in a day. Everything seemed to point to them coming from the north. So that’s where the wall was built. Some citizens fled south, hoping to escape, but Rainbow Dash called the rest of them together.

“Ponyville is our home!” she had said. “So many of you were born here! A good number of you have lived here all your lives! This is where I’ve lived for years! Sure, I wasn’t born here, but I live here, now! My loved ones live here! I’m not just going to abandon them! I’m not going to abandon you! Are you going to abandon me?”

It wasn’t a long speech, but it didn’t have to be. It convinced the majority of the citizens to stay and fight for their homes. It was instrumental in drumming up the defense of the town and managed to double the militia, as untrained as they were.

But when the yaks invaded, it didn’t do anything.

While everypony in Ponyville was shoring up defenses on the north side of town, as that’s where the yaks were coming from, and indeed, that’s where the yaks had set up their invasion camp, the attack was from the south.

As it turns out, the yaks were not alone. An army of dragons had joined them, and while the yaks had acted as a distraction, Ponyville succumbed to the invasion of the dragons.

The town didn’t go down without a fight, however. Both Rainbow Dash and Applejack fought bravely, taking down two dragons and one yak for every pony they saw go down. But with the dragons and yaks outnumbering them, and with most of Ponyville’s defenses being a collection of agricultural enthusiasts and artisans, the town was soon overwhelmed against the onslaught of well-armed, well-trained mercenaries. Pitchforks and rakes were no match for swords, spears and axes.

In a single day and night of misfortune, Ponyville was lost. Its citizens were rounded up and bound, and the dragons had their first pick. Twelve out of every hundred citizens were selected to pay for the dragons’ onslaught. Seven total were selected by traitors to act as their personal slaves; two for Spoiled Rich for shutting down the alarms, two more for distracting the guards, and three went to Trixie for smuggling in a dozen yaks in her trojan wagon. Diamond Tiara was also singled out by her mother to not be her slave, but to be in the care of Duke Grot, the yak who would be in charge of the town in the days to come. She would be treated well.

Everypony that wasn’t selected for service would either be sold off, or they would belong to the town itself, which would put them under the duke’s command, or one of the various enforcers under him. Everyone was pushed into performing tasks for the yaks.

The first order to come down from the duke was the construction of a large arena, right where the town square used to be. It was the consensus of the townsfolk that this would be a long and arduous process, but it just took a few short weeks. Since the entire town was involved in the construction under penalty of whipping, everypony helped, and it was done quickly. Then came the reconstruction of certain buildings. Aloe and Lotus were gone, given to the dragons, so their spa was remodeled into a public bathhouse where ponies were made to clean their masters. Davenport was now acting as a walking seat for Spoiled Rich to ride around on, so Quills and Sofas was looted and refitted to be the public toilets that the three of them were now cleaning up. Sugarcube Corner and Carousel Boutique were still run by Pinkie and Rarity, respectively, as the Cakes had fled to protect their twins, but Sugarcube Corner was now a brothel, and Carousel Boutique was now a slave training facility and pleasure dungeon. Rarity still made outfits from time to time, but rather than dresses, they were mostly for either bondage or humiliation.

Ponyville barely resembled what it had looked like a season prior. It had been a beautiful, idyllic village filled with happy ponies going about their lives with smiles on their faces. Now it was a dirty, seedy forced-entertainment complex. The citizens, now slaves, were little more than toys, there to keep the yaks happy. Nopony had genuinely smiled since the sign welcoming everypony came down, removing the name of Ponyville, and replacing it with “Yakville.”

Scootaloo shook her head. “I don’t like to think about it,” she sighed. “It just puts me in a bad mood.”

“It’s nice to remember that our lives were once going somewhere,” offered Sweetie Belle. “That has to count for something, right?”

“It’s just a reminder that we’re not going anywhere, now,” growled Scootaloo. “I was going to shadow Rainbow Dash. I wanted to be just like her; the awesomest, coolest, most amazing pony there ever was. And now I’m stuck down here, cleaning up yak shit because we’re the only ones who can fit down the steps!” Out of frustration, she kicked the bucket, spilling its contents back over the bottom of the chamber.

“Hey!” shouted Apple Bloom. “Don’t take out yer frustration on us!”

Scootaloo put her hooves up in the air. “You’re right, you’re right… I’m sorry.” She tilted the can back up and grabbed Apple Bloom’s shovel. “Like I said, I don’t like thinking about it. It just makes me angry.”

“Ah can see that…”

Scootaloo sighed and started scooping up the shit. “I know, it’s not your fault… You both had dreams before this, too. Dreams that your sisters were willing to help with.”

It was Apple Bloom’s turn to be upset. “Ah don’t even know if Ah have a sister anymore. What if she’s…“ She sniffled. “What if Applejack’s… dead?”

Sweetie Belle reached over and put a hoof on Apple Bloom’s shoulder. “If she is, she’s not being forced to do the same stuff we are.”

“She’s probably even being rewarded by whoever’s in charge of whatever afterlife she went to for being such a good pony when she was alive,” added Scootaloo.

Apple Bloom shook her head, grimacing at the thought. “A don’t wanna think about this anymore!”

“You brought it up,” Scootaloo shrugged, filling the bucket. “For all we know, she’s still alive and being forced to suffer a fate far worse than our own. I doubt she’d do this kind of thing willingly, so she’s probably tied down with her jaw held open.”

“Oh, fuck off!” snapped Apple Bloom. “Ah don’t wanna hear another word about mah sister, unless y’all decide ya wanna be nice about it!”

The other two sighed. They knew Apple Bloom was looking for some kind of relief. In truth, they all wanted something better.

“Well, Applejack is probably still fighting back. That’s more than I can say for Rarity. All she does anymore is shout and scream when I see her, and she’s forcing other Yakville citizens to do these horrible, awful things. This very morning, I saw her step on the back of Roseluck’s head, pushing her face down into a dog bowl full of yak shit. Watching Rose struggle like that, flailing in her restraints, screaming for air, seeing the tears stream down her face as Rarity spanked her and demanded that she swallow it all and thank her mistress for the privilege?” She shivered. “Be glad that Applejack would never consider anything close to that.”

A chill went down all of their spines as they pictured it.

“Ah’m sorry, Sweetie Belle,” sighed Apple Bloom. “Ah know it ain’t easy. It weren’t mah intention ta bring it up to ya.”

“I think we all just needed a way to vent,” breathed Scootaloo. “I don’t think it worked. I don’t feel any better.”

“Maybe that’s because venting is meant to be a relaxation technique, and we’re having trouble relaxing because we’re working?” offered Sweetie.

“We’ve been able to relax at work before,” argued Apple Bloom.

“Yeah,” noted Scootaloo. “What was it that propelled us through finding a date for Cheerilee and trying to avoid Babs and working on our cheer routine for the Equestria Games?”

“I believe we sang our way through that,” noted Sweetie. “But also, I think that’s because those were things we actually wanted to do…”

“So ya don’t think singing would help now?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Only one way to find out,” shrugged Scootaloo.

There was silence for a moment, then all eyes went to Sweetie Belle.

“What are you staring at me for?”

“Y’all are usually the first one to start singin’,” Apple Bloom snorted. “We typically just follow in kind.”

“Plus, it was your idea,” added Scootaloo.

Sweetie Belle nodded. “Oh, alright…”

She raised her head up, took a deep breath, and belted out the first few notes. “When you’re down and out, and the wo–”

She fell silent as a great glob of rancid brown yak shit slammed into her face, knocking her to the floor. Immediately, Apple Bloom rushed over to pick her up and wipe down her face.

“I think we should just shovel quicker,” Sweetie coughed. “No more singing until we’re under open skies…”

Chapter the Second: A Typical Day in Yakville

After they finish scraping the latrine for the morning, the crusaders wipe their faces as best they can with a dirty towel. Sweetie Belle, being the last to go, barely removes anything, as the towel is more soiled than she is at this point. But they all have tasks that need to be performed, and if they waited any longer, they’d be punished.

Sweetie Belle, for example, was off to dispose of the yak shit. The wagon was heavy, as it contained half the town’s sewage in it. It slopped and splashed and splattered all over as she pulled it down the dirt road.

There were yaks and ponies everywhere. Yakville’s streets had been busy before, and such was still true. But most of the ponies were wearing collars and holding their heads down. Some of the more unfortunate ones had their hooves tied to their shoulders, forced to crawl around on their elbows and knees. Others were blindfolded and gagged, and their yak masters delighted in watching them bump their faces on things. One particularly unlucky soul was being dragged around by his ankle. At least he was passed out.

Yakville survived on entertainment these days. What the yaks were doing was considered “playing,” and the ponies were their “toys.” Just like a doll left on the floor was subject to losing an arm, the ponies walking around were subject to break from time to time.

Physical injuries were sometimes ignored, but if they were bad enough, there was a clinic. It was about a third the size of the hospital, and that was no accident. A lot of the bed restraints for upstart patients were involved in holding down upstart ponies, and the surgical suites were being used for… Something. Sweetie didn’t know what was going on in there, but ponies that went in didn’t look or act the same when they came out. If they even did come out. Oddly, there were ponies that came out that didn’t even go in. She would think an underground passage, but why would the yaks be smuggling ponies out and in, when they did so aboveground with no repercussions?

She shook the thought from her head as she turned down Carnival Road. In the days before, it had been known as Lingonberry Lane, a fun little thoroughfare most days, but on Saturdays, hosted the fresh market, where one could exchange the fruits of their gardens. But since Yakville was no longer an agricultural junction, now being an entertainment center, the stalls were all shows and games. Not for the ponies, but for the yaks and their guests.

Skippidy-Doo, for example, was tied to a wheel. The tomatoes his wife had grown in their backyard were sitting in a bucket on the table, and the aim of the game was to make them splat on him. If it hit the wheel, it was counted as a miss. It had to connect with flesh, and if he yelped, it was double points.Judging by the tomato seeds dripping from his sheath, he’d already awarded double points by being nailed in the crotch.

Next to him was another pony on a wheel, but whether her scenario was better or worse depended entirely on who answered. Golden Thrush was situated next to a bucket of sex toys of all varieties, and the aim of her game was to force her to cum in thirty seconds. It was quite common for the yaks to buy ten games and make it last five minutes. She did have some whip marks on her today, as she was hinted to love being spanked, but it’s possible that this was something made up by her owner, and she was supposed to pretend to like it or suffer a worse fate.

Most notable, however, was a pony who had already been an entertainer. Vinyl Scratch to her friends, DJ Pon-3 to her fans, and a sideshow to the yaks, her once white coat was nigh unrecognisable. Her electric blue mane was now a sloppy green, with clumps of algae and mold growing in it. She hadn’t been home to shower in quite some time, of course. She was trapped in a terrarium, a glass-walled cage on the back of a wagon.

She wasn’t just stuck in there on her own, though. While she was alone, there was a small activity associated with her. For a small fee, her owner would dump a scoop of feces on her. It had started off as a game, where the intent was to hit her and sully her coat, she was no longer running from the shots. In fact, she was eating them.

In the beginning, they had been feeding her the same as everypony else. When she was doing too good of a job avoiding splatters of yak shit, she was withheld from her food to slow her down. Then she started eating the mushrooms that started growing on the walls. When her owner went to beat her, she barely reacted, and dumping her back in the pit had her licking up feces to take in more mushrooms.

Before long, she was an oddity; a mare who loved to be covered in shit and eat it, too. She was unable to form complete sentences, incapable of cleaning herself, incapable of having any say in what happened to her. To the yaks, this was the ideal pony: one who knew her place and was content with it. To the ponies, she was a problem. She had demonstrated that ponies could subsist on yak shit and psychotropic fungus.

“Delivery,” Sweetie Belle said, pulling the cart next to Vinyl’s terrarium.

A large yak looked up from his lunch and chuckled to himself. “Baby pony covered in shit…”

Sweetie detested being called a baby, but she knew better than to argue. She was covered in shit, and that was funny to him. “I’ve come to deliver your supplies,” she stated again.

“Does widdle baby like being covered in shit?” he teased.

There was no good answer. If she said yes, he’d oblige and dunk her head in a bucket. If she said no, he’d do the same, just because he knew it would bother her. There was only one answer. “I’ve brought your supplies for your sideshow, sir.”

“That’s right,” he snorted. “I am sir. You treat me with respect. Bring cart over here, pony bitch.”

Sweetie nodded and pulled the cart over to where he’d said to drop it off. When it was parked, she unhooked herself and started to walk back to her place of residence; where her yak master was keeping her. However, she didn’t make it more than a few metres before the yak running the stall yanked her tail.

“Contraband check!” he shouted, before grabbing her knees and pulling them apart. This was a common enough occurrence that she knew that she was supposed to lift her tail so that he could see inside of her holes.

In all of her experience, not a single pony had ever tried to sneak something away by hiding it up her butt or concealed inside of her kitty, but that didn’t stop the yaks from doing this. She had heard from Apple Bloom that there was this one pony who had, and her punishment was that the yaks shoved a dozen more in there and taped up the hole so that she had to walk around like that for a week.

“You’re clean,” he said, spreading her labia and spitting into it before dropping her. “Tell your master that I lubed you up.” With a hard smack to her flank, she was free to go back home, a task that she was quick to take up, lest she be saddled with more work.

Apple Bloom had her own task to complete; that of verifying the information in the ledgers. While Yakville was now a place of entertainment and leisure activities, it still needed to eat, and more importantly, it needed to feed the yaks. That meant that there had to be food produced here, or at least prepared. And since all stallions and mares of adult age were being used as either entertainers or sex objects, what better source of food was there than the otherwise-useless elderly of Yakville?

Any other slaver party would have slaughtered them. Any other group that took slaves would remove the elderly and the permanently infirm. Wounds heal. Foals grow up. But the elderly were never going to do hard labour for their communities again.

This thought gave Apple Bloom a very small amount of gratitude. The yaks had not just killed off Granny Smith for not being useful. In fact, they had made her useful. Every resident of the Shady Oaks Retirement Home, as well. Any jobs that weren’t requiring heavy thought or a strong back were foisted upon them.

Granny Smith was actually organising the whole thing, plus operating the bakery. She was usually pretty cranky these days, having to be up on her hooves for most of the day and not being allowed to nap, but she made sure everything kept moving along.

In more ways than one, actually. There wasn’t exactly a strong resistance effort in Yakville, as anypony that did try to rise up was usually made into an example for everypony else. But Granny had been around the block before, and knew a thing or two about how to make old ponies do their jobs.

She also knew how to stage an “accident.” She’d raised Applejack to be honest, even to a fault, but Granny Smith was not beholden to the same terms. Granny had always had the capacity to lie, but why bother? Life was better if you were honest in Ponyville. But not in Yakville.

“Granny Smith!” shouted Apple Bloom as she walked into the kitchen, loud enough that the yak guard could hear. “Yesterday, enough stock was used to make one thousand, two hundred and eighty-four meals. And yet, only one thousand, two hundred and eighty-two meals came out of this kitchen. Would you care to explain yourself?”

“Well, some a’ them there meals done fell on the floor,” Granny winked, subtly scratching her nose.

Bartlett, her assistant, caught sight of this and dropped the pan he was washing, drawing the attention of the guard. “Consarn it!” he swore. “Don’t you catch no arthritis, there, little Apple Bloom.”

“Ah won’t,” she promised, tucking away the wrapped-up cloth that Granny Smith had smuggled to her in the confusion.

“Now, Ah know that ponies are allowed to eat meals offa the floor if’n their master allows it, but Ah’m not sure who was gonna be given those two. I’d forget ah mane, if it weren’t attached.”

“So those went to compost?”

“You betcha.”

“Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

As Apple Bloom was walking out the door, she bumped into Mr. Waddle, another elderly pony. He was wearing the wrong glasses, indicating another sneaky trick of Granny Smith’s design. “Oh, excuse me, Sweetie Belle,” he mentioned. “I didn’t see you there.”

“That’s Apple Bloom,” corrected Granny.

“Oops. I guess I mixed them up again…”

It was easy to convince the yaks that somepony in glasses had bad eyesight. He’d be smacked around a bit for his “mistake,” but not too terribly hard, as even the yaks were smart enough to know that hitting him too hard would break something, and he’d be even more useless in their eyes. But as a courier, he was allowed to openly carry contraband and deliver it where it was supposed to go, whether by order of the yaks, or one of Granny’s “special orders.”

Apple Bloom ran back to her bunk and stowed the package in the usual place. The tags for her mattress were not stitched together properly, and she could hide small things between the seams.

Before the package could go in, however, she took a small, discrete peek at its contents. Pulling back a small corner of the cloth, she spotted some croissant dough, and smelled some apples. Turnovers. She’d split these with Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle tonight. Perhaps it would improve their moods a bit.

Scootaloo needed a morale boost right about now. Having been told by her owner that she was inferior was bad enough when it had happened, but now she was being sent to school again. One of the best things about the deconstruction of Ponyville and its subsequent regrowth was that she originally didn’t have to go to school.

Okay, school wasn’t that bad before. In Ponyville, it had given her time to be with her friends, she learned things, and Cheerilee was nice most of the time. Not when she was misbehaving, of course, but Scootaloo was often well-behaved.

It was just Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon that she didn’t like. And she still had to deal with Silver Spoon in class. Granted, she wasn’t as bad as Diamond Tiara, and had even improved a little bit, but she was still a bit of a snob.

The big problem now was that she hated the subjects being taught, and she hated that she had to suppress her resentment of Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle that was building every time she would look around the room for help and not find them sitting nearby. Shovelling shit was awful as a job, but her friends were there. Practicing shovelling shit in a classroom setting and not having anypony to confide in and rely on was worse.

She walked in and took her seat, nodding at Cheerilee as she passed. “Afternoon.”

“Smells like you’ve already been to work and back,” sighed Cheerilee. “Good luck today.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

Cheerilee knew why Scootaloo was failing her class. Every day, Scootaloo had to do what she was being trained for twice over. It didn’t make sense to expend the energy to do well on the test and pass, only to be too tired to finish working a few hours later. She’d have to start over at the beginning of the lesson plan. It was a smart thing to just relax on the training test until she had the capacity to do it three times between breaks.

Slowly, the class started filling up. There were kids here, mostly younger than Scootaloo, a few adults that had been brought back in for not doing a good enough job, one teenage pony that had been gagged with his hooves bound behind his back, and while he had graduated twice, he was still being brought into class.

As soon as the last student came in, Cheerilee cleared her throat. “Okay, we’re a few minutes early, but since everyone’s here, what say we begin, hm?”

Scootaloo nodded. The sooner they began, the sooner she could leave. A few other students agreed, but others shook their heads. Honestly, Scootaloo couldn’t really blame them, as this was the closest they would come to a break, as they would be at their master’s beck and call as soon as they left, and that may bring no reprieve.

“Seems like a pretty mixed bag, but I counted eleven affirmatives and only ten negatives, so let’s begin.”

Scootaloo tried to pay attention. She really did. But the lesson was boring, and even more than that, it was something she already knew. She could teach it herself, if she was made to do that instead of just performing it. But because she was so well-versed, she was ready with the answers when Cheerilee started calling out questions.

“Scootaloo. How would you go about doing that?”

Scootaloo stood up. “Your standard bucket needs to be replaced every eight scoops. At six, the contents will be up to the third rib, and that’s your cue to grab a new bucket to replace it. If you do it right, you will put the bucket down as the last shovelful goes into the old bucket, and you can carry that back with you.”

“That’s right.”

Scootaloo sat back down. The clerical section was a breeze. She could answer any question, and easily so. It was actually performing the task that was the problem.

“Why is that? Scootaloo?”

“Because we have shown that we are delicate, like flowers. To become stronger, more powerful workers for our brilliant yak masters, we must be nourished by their manure.”

“That’s correct.”

The first half hour went by oh so slowly. Scootaloo did have to answer a few more questions, as some of the other students were new, and others weren’t as well-versed in the subject as she was. But Cheerilee knew that she could always call on Scootaloo to make sure the question was answered.

Then it was time for the practical exam. Broken into teams of three, Scootaloo was glad to not be eligible for testing today, as she was assigned the role of yak. That is, six teams would be assigned to clean up the messes, while Scootaloo, the youngest filly in the room and the bound teen all sloughed buckets of it all over the floor.

Rather, she was glad at first. Dumping the buckets out was pleasing, in a way. It helped relieve some amount of the stress of her life. It was even easy. But then she remembered how boring it was. Sitting there for minutes on end, waiting for the other students to clean up enough yak shit to allow her to dump another bucket was almost as boring as listening to Cheerilee talk about cleaning up yak shit. At least shovelling it had her up and moving around. That was something, at least…

Before she knew it, though, the room was clean, and everypony received full marks. “Good work today, class,” smiled Cheerilee as they all prepared to leave. “Don’t forget to tell your owners that tomorrow is your oral exam. If you don’t bring them here, you’re going to have to use one of our volunteers.”

A chill ran down Scootaloo’s spine. Both she and Cheerilee knew that Scootaloo’s owner was going to be busy. She was going to need a volunteer, and that was the first yak that they could pull off the street, and that was always going to result in a bad time.

Regardless, That’s what was going to happen, and they knew it. Such was the way things worked in Yakville.

Chapter the Third: The Girl from the Farm

“Ow, ow!” grunted Apple Bloom, being dragged by her mane. “Ah told ya, it wasn’t me!”

“Don’t care,” grunted her master in turn. She’d been told his name once, but having never actually used it, she couldn’t remember what it was. She was just to call him “Master,” and that was it. If she became separated from him, she was tagged, and any other yak would know where she belonged. After having their way with her, of course…

She’d been sold out. By whom, she didn’t know, but she could be sure it wasn’t Sweetie Belle or Scootaloo. Three other slaves shared that room, having come from out of town. They were outsiders. They just showed up one day, their names missing and replaced by their new owner. Bed Toy spent the most time alone with him, and Fat Arse may have said it to be able to steal their food, but if Apple Bloom had to guess who told their master that she’d been hiding rations, it was probably Ugly.

She was pulled into the colosseum’s lower levels, where slaves were made to go when it was time for them to perform. Apple Bloom had only been down here once, and that was to deliver paperwork. It was a small office with a desk. The room she was dragged into this time was a large one.

“Bind her,” commanded her master, to no one in particular.

It was Thunderlane who came over to tie her up. “What’d you do?” he whispered in her ear.

“Allegedly stole food,” she whispered back.

“Where is organiser?”

Thunderlane pointed to a small office, where the yak then went.

“”Allegedly” stole food?” asked Thunderlane. “How’d you end up in that mess?”

“Ah was sold out,” answered Apple Bloom. “One of the others musta’ said somethin’.”

“Blaming others for your mistake?”

“Only mistake Ah made was bein’ caught. That apple turnover was a gift to me an’ two others.”

“Ah, yes, your two friends. What were their names, again?”

“Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo.”

“I know what their names used to be. I forgot what they are now.”

Apple Bloom snorted. “Deep Breath and Cocksocket.”

“Cocksocket; that’s the one. How is she?”

Apple Bloom didn’t answer.

“You know, Rainbow Butt was asking about her.”

“Ah have no idea who that is,” she lied.

“Fine. I’ll just tell her that her little orange friend choked on a turd and died.”

“Oh, go fuck yerself.”

“Oh, that doesn’t sound like a lot of fun.”

Apple Bloom said nothing else. It was nice of him to be gentle with the rope, but now he was just trying to piss her off, and it was working.

“You stole a whole bag of them?!” he suddenly blurted out. Apple Bloom looked up, and noted that the event organiser, along with her master, were now within earshot, and they were looking right at her after Thunderlane’s outburst.

“You can suck a dick,” she muttered under her breath.

“Oh, but not today,” he snorted, still wearing his shocked face. “I just bought myself a day off. Because guess who’s going on in my place?”

“I have place for little thief today,” declared the organiser. “Slot just open up. Black Beans, you’re done for today.”

“The show must go on," nudged Thunderlane as he stood up and walked off. “Give my best to Deep Breath.”

Apple Bloom lowered her head. Thunderlane wasn’t evil. He’d very much been in defense of Ponyville when the yaks attacked. But he was still an arsehole. He was cunning, conniving, and worst of all, lazy. If he could find a way to not put forth the effort, that was his prime directive. He hadn’t done what he did to cause her more suffering, he’d done it to go home early.

He had done her two favours, though. The first was tying her up gently, though anypony could have done that. Even if somepony had tied her up tight, she’d understand. More than that, though, he’d moved her up. It was certainly true that she didn’t want to face her punishment, as she barely deserved it and definitely didn’t deserve the new, harsher punishment, but at least she was doing it today. She’d be back in her own bed tonight, rather than having to sleep here.

She was left tied up on the bench for a good half hour before being grabbed and dragged out to the field. Hundreds of yaks lined the stands, and even several ponies, most of which were bound to a yak and acting as chairs, tables, hoofstools… Whatever their owner or client desired.

“Cows and gentlebulls,” called the announcer as Apple Bloom was pulled out to the center of the arena. “I have just been informed of an alteration to the schedule. Those of you who came to see Black Beans wrestle a minotaur, that show has been postponed until tomorrow. If you go to the box office right away, you may exchange your pass for tomorrow’s showing. Alternatively, if you’d prefer to remain seated, we do have a replacement show for you.”

Apple Bloom shivered as she watched several yaks stand up and leave. A few gryphons, too, and even a zebra. She was a strong filly. A very strong filly. Unlike most, she wasn’t afraid of hard work, and even if she wasn’t the strongest, she was certainly a contender, given her age and gender. Still, despite her significantly greater-than-average strength, she could not take on a minotaur. Especially one that was meant to give Thunderlane a hard time.

“It seems that Stinky was accused of stealing food from her owner,” continued the announcer. “Normally, this would be a private issue, and would be solved in-house. However, today, her master has requested that she be publicly humiliated, that she may learn her place in the hierarchy that governs her life.”

Fat chance, thought Apple Bloom, doing everything she could to steel herself. That’s what Applejack would do, or so she thought. She’d face her punishment and come out the other side, unbroken and stronger. Applejack could do it, and Apple Bloom was more than willing to put on full display the robust durability of the Apple Family.

All of her confidence went out the window as she was pinned to a small platform in the middle of the arena. Her front legs, still bound, were left behind her back, but tightened down against the platform. Her back hooves were fitted into stirrups and bound to an A-frame.

The organiser that had walked her out here fitted a gag with a metal ring into her mouth. It was still wet from the last pony to wear it. “They’re here to hear you cry, not talk,” he snorted, tying her tail to the back of the gag to keep her facing forward and her hind end on full display.

“I have been told not to tell you what the punishment is, as it’s meant to be a surprise, but you’re all going to know before our guest, here. Please find your seats if you’re staying, as the fun is just about to begin!”

Apple Bloom took a deep breath as she felt something wet sponging against her flank. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it smelled awful. No matter. She would endure. She had to. For Applejack.

The crowd was mostly silent. She could pick out a few voices, all of whom she didn’t want to see her like this. There was a soft din amongst the crowd, but nothing big.

Then there was an uproar. Whistling, cheering, applause and laughter rang out through the crowd. Whatever was going to happen, it was going to happen soon, and it was going to hurt. Maybe not physically, but the crowd wouldn’t be laughing if her sense of self wasn’t at stake.

She squeezed her eyes shut as she let out a loud whine. She didn’t intend to, but with her mouth held open, she couldn’t help herself. She wondered what was going to happen. A whipping? Being drawn on? Having a bucket of excrement dumped on her and smeared around? Not knowing what had the crown so raucous was hell.

Then she felt it: a cold, wet, flat thing on her thigh. It was bristly and coarse, and it scratched her as it moved around. Not a hard scratch, like the claws of some wild beast. No, this was more like a scrub brush with hard bristles, or a low-grit sandpaper.

Air rushed across her skin, first toward the brush, then out, then back in again. What kind of brush had an air pump?

Then it pulled away with a few guttural grunts, followed by a high-pitched squealing. A squeal that was all too familiar to her. That was a hog behind her, and the bristles were the hairs on his chinny-chin-chin.

This was the moment where she knew what her punishment was to be. She was stuck in a breeding position, made to lift her tail, and there was a pig behind her. She was going to be his sow, whether she liked it or not.

The feet of a pig were not like the hooves of a pony. While Pony hooves were but a single toe, pigs had four toes. The two in the front curved inward, and when they pinched, it hurt. But behind those were two more, shorter, but equally sharp, toes. They were almost like claws, meant for digging through rocks and mud and roots. And Apple Bloom certainly felt that she was mud; at least, her name was mud.

Another pitiful cry escaped her lips as she felt the tip of his cock poke at the back of her thighs. She had to be brave, like Applejack would, but she wasn’t Applejack. She didn’t have the strength of character to keep steady as the pig pushed its way into her. While she had lost her virginity within the first week of being purchased, she knew she was too small for it. It hurt every time.

This was different, though. She had felt the touch of a yak, in hoof, tongue and cock, but the pig was a new shape entirely. He was able to penetrate deeper than her master, and he had a corkscrew design. He was screwing her, literally.

It was hard to focus on resisting. It was hard just to breathe. The hog riding her may not have been the heaviest, but he was still bigger than she was, and his pressing her diaphragm against the platform below her was limiting how much she could breathe. It was like somepony had wrapped a belt around her that was being pulled tight at every thrust.

The crowd cheered, laughed and whistled at her misfortune. Some even made oinking noises to berate her, or to cheer the pig on. And while she had cried out in agony, she could at least feel some small victory that no tears had run down her face. The worst of it was over, and she was able to weather the blow to her self-esteem.

Before long, the pig was done, and after cumming inside of her, left a plug. She could feel it; a swelling in her gut that wasn’t going away when she squeezed. It was sticky and stretchy, and would seal the pig semen inside of her until it dissolved and fell out or was absorbed into her body. She wasn’t sure which, but having grown up on a farm, she knew that sows were capable of birthing more than just a single litter. That plug would not last forever.

The pig, now dismounted, was likely being brought back in by its handler. At the very least, she wasn’t being crushed by his weight.

Except, it was brought around in front of her. At first, she was afraid that, as it jumped up on her shoulders, that she was going to have to lick it clean. However, this was proven to not be the case. Right as the tip of his penis was in her face, a torrent of yellow liquid shot out. First up her left nostril, then into her eye, before finally draining down onto her tongue.

Another roar from the crowd drew her attention as the pig was actually being returned to its pen. “Cows and gentlebulls, it looks like the show’s not over yet!” called the announcer. “While that swine certainly cast a fair few pearls before itself, our next guest is sure to teach Stinky the consequences of being ba-a-a-ad!”

With such a terrible pun, Apple Bloom could only assume that there was a ram en route to her. He wasn’t subtle about it in the slightest, and the crowds laughing at the joke just made it all the more obvious.

This felt a bit more familiar. Not because she’d spent any amount of time fucking sheep, but because she’d been working with yaks. Her master was very hairy, and his coat grew in quite curly, meaning that whenever he was on top of her, she felt like she was wearing fifteen wool sweaters. Rams were actually covered in wool, so right off the bat, it felt like seven or eight. In any case, she was going to be drenched in sweat by the end, and it wasn’t going to be due to any exertion on her part.

At least the hooves of the sheep were softer than the pig. He still had dual dewclaws, but they were smaller, and his toenails flatter and less damaged. They didn’t hurt nearly as much as the pig had.

The penetration seemed like it would be easy, too. As the ram lined himself up, it was only a thin little worm that was exploring her cavern. This was easy. Compared to the pig, being used by a ram seemed hardly a challenge; barely an inconvenience. She just had to sit there and wait.

Unfortunately, that mindset shattered shortly after it was formed. The tiny worm was nothing more than an extended urethra on the outer end. As soon as it wriggled deep enough, the main body extended out to meet her folds, and while it wasn’t bigger than her master, it was still bigger than the pig.

Apple Bloom had been allowed to start shearing sheep of their wool a few years back. She was made to move slowly, and she wasn’t allowed to shave any further than their hips. As Applejack had put it, “There’s a lotta them parts down there with all kinds a’ sensitive nubs, so we need ta be ever so careful.” Apple Bloom had accidentally nicked a shoulder wart once, and while she was forgiven for it, it had forced her to stop for the day, and she was pretty shaky for a few days after that. So she was plenty happy to let Applejack take better care of their giblets until she had more patience.

Of course, the only reason that such experience mattered now was because she was very aware that this ram was not being cared for all that well. For one thing, his coat was very scratchy, which meant either it was dirty, or he’d lost a lot of lanolin; the sebaceous oil that kept his wool from becoming tangled and knotted. Either he was being kept in a filthy place that wasn’t cleaned, or he wasn’t being properly fed. Knowing the yaks, Apple Bloom wouldn’t be surprised if both were true.

As he picked up the pace, she figured out that at least the first was true. Even if his skin wasn’t producing oil as it should, his coat was filled with gunk. Something had scratched her pretty sharply, and if she had to guess, it felt like she’d been stabbed by a twig. Not to mention the fact that, as he was starting the move forward on her, she could see the burrs that were stuck to him. She didn’t envy whoever was meant to shear him next.

In any case, he was a quick shot, spilling his seed into her, which didn’t go far, on account of the plug that the pig had left. Once he was done, he, too, pissed on her face, and she was mounted by a goat, and then a llama. Each one brought her down just a little bit more, but she wasn’t finished quite yet.

The last animal she would face for the night, she heard before the announcer could drop a hint. “As you can see, this last one’s prepared for things to turn “ruff!”” he chortled. “Perhaps our little filly here will think twice next time, instead of being “knotty!””

The dog certainly sounded big. It had a big voice when it barked. And that would make sense, as it would be a disastrous climax to the show if, after a llama had spat in her face, that a tiny little chihuahua would be the last thing to conquer. His claws were huge, too, even bigger than the pig’s claws as they dug into her hips. If she wasn’t bleeding by the end of this, she’d be amazed.

He missed the first time, humping between her thigh and the wooden support a few times before readjusting himself. Then her other thigh, if a bit higher up. He was coming closer, for sure.

She felt something cold and metal press between her shoulders, hard. Growling and clicking could be heard, and as his breath hit the nape of her neck, she realised that he was trying to bite her and move her into position. Thankfully, his handler had muzzled him, so she wasn’t going to be torn apart, but that was of little consolation at this point, as she was starting to feel that death would be a release from her torment.

On the third attempt, he found his mark, and he plunged in as deep as he could. Due to the many creatures she’d just experienced, Apple Bloom was ready for his entire length. Even his girth was acceptable. His claws were sharp and jagged and his pace was particularly discomforting, but the regularity with which she had received cocks this evening, she was just waiting for it to be over.

And it certainly seemed like it was going to be over soon. The dog was hammering into her at a fast pace and soon, he started pushing harder, the sure sign that he was finished.

Except, he didn’t…

Nothing was shooting out of his dick when he pressed it into her as far as it would go. Something was up. Was he neutered? Did he have nothing to spray?

That’s when it happened. With the next push, something slipped into her. Something big. And once it was in, it didn’t want to come back out. And that was especially bad, because now, the dog was cumming.

It started out feeling like her vagina was being torn apart. Part of her hoped that was all that would happen, but as the dig dismounted her and turned around, she could feel her insides being twisted in a way that her legs could not follow. Then he started tugging, and it felt like she was about to lose all of her innards as they were being yanked out of her through the plugged-up hole. And all the while, she could feel herself being filled; expanded as if somepony had shoved a balloon in her and was trying to inflate it.

She didn’t know that she was screaming until a hiccup sent a shockwave through her whole body. Her face was soaking wet and burning, her eyes inflamed as tears streamed down her cheeks. If the pig had been punishment through humiliation, this was punishment through pain.

And the worst part was, nopony was coming to save her. Nopony was rushing in to help her. She was on her own. The yaks in the stand were laughing, the announcer was speaking to them in a jovial tone, though she couldn’t make out the bad puns and lazy wordplay over her own screams.

She squeezed her eyes shut, the gag digging into her gums as she tried to clench her teeth together, too. She could see a visage of Applejack, urging her to stay strong; strong and stoic. If the yaks wanted to hear her cry, then the most she had to do to win was just not cry. The most she had to do was nothing.

That visage was ruined as an image of Thunderlane pushed her out of the way, flopping down with a tub of popcorn and laughing at her. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo were there, too, but they just turned their heads away, too ashamed to help.

She couldn’t help herself. She didn’t want to think of her friends as just letting her be tortured like this, but it was no use. She thought what she thought, and as much as she would love to trust that they had her back, she just couldn’t. Not in this moment. And that sickened her more than anything.

Finally, it happened. She was in so much agony that she vomited. Everything she’d managed to hold down all day, her rations from last night and this morning and the small amount of apple fritter that she’d split with her friends; all of it was coming out now. The pressure this caused inside of her skull was excruciating.

For the first time, she wished that she was weaker. She wished that she was one of those flimsy little fillies that could go down without a fight. If she were, she could pass out from the pain. Just like Sweetie Belle.

That, or she could be stronger. If she were stronger, she could take what was happening to her and tough it out. That’s what Applejack would do. Applejack was so strong that she could break her bindings and start ripping her way through the stands, the hound still latched to her.

But she wasn’t. She was neither strong like Applejack, nor was she weak. She was in agony, and it wasn’t going to go away any time soon.

Once she accepted that, it was just a waiting game. Waiting until she broke, or was released. To be honest, part of her was sure that she’d already been broken, and waiting for the end was part of that.

It seemed that release would come sooner. She didn’t know how she felt about that as the dog finally pulled free. Every fibre of her being was screaming in a burst of pain, but she reasoned that it was just the shock of the sudden change in pressure. Her insides slowly untwisted to match her outsides, leaking profusely. She looked up at the sky. It was dusk. She hadn’t finished her chores, either, because she’d been here. That meant no dinner. Not that she could stomach anything right now, anyway.

Just as before, the dog was brought around to piss on her face before being escorted away, but this time, she was unlocked when it was over. “Hung kou,” she wheezed through the gag, lowering her hooves to the ground. Her legs barely worked, and her tail was still held aloft as she was marched out of the arena.

As she did, though, she spotted the dog, a Doberman, hunched over. He was taking a shit. As she followed, her knees buckled, sore and stiff as they were, and she flopped to the ground.

“Oh, ho!” snarled the announcer. “Looks like Stinky is trying to steal dinner again! Can’t think of anything other than your stomach, Stinky?”

She tried to stand up, but the intense pressure of a yak on her shoulder kept her down.

“What do we think, everyone? Should we let her eat it?”

There was one final uproar from the crowd. They were into it.

Or perhaps they weren’t. When she threw up, a few members of the crowd had shown some disgust. If she could convince herself that eating this dog shit was a kindness; that they were allowing her to eat where she would otherwise go hungry, then maybe she could…

She couldn’t finish that thought. It was unbelievable. The yaks were nothing but cruel, and this “gift” was anything but.

Nevertheless, her stomach growled, wanting to not be empty. After all she’d been through in the past hour, this seemed to be nothing more than the cherry on top.

She licked it up, unable to close her jaw. It was still hot and somewhat moist, so it mashed easily between the roof of her mouth and her tongue, and she even managed to swallow it. And then she was dragged over to another pile. This one was likely left by the pig, if she had to guess.

This one was cold, which made it that much more revolting. The dried, crusty flakes on the outside crunched and crackled, just barely rehydrated by her tears and the piss dripping from her face. Thankfully, that was it, and she was finally allowed to leave the arena.

Chapter the Fourth: Ballet of the Bowels

Rarity kicked open the door and stepped briskly into her office. It was formerly her pickup room, where she would hold special orders for pickup or delivery. Her show floor had become the waiting room, the dressing room, a punishment room, and her kitchen was now a cell block. She’d managed to keep her bedroom and studio, and she still made clothing, but it was of a different design, these days.

She was wearing one of them, now. Around her chest, she wore a leather corset with lace embellishments. Her thighs were coated with short leather chaps that ended at her knees, transitioning to fishnet pantyhose. Her tail was bound up tight, as she had to keep it functional in order to keep it at all, though her mane was kept shorter than she would like.

“My sincerest apologies, captain,” she bowed as she took her seat across the desk from the yak that had been waiting. “I had a very uncooperative bitch that refused to eat her dinner, and I had to practically force it down her throat. If you would like to spank her for wasting your precious and valuable time, I can schedule that in for you?”

The yak shook his head. “No need. You do a good job. Actions speak for themselves.”

Rarity bowed her head. “You flatter me, captain! To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

The captain leaned back in his chair. “Pony bitch says her dream was always to be a performer. Doing nice thing for her: making her performer.”

Rarity smiled. Any pony would be able to see that the smile was not genuine. Yaks, however, had a harder time telling the difference. “Why, that sounds like a swell idea for a gift! Whatever did she do to deserve this?”

“She’s bad at blowjobs. She has to be good at something, right?”

“Indeed, indeed,” nodded Rarity. “You want me to design an outfit for her to wear for her performance, I take it? Or you’d like me to personally train her to be a better dancer? Singer?” She pursed her lips. “What kind of performance is it, exactly?”

The yak shrugged. “You’d know better than me how ponies perform.”

Rarity furrowed her brow. “I suppose I do. If this, ahem, pony bitch of yours is not displaying any performing arts talents, in particular, then I suppose I shall have to teach her something. If you wish to come back with more information, I can try my best…”

“She displays no skills.”

Rarity just nodded. Either this yak was lying, uninformed, or uncultured, or the pony he was talking about was either unskilled in performing arts or poorly articulate. In any case, she wasn’t being given a lot of information to work with, and what she had was unhelpful. Still, if she was to keep her cushy position, she’d need to do something.

“I suppose that, were I to teach them a skill, the easiest one to make look good on accident is dancing. Even if they’re terrible, a good partner can fix that. Will a suggestive dance suit your needs, captain?”

“Dancing works. Make it fun for watchers.”

“Oh, I will certainly try. When did you need it ready?”

“Two days.”

“I will have it ready. I will need her to be brought by tomorrow at the latest, as we will need time to rehearse any moves that may be complicated.”

“No. She has to work tomorrow.”

Rarity bit her lips. Two days was already short notice to teach somepony with four left hooves how to dance, and she still had to put it all together. If she could only spend one day teaching them the steps, and having the partner keep them in motion, that would be something, at least. Not being able to teach them meant she had to make the dance even simpler. Something even an idiot couldn’t mess up.

“I will do what I can… Will that be all, captain?”

Rarity was seething as she watched the operators fit the scaffolds into place. The act she had designed was simple, easy, and relied mostly on the set dressings. She hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her performer, nor had she even been told who the partner was so she could instruct them on how to make the moves look good. This was turning into a disaster, and nothing was more infuriating than having her plans turn to disasters. When somepony else made her plans fail, it made it look like she had failed. And if she had to live in this festering hellscape, the only joy she had was her image of perfection.

As her hoof was raising to stamp down, she heard a soft, squeaky voice behind her. “Rarity?”

Rarity turned and looked at the cloaked filly behind her and grunted in frustration. “Not right now, Sweetie Belle. I’m really in a bad mood right now.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it…”

Rarity sighed and placed a hoof against her forehead. “It’s not your fault, it’s just… I set all of this up according to the schedule I was given, I made it work as best I could with what little I had to work with, and two ponies that were supposed to perform didn’t show up! The show goes on in two minutes! How am I supposed to lead them through the choreography of a fifteen-minute routine in less than two minutes?!” She roared out in frustration.

“A-actually, they’re both here…”

Rarity furrowed her brow, then her eyes went wide. “Sweetie Belle! You’re not…?!”

Sweetie Belle removed her cape. She was wearing the very outfit Rarity had designed and prepared for this performance. It didn’t fit as well as she would like, which meant that the measurements she’d been given were wrong, but she was less upset about the outfit not sitting snugly against her skin than she was about the pony wearing the outfit.

She growled silently, then took a deep breath. “At least you’re here, now. Where’s your partner? She still has to change into her outfit and go over the steps.”

Sweetie swallowed hard. “You’re my partner,” she mumbled.

Rarity blinked absently. “Did you say that… I... am to be your dance partner?”

Sweetie Belle nodded.

“How did this happen?!” shrieked Rarity.

Sweetie Belle lowered her head. This was her fault, too. Her master had asked her who she loved the most. He was holding her by the back of the head in front of all the other slaves, trying to force her to pick a partner, but she had panicked. “I want my sister!” she’d half-shouted, half-whimpered. What she really wanted was to be saved and protected, as anypony would. Instead, all she’d managed to do was rope her sister into sharing her punishment.

Of course, she couldn’t say this to Rarity. She was already angry enough with her. To know that Sweetie Belle had been the cause of her misfortune would damage their already difficult relationship.

“No matter,” sighed Rarity. “I’ll have to make it work.” She slipped into the outfit and used her emergency sewing kit’s safety pins to fix Sweetie Belle’s outfit to look barely better. It wasn’t a good fix, but it would keep everything in the proper place.

As the announcer called their names, “Deep Breath and Rarity,” Rarity ushered Sweetie Belle to walk beside her.

“Wave to the crowd,” she whispered at her. “Big smile. Fake it if you have to but make it look like you’re happy to see such a big turnout.”

Sweetie Belle waved and smiled, but she couldn’t keep herself from shaking. She didn’t want to dance in front of all of these yaks. She wouldn’t want to dance in front of this many ponies, and they would probably be nicer.

“You’re going to follow my instructions, okay?” continued Rarity. “Do as I say to do, when I say to do it, and we’ll both come out of this smelling like a rose.”

“We will?”

“Well, no… We’ll smell like dog piss and yak shit, but if you follow my instructions to the letter, we’ll be better off. Just trust your big sister, okay?”

Sweetie Belle nodded. She would always trust in Rarity.

They reached the center of the arena, and Rarity nodded to the organiser to start the music as she pulled Sweetie Belle close to her. “It starts with a waltz. Can you waltz?”

Sweetie Belle shook her head.

“Put your hooves on top of mine.”

Sweetie Belle hopped up as the music started. The ground was covered in yak shit, having been carted in by Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo this very morning. It was fresh, and it was still mostly wet, and as Rarity’s hooves slid around, they made slurping noises. Every time she removed a hoof from the ground, the gap where it was would fill with air, and then close itself, spitting out the foul odour that would permeate the air around them.

This was not a very strong effect, as far as the crowd was concerned. They couldn’t smell it from this distance, but they could probably see it creeping up her legs. Rarity had mostly put this in as a warm-up, to set some nice, easy stretches for her dancers, just in case they hadn’t had time to prepare, and they hadn’t.

“Okay, I’m going to swing you, now. Hold your hooves close to your chest.”

Rarity pushed Sweetie Belle away, then pulled her back, moving her shoulders in just such a way to keep Sweetie Belle just above the mire. That is, if she’d managed to keep her hooves tucked into her chest. The forces generated by the swinging motion were more than Sweetie Belle could resist, and on the swing back up, her mane was caught in the slurry, and as she came upright, her mane flipped forward, and she sprayed Rarity’s face with a light smattering of yak shit.

“I’m sorry!” she whimpered. “I’m sorry!”

“It’s fine,” seethed Rarity. “Just hold on a bit tighter this time.”

Without any further warning, Sweetie Belle was dipped again. Because of the suddenness, she wasn’t ready, and her back was saturated in the stuff, but she pulled her hooves rigid as she came up, and it all stayed right where it was.

“Tango, now. Hold tight to me.”

Sweetie Belle did as she was told as Rarity held her by the waist and advanced forward through the slurry in long, striding steps.

“Spin twice, grab hold again.”

Sweetie Belle did as she was told. As Rarity took several short steps back, she looked up at Rarity’s face. She was already planning out her next several moves, her eyes darting around at the scaffold that she’d taken the time to set up.

“There’s a bar with red tape behind me. See it?”

Sweetie Belle nodded, but noting that her sister had her eyes elsewhere, added to that an “uh-huh.”

“I’m going to turn us around and then drop you. Run over to it, swing outwards in time with the music, then come back to the center. Three, two, one…”

Rarity practically tossed Sweetie Belle, but she was lined up and ready to move as soon as she landed. She ‘d been partially rotated, so as to be heading the right direction, more or less. There was a slight divergence, but it was easy enough to correct.

As Sweetie Belle turned and started to come back, she saw Rarity flourishing on the pole. She could tell by her facial expression that she wasn’t happy, but the vigorous and measured movements made it look like she had trained long and hard for this. She was a natural when she put in the effort.

As they started to come back towards each other, Sweetie Belle slipped in a particularly wet patch and slid on her face towards Rarity. Rarity, having known the path was slippery, had been counting on the impact, cushioned by their legs bending, to cause the two to stop. In fact, the original plan was not to collide, but to glance off each other and cause the duo to spin in place. With Sweetie Belle skidding, the point of impact did almost the same thing, halting the forward momentum of her back legs. Her front half stayed in motion, curving that motion downward into the ground.

When Rarity picked her face up, it was covered in yak shit. The entire front of her body, from her horn to her chest, was absolutely coated. She snorted, and a chunk flew out of her nose. The crowd was in an absolute uproar. The cheering almost drowned out the music.

“I’m sorry,” whimpered Sweetie Belle again.

“It’s expected,” spat Rarity. “Tango again.”

The two pressed their shit-soaked chests together with a wet splat and started stepping together towards the direction they needed to go next. Rarity knew the way.

As they wove through the poles and the paces grew quicker with the tempo of the music, they started to slip more and more often. Rarity had designed it as such. The yaks wanted to see them fall, and she had every indication that the dancers would be bad. Having them slip and fall and have to stand back up again would entertain the yaks, and it would keep any ponies watching from inherently presuming that the two being forced to do this were bad at dancing.

The flaw in planning it this way was that everyone, Rarity included, had failed to take into account that Rarity was a fairly skilled dancer, and Sweetie Belle was able to understand her perfectly. So it took a bit more time for them to fall a second time.

Rarity landed on her back. She was knocked breathless, and for most ponies this would have been achieved by the impact. But Rarity was breathless for another reason.

“My… My hair…”

Sweetie Belle did her best to help Rarity up, but slipped. It caused the crowd to howl with laughter, but it sparked Rarity’s protective side. Hearing Sweetie Belle scream in discomfort was enough to remind her that there was something more important than her mane.

She leapt to her hooves and pulled Sweetie Belle up with her. The tempo had changed while they were down, and they were already supposed to be sliding. “Just hold onto my hooves,” Rarity instructed as she started thrusting her way around the arena.

This section was meant to resemble ice skating or roller skating. They were sliding around, with Rarity able to keep Sweetie Belle mostly upright while being splattered with her wake. Rarity was more direct, now, as she was already quite messy and in need of cleaning, as soon as possible. She was angry, for certain, but Sweetie Belle could tell that it was the smoldering, calm sort of anger that was raging on the inside, rather than the bombastic, explosive anger that would cause outbursts.

They started to swirl inward, spinning as they went, culminating in faster spins at the center. From the stands above, this looked like two turds stuck together, just refusing to be flushed down the toilet. This was absolutely intentional, as Rarity did not expect the yaks to grasp any humour more complicated than this. To her credit, the announcer caught the joke and stepped over the music, playing a flushing noise that made the yaks absolutely howl.

Rarity could hear the song coming to a crescendo. The finale was coming soon.

“Okay, Sweetie Belle. I’m going to lift you up and spin you around. Close your eyes, close your throat, open your mouth, stick out your tongue. Your hooves are out to the side, like you just jumped out of a birthday cake. Ready?”

Sweetie Belle nodded, but the explanation took so long that Rarity couldn’t warn her about the timing. She was a bit late in doing the movements, and she forgot to close her throat. So when the first Diamond dog on the scaffold let loose his stream into her face, the splatter that went into her mouth went into her windpipe, rather than down her throat. She didn’t so much swallow it as much as breathe it in, and that caused her to cough.

Rarity was already rotating in place, though, and with every diamond dog they turned to, a new stream of piss began raining down on Sweetie Belle’s face. She was still coughing, trying to catch her breath through her nose, but all she was managing to do was splash hot dog piss on Rarity’s face.

Sixteen diamond dogs, each in turn, released their urine at their allotted time. As nasty as they could be, they were halfway decent at following directions. If they were more pleasant to be around, then Rarity would have considered keeping one as a pet, but she wasn’t allowed to own slaves, just to train them, and these boys had all done their job beautifully.

Of course, the amount of fluid they had consumed was a variable that she’d been unable to control, nor the speed at which their bladder emptied. They all made it through the initial spray, and the first synchronised fan, but two of them had dropped off by the return trip, and three more petered out when it was time to start the final flourish. By the time the veritable fountain of piss routine was finished, along with the song, only one was still going, and he had only a pitiful little dribble.

The yaks all cheered, fully entertained by the ending. It was unlike anything in classical yak theatre, making it a novelty, and at the same time, it appealed to their brutish and disgusting tastes.

On some level, it might even appeal to ponies of culture that may have been watching. Ponyville didn’t have many high-class citizens, but that wasn’t necessary. The citizens were sophisticated enough that they could see the intricacies of the movements, had they cared to look. Rarity knew some of them were. There were a good few that would have loved to see her covered in yak shit for tossing her chapeau in with the yaks, her reasons be damned.

Such ponies of culture were leagues ahead of the diamond dogs. As soon as they were done peeing on the two, they started moving toward the ladders on either side. They were unlikely to have ever heard the term “curtain call,” let alone know what it meant. Even if both parameters were true, why would they want to stick around?

A few steps in, the last one to finish yelped and yanked his paw up. The noise made everyone look up at him, watching as he launched himself off the scaffolding and fell to the ground. Rarity moved to catch him, not because she cared about him, specifically, but because she didn’t want any injuries on her equipment, as she could potentially be held liable. There was also the fact that she didn’t want to see him injured, but again, that would apply to everyone.

She didn’t quite make it, and he hit the ground. Luckily, he landed in a pile of nice, soft mud that cushioned his fall.

Except, it wasn’t mud.

A sharp splash of yak shit sprayed across Rarity’s face. Her face that had, seconds before, been washed somewhat clean in a shower of diamond dog piss.

Things turned worse as she helped him up. He’d stepped in a gap in the scaffolding, one of his toes had caught, and it had broken as he was falling off. He had indeed been injured on her equipment. The question now was, had he been injured due to a flaw in the design, a flaw in the construction, or his own negligence? And she wasn’t allowed to check into any of that.

She returned to Sweetie Belle and escorted her out of the arena. She seemed mad.

“I’m sorry,” said Sweetie Belle again.

Rarity stopped, turned around to look at Sweetie Belle, then scraped most of the yak shit off of her face, flinging it to the ground. “Sweetie Belle?”

Sweetie Belle looked up at her sister, with her head hung low. “Y-yeah?”

“Tell your owner that you’re good at singing.”

Chapter the Fifth: The Scrub Brush

Scootaloo should have kept her big mouth shut. She’d hoped to win over some favour from her master by alerting him to a problem caused by the pony that had taken the shift before her. She wasn’t trying to cause trouble for them, she was just wanting to hold them accountable for their actions.

Then again, if she’d kept her mouth shut and just taken the day off, she could have caused the problem to be even worse for whomever was scheduled to clean out the latrines after her, and since she was the best when the task was shovelling shit, it was unlikely that somepony else could handle the backup of two shifts. That wouldn’t be fair to them.

Plus, if she had taken the opportunity to just go on a break, her relief’s master might be more fair towards his own slave and demand that Scootaloo come back and fix this problem that wasn’t even her fault. There probably wasn’t a winning move, no matter what she did. She was screwed in every scenario.

She made her way to the supply closet and opened the door. Much to her chagrin, there wasn’t much in there. There was a broom, a bottle of floor cleaning chemicals, and a mop bucket. At least there was a box of latex gloves… A box that was empty. What kind of pony would take supplies from a supply closet and not return them? The same kind of pony who would use the last pair of gloves and not put a fresh box in its place.

She did spot a rubber glove behind the floor cleaning solution. She moved the bottle and… It was used already. It was a disposable glove, it was dirty, having been used, as evidenced by how caked it was. The other glove next to it… was not a glove. It was a used condom. Yak-sized, by the look of it. That almost made sense, because yaks liked to fuck ponies. But also, it didn’t, because they didn’t seem to care if the ponies were harmed by it. Stallions couldn’t be impregnated, and mares that gave birth were supplying slaves for future enterprise.

No matter. What was important was that she was given no tools. No plunger, no sponge, no pipe snake, no gloves, not even a scrub brush.

She closed the door and returned to her master. “The tools are missing. I can’t unclog it.”

“Bullshit.”

Scootaloo scoffed. “I know. I can’t pull the bull shit out of there without any tools.”

“Is bullshit that you can’t unclog toilet. You have hooves, yes?”

Scootaloo looked down at her hooves. “I… Yeah, I guess, but–”

“No butts. Butts are what caused mess. Hooves clean it up. Go clean. Go fix.”
Scootaloo shrugged and grabbed her bucket, making her way back to the clogged toilet. It was so backed up at this point that she just used the bucket to scoop off the top layer, and it was full. Unfortunately, there was nowhere to dump it right nearby, and she couldn’t just flush it into the latrine, because the toilet was clogged.

“Outside it is,” she sighed, moving the bucket up onto her shoulders.

Unfortunately, her master had not left yet. “Where you goin’?”

“Outside?” offered Scootaloo. “I need to dump this out.”

“Toilet’s unclogged already?”

“No, but–”

“What I tell you about butts?”

Scootaloo sighed, frustrated. “I need to remove this stuff. I can’t unclog it because I can’t reach whatever’s stuck in there.”

“Have you reached in there yet?”

“No, but–”

“There’s that butt again. Go back and unclog toilet. Then can wipe butt.”

Scootaloo let out a grunt of frustration and went back to the bench. Taking a deep breath, she pushed her hoof into the pile of built-up yak shit. Once she made it to the depth of her wrist, it was turning cold. She’d scooped off all of the warm stuff into the bucket, and now it was all just the old stuff that had been there since the clog was introduced. Maybe a day had passed. Perhaps the colt who’d been here before her was innocent and just hadn’t noticed, somehow. Several shift changes must have passed.

Her hoof hit metal, and she could go no further until she found the hole through which it all drained. Upon locating it, she made it as deep as her shoulder, and even then, the contents of the pipe were too soft to either pull out or push through. Even if she could pull it out, she had nowhere to put it.

She retracted her arm, flicking her hoof to remove what she could, but it was too sticky and too thick to remove anything more than the big chunks.

“You can go deeper than that,” came the voice of her master behind her. “Go again.”

“I can’t reach it,” Scootaloo growled. “I can’t go any deeper. Not without the help of a tool, and they’re all gone.”

“Stop being lazy,” he spat back. “I help.”

Scootaloo looked up at him in disbelief. “You’ll help? Really?”

“Don’t believe Master?”

Scootaloo waved her hooves. “I said no such thing! I was just… I didn’t know you’d offer to help.”

“I give you hoof. Go try again. Reach deep.”

Scootaloo turned around and shrugged her eyebrows, not wasting to be seen in her incredulity. Never before had her master offered to help her. In fact, since the invasion, no yak had done so much as hold the door open for her. Even the ponies were becoming more rude. She was not expecting anypony to help her out, least of all the very yak that had just commanded her to clear a toilet with just her hooves.

She once again plunged her hoof deep into the mushy brown slurry that filled the metal toilet bowl. First to her elbow, and then to her shoulder once she found the hole. “See? I can’t reach any further than that.”

“Sure you can.”

Before Scootaloo could turn and ask if he was serious, or ask again for the drain snake that would unclog this toilet, she felt a hoof at the base of her neck. Before she could react, her head and shoulders were completely submerged.

She was so shocked that she gasped. This turned out to be a bad idea, because all that did was cause her mouth, and to a lesser extent, her nose, to be filled with the rancid slop.

She struggled to come back up, at least to clear her mouth and take in some air, but she wasn’t strong enough. She had the will to do so, but her legs were that of the average filly, maybe a little bit less. What she was struggling against was a yak four times her size and six times her weight, maybe more. She wasn’t winning.

She could feel something. There was a solid mass at the end of this, but she couldn’t grasp it. More than that, there was something moving down here. She hadn’t felt it when it was just her arm, but there was something alive inside of this pool of yak shit.

She struggled for what felt like hours, but was probably less than a minute, trying to push herself up out of the muck, before she was lifted out. As soon as she could spit out the clump of shit between her teeth, she gasped again, desperately trying to suck in air.

“You find it?”

“There’s something alive down there!” she gasped.

“Is that clog?”

“No. No, I don’t think so…”

“Then worry don’t. Unclog.”

Scootaloo sucked in a big breath of air as she felt his hoof on her neck again. She was ready this time, and even had time to close her mouth. The pressure was so intense that some of the mush did end up in her mouth, but it wasn’t as much as last time. It was in her mouth, but it wasn’t filling her mouth.

She felt around for the hole and snaked her hoof up it once again. She was more confident this time that she could last, so she tried to focus on finding the clog and removing it.

“Tried to” being the operative phrase. As soon as her hoof touched the hard lump that was blocking the pipe, she felt the thing that was alive crawling along her cheek. Something was inching along her skin. And to make matters worse, it wasn’t on the outside of her cheek, either.

She panicked, trying to push it out with her tongue, increasing the pressure on the inside of her mouth to try to expel whatever it was that had crawled in there.

Two more were crawling on her tongue, and another three were between her lips and gums. One even started crawling up her nose. There were a lot of them, and they were tiny.

As she tried to scrape them off her tongue using her teeth, she felt one rupture. And then another. They were as soft a squishy as the shit they were caked in, and tasted just as bad.

Pulling her hooves back to her face didn’t help, either. Because she was under the shit, every hoofful she scraped out just pushed more in, until she couldn’t take anymore, and she threw up, still under the surface.

Thankfully, she was pulled up, and her vomit, rather than flushing right back up her nose, joined the shit slurry in the toilet as she heaved a few more times.

When she finally stopped spewing the contents of her stomach, mostly liquid, she looked down into the toilet, breathing pretty heavily. The creatures living in the shit were wriggling their way up to the surface, trying to worm their way up to a drier location. Worming their way up was an apt description, Scootaloo thought, because they looked like tiny little white worms.

Her face was brought back down, and her hooves shot out to either side, gripping the sides of the bowl as best she could, only managing to slow her descent into the bath of shit and vomit. Now that she was closer, she could see what it was crawling around down there.

Maggots. Hundreds of them; perhaps even thousands, milled about in the mire. That would make sense for the flies buzzing around in the smelly air.

It is then that she felt something brushing lightly against her ribs. Her wrists, elbows and shoulders started to weaken as her face was pulled tight. She couldn’t resist for long, as she was quite ticklish, and having something brush up against her ribs like this was making her want to wrap her legs around her chest and laugh, as much as logic told her she shouldn’t.

She belted out a loud “HA!!” but then fell silent as her mouth was once again full of shit and maggots. Her abdomen was still flexing as she was recovering, and there wasn’t enough positive pressure in her lungs to push out the feces. It wasn’t coming out until she could make a hole to suck in some air, and even then, she had to be let out of the toilet. And so, she did the only thing her desperate mind could think to do.

She was unable to concentrate on pulling the clog out as long as there were maggots crawling around in her mouth, and she couldn’t push them out. There was only one way they could go. As sickening as the thought was, she swallowed down the clump in her mouth. It was smooth for the most part, but also fairly lumpy. She had to just imagine that it was tapioca pudding that tasted like shit. Otherwise, she wasn’t going to make it through this cleaning without being sent to the hospital.

Once her mouth was clear, she did her best to ignore the crawling and wriggling on the outside of her face, praying to Celestia that nothing would crawl up her nose again as she grabbed ahold of the clump and pulled it out of the pipe, holding it aloft to show her master the cause of all of the trouble. With that, he pulled her out.

Scootaloo took several deep breaths, then threw up in the toilet once again. This time, the mostly liquid contents of her stomach washed right down the drain, taking a few maggots with it. The slurry sloughed down her chest and stomach as well, as she was being held aloft.

“Was that so hard?” chuckled her master. “Stop being lazy. Clean rest of it.”

Scootaloo kneeled down in front of the toilet and started pushing the slurry down the tubes. They had running water, flushable plumbing, and even enough infrastructure to install bidets. Not that the yaks would bother; they had ponies to clean their butts. Why would they waste valuable water when the job could be done easier, faster, more pleasurable and cheaper by just using a pony slave? It was just the better route to take from the perspective of the yaks, and since they made the rules, there was nothing to be done about it.

She did take a moment to push away the sticky gunk on her legs, using her hooves to scrape down to her wrists, removing most of the stuck on crap from her face, neck and torso. She was unable to remove the worst of it from her mane, and she could feel the maggots crawling around on her scalp. Better there than in her mouth, but she still didn’t like it.

“Cleaning self?” asked her master. “Why bother? Just going to be dirty again.”

“I’m just making sure I push it all down the drain as needed, sir,” answered Scootaloo, returning to pushing clumps down the drain. “I’ll have it clean and draining properly in no time.”

“You missed spot.”

“I know,” she answered. “I’ll make sure it’s all properly cleaned before I leave.”

“Just to make sure…”

Scootaloo felt him grab the back of her neck again. He pressed the side of her face against the side of the toilet, rubbing it around, smearing shit all over her face, and worse, grinding up several dozen maggots against her skin. She felt every single one pop against her cheek and add to the gloop on her face.

“Did not come off. I try again.”

He continued to use her face as a brush, but it was doing little more than spread it around. She was unable to stop it from mashing past her lips and up her nose.

“Still not come off.”

“Perhaps it’s because I’m a filthy cumrag,” she sniffled. “Maybe using a piece of shit doesn’t clean up the other shit?”

Her master laughed. “Very good. I leave you to clean.”

True to his word, he turned and walked out, leaving scootaloo to clean the rest of the toilet. She hated degrading herself like that, but she was trying to think utilitarian. If left alone, she could clean the toilet better, without a yak holding her down.

She spent the next five minutes shoving everything down the drain, making sure that the pipe was clear. It took a few minutes of sobbing to build her self-confidence back up to a tolerable level, but she managed, somehow, and even managed to leave the toilet mostly clean for whatever yak was going to use it next.

Which happened to be right away, as she was almost done when a yak bull, not her master, but still outranking her, walked up and pushed her into the toilet.

He turned around and sat on her front hooves, which had gripped the toilet seat for stability as she went down. She was stuck there. Sure, she could kick and scream, and she could potentially reach his balls with one of her kicks, but it wasn’t worth it. He may not do what he was about to do, but she’d end up in a worse situation.

The first lumps hit the back of her head and jolted it down, then the hot slurry started oozing down around her neck and dripping from her chin. She couldn’t help herself any longer, and the tears and sobs came rushing right in. This was her life, and it was all she was good for; being a toilet slave for a bunch of yaks. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of a wail, but a part of her that had broken earlier was irreparable, and she could never be the same again.

Chapter the Sixth: Bathing

Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo watched Apple Bloom from across the room. The very moment that the slave by the name of Ugly came into the room, Apple Bloom had narrowed her eyes and stopped talking to the other two about what kind of soap would best remove the smell of shit from their manes, and had bolted over to punch the snitch right in the mouth.

They looked at each other in unison. Part of them wanted to stop her; to pull her away and tell her that violence wasn’t the answer. On the other hoof, Bed Toy had been there when their master had learned that they’d shared food, and when given the chance, had confirmed that Ugly had been the one to rat them out. Maybe she was covering for herself, and maybe she was covering for Fat Arse, but it was just as likely that they were telling the truth. So on the other hoof, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo wanted to join in. Rather than picking one or the other, they just stood back and let it happen.

As soon as Apple Bloom had worked out her frustration, leaving Ugly with little more than a fat lip and a bruised ego, she went to the sink to wash her hooves and returned to her friends. “Do ya think Ah went too far?”

“I wonder if you went far enough,” answered Scootaloo. “Being forced to clean a toilet with my face is worth more than a few punches.”

“I think you should have given her a chance to defend herself,” replied Sweetie Belle. “Maybe she had a good reason for throwing us under the wagon like she did.”

“Maybe she didn’t,” wheezed Fat Arse. “All I said was it wasn’t me.”

“And just what are you accusing me of?” asked Bed Toy. “Are you calling me a liar?”

Fat Arse shook her head. Her cheeks slapped against her lips. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m not making an accusation. I’m just saying it’s not me. If it was one of the new girls, why would they implicate themselves? If it’s me, why wouldn’t I just eat the food, instead of reporting it? That just leaves the two of you to gain. That’s all. For all I know, Master found it himself.”

“Yeah, after being told where it was,” snorted Bed Toy.

The doorframe suddenly turned dark as their master blocked it with his body. All of them moved into position and dropped down to their knees, with Ugly being the last to do so.

“Who hit Ugly?” he asked.

Keeping her head down, Apple Bloom stood up. “It was me, Master. Me an’ me alone.” Aside from just being the truth, Apple Bloom was still friends with the others, and didn’t want to put them through any more trouble today. They’d been through enough over the last week.

“I was also involved,” answered Scootaloo, standing up. She wasn’t going to let Apple Bloom face the punishment alone.

“Me, too,” answered Sweetie Belle.

Their master looked down at them. “Show me.”

Apple Bloom just sort of swung at the air. Her hoof whooshed, but she didn’t hit anything, and not nearly as hard as she’d actually struck Ugly.

“No, no. Hit her again.”

Apple Bloom was still for a moment, considering whether or not she wanted to, but as her master’s brow furrowed, she realised that he was serious, and she slammed her hoof into Ugly’s face so hard that she crumpled to the ground.

Their master chuckled as Ugly stood back up, crying softly. “You, go.” He pointed at Scootaloo.

Scootaloo froze for a moment, but upon recalling her punishment, leaped at Ugly, first knocking her to the ground and then kicking her in the gut while she was down. That made their master laugh even harder.

“Now, you.”

Sweetie Belle really didn’t want to hit her. She already thought this had gone too far, and having stepped beyond that, she really didn’t want to press further.

“Well?”

“I, uh… hurt my wrist when I punched her earlier, sir. I don’t think I could manage another strike…”

“I’ll do it!” volunteered Bed Toy, kicking Ugly right in the balls. The filly reached down and cradled her bruised orbs as they began to swell, having struck the chastity cage they were locked to.

Ugly hadn’t been born a filly, but their master wasn’t about to let that stop him. He’d locked the colt in a small chastity cage, fed him estrogen supplements, and treated him like a filly at every opportunity. Ugly might not grow into a mare without surgery, but she was certainly never going to be a fully-realised stallion.

Their master laughed his sadistic laugh, pleased to see that his least useful slave was being beaten for what he might have guessed was incompetence. “Hey, Fat Arse, do you want to kick?”

Fat Arse was like Sweetie Belle, and didn’t want this to go on any longer than it needed to. “Can I just sit on her face, instead?”

Their master nodded, and Fat Arse planted her fat arse on Ugly’s face. As he chuckled, the master pointed to Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo. “Stinky, Deep Breath and Cocksocket, come. You clean.”

So they were to be on cleaning duty. At the very least, Apple Bloom and Scootaloo were given the option to vent their frustrations, first.

As they left the room with Ugly whimpering from the pain, they were led down the hall to where their master ate his dinner. He was going to eat while they cleaned him. He continued to stand while he ate, just spreading his legs a little bit. He was ready for them to begin, he just had to wait for them to start, or kick them if they were taking too long.

As Sweetie Belle turned around to try to figure out who had to take the yak’s stinky arsehole, she found that both of her friends had already put their hooves up against the sides of their nose, in a classic “not it” position. She scrunched up her face in disgust and positioned herself behind him. With a deep breath, she plunged her tongue into his arsehole.

There was just as much diarrhea slurry on the inside as there was dripping down the outside. The hot brown mess dribbled from his pucker and into her mouth. There was a long-time etiquette rule about not spitting while at the dinner table, and it was one of the few that her master enforced, so there was only one direction for it to go. At the very least, some of the corn was still intact…

Apple Bloom and Scootaloo turned to each other. There was one more decision to make, and that was to be decided by drawing a straw. Scootaloo presented two to Apple Bloom, who ended up drawing the short straw.

Having lost the second game, Apple Bloom crawled up under Sweetie Belle and craned up her neck. She would spend the next few hours after this plucking hair from between her teeth. She had to clean his bushy fur up first so that she could move it aside, and only then could she reach his balls to lick those clean.

Scootaloo had won. She still had to clean him with her tongue, but she would be the only one that didn’t have to clean up his shit. She positioned herself under his belly and looked up. There was a filthy, hair-covered knob protruding down, and luckily for her, it was mostly covered in piss and sweat.

She pressed her lips against his belly skin and started lapping at an area where the hair was relatively thin and wiry. It would be easier to start there and suck in little bits at a time until she hit the prepuce. If she tried to do the prepuce all at once, his cock could slip out and run down her throat, and then she’d be punished for pulling away, despite being pushed.

As they all licked their master clean, they heard a gurgling noise. Scootaloo even felt it, with her tongue pressed against his belly. Apple Bloom knew what was coming next as she felt his left testicle raise ever so slightly. Sweetie Belle closed her eyes, knowing what was going to happen, and to try to mitigate the effects, pressed her mouth as tightly against her master’s arsehole as she could muster.

A moment later, there was an explosion in her mouth, as he farted right down her throat. She ended up swallowing some of it, and breathing in some more. Some even looped around and shot out of her nose. But it was all too much for her, and a lot of it splattered past her lips, carrying with it all of the liquid being spewed from his arsehole at the same time. Despite her best efforts, her face was now soaked; partially with the foul-smelling yellow-brown sludge, and partially with her own salty tears.

Apple Bloom didn’t want to see her like this. She didn’t like seeing Sweetie Belle cry, but what could she do, really? At best, she could switch places with her, but that wouldn’t really save her, as then Sweetie Belle would be licking up dried-on shit from her master’s hairy ballsack, and Apple Bloom would be swallowing the digestive gasses.

Apple Bloom debatably had the harder job, anyway. While Sweetie Belle’s was more upsetting, wet shit was, as the description implied, wet and pliable. Once it had been stuck to his balls for an hour or two, it was dry and clingy, and needed to be rehydrated. It’s not like he sat in a tub for half an hour to let it soak, either. It was dry and crusty, and the only fluid she had to make it workable and come off was her own saliva.

Of course, if it was just his balls, then there would be little issue cleaning them. After all, just running her hoof around them would peel the soft skin away from the hard surface that had dried to it. Shit would be spilling off of him in flakes. Instead, it was sticking in clumps.

That was due to the massive amount of hair that covered the yaks. When caked in shit, the hair would bind together in massive clumps, tying itself in knots both tiny and large. That would only facilitate more of the shit being caught and clumping up, which would make the problem worse and worse until… Well, she didn’t know. She’d been made to clean it before it came to that point every time.

The curious part of this phenomenon was that there was no precedence of what the yaks were doing to combat this problem before now. The enslavement of ponies was relatively new, or at least, on this scale. If ponies were being taken as slaves before, it was just a few at a time, being reported as missing. News of the invasion and what was happening to the prisoners had spread quickly, and ponies were being bought up as soon as they were captured. Even Bed Toy, the oldest slave among this particular harem, was one of the first taken, less than a year ago. So what were yaks doing to keep their butt hair clean back then? More importantly, why was such a method so inoperable now?

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter anymore. Ponies were being used now. Whatever came before that was old tech, and wasn’t being used anytime soon.

Scootaloo was wondering none of this. She was instead focusing on her task. The grubby end of her master’s cock had slid out of his prepuce and was rubbing against her eyelid. She wasn’t ready to lick it clean yet, as she was still sucking urine out of his hair.

Part of her considered herself lucky. Not needing to eat his sloppy shit after having had to eat so much from the toilet seemed a stroke of good fortune, even if it was stained in urine. It was no more pleasant, but it was less harsh, and that was enough.

On the other hoof, having the head of his cock press against her eye, that she feared if she were to stop clenching it shut, it would pop right out, was fairly harrowing. Not to mention the fact that it was as slippery as a slug, covered in the mucous that kept him lubricated, and the foul-smelling smegma that was sure to make it difficult to open that eye for a week.

But even that wasn’t the worst of it. How many days had he been without being cleaned? A week, at most; she’d been involved in that bath. In his hair, there were tiny little bugs crawling around. And every so often, she’d feel them crawling around on her tongue, too, or even up her nose.

She wondered how he could stand to be this dirty. Not that she wanted to lick him clean every night, but she couldn’t stand the feeling of bugs crawling all over her all of the time. A ladybug or a caterpillar every now and again was one thing, especially if she could hold it in her hoof. Even a butterfly or moth wasn’t so terrible. But maggots, fleas, and large, spiky beetles were another story altogether.

As half a dozen tiny black specks slammed into her face, his slug-like dick slipped past her eye and landed squarely in her ear. The impact yanked her head to the side and she let out a yelp.

“That mouth has better uses,” grunted their master through a mouthful of whatever he was eating. They hadn’t looked, because it would be too disappointing to see it and not be allowed to taste it. They’d be taunting themselves. “Back to work.”

Scootaloo nodded and took the tip of his now fully-extended cock into her mouth. It was covered in slime of three different kinds; mucous, smegma and precum. And something else, too. It was sour and salty and bitter. The same could be said of some of the other fluids, but this had a different taste to it. In some ways, it was better, in others, worse. But when she found out what it was, she felt silly for not realising it sooner: earwax from her own ear.

Suddenly, Sweetie Belle did something she almost never did: she belched. She was a big admirer of her sister, and had been raised to believe that burping, belching, and other boisterous expulsions of gas were uncouth, and as such, were meant to be done quietly, if they were to be done at all.

She couldn’t help herself anymore, and she started sobbing. A soft wail rang out every time her lips separated from his arsehole. Apple Bloom and Scootaloo could both feel it in their chests that they’d wronged Sweetie Belle. She may have been the slowest to respond and the biggest crybaby of the three, but every tear that ran down her face was a hailstone raining down on their souls.

To make matters worse, their master was laughing at her, trying to fart again so that she’d be made to swallow more air and burp again, making her cry louder. The slave quarters were soundproofed, so he wouldn’t need to listen to her all night.

It was Scootaloo that put on a brave face. Rainbow Dash was her hero, and even though she now went by the name “Rainbow Butt,” she was still the same pony in her heart. Rainbow Dash was the same pony, Scootaloo was the same pony, and Sweetie Belle was still her friend.

With a deep breath through her nose, in spite of the smell, Scootaloo drove her head down as far as it would go. She had to distract him, and to her surprise, it worked. He began to thrust into her stomach, gripping her thigh with his hoof and squeezing tightly. He was in control now, and she was just along for the ride.

Apple Bloom caught on quick to what was happening, though not why. More importantly, she’d tried something like this before, and knew that Scootaloo would need to breathe eventually, and unless their master came, he wasn’t going to let her go until she turned limp.

To keep Scootaloo breathing, she had to make her master finish, and that meant speeding him along. She grabbed ahold of his scabbard and started sliding it along his cock, squeezing it between her hooves to apply some amount of pressure.

“Keep licking!” he commanded, glaring back at her. “Those balls better squeak from being so clean!”

Apple Bloom buried her face in his scrotum. She could lick him clean and jerk him off at the same time. She had the means. She had to. Scootaloo wouldn’t last longer than a few minutes.

And then Sweetie burped again. Except, it didn’t stop at just a burp. It started out that way, but before too long, solids and liquids came up out of her throat, and she vomited all over Apple Bloom’s neck and back.

Regurgitated shit was bad enough. Having it drip from her while she was sucking a wrinkled, hairy pair of balls while trying to jerk off her master so that he’d cum down Scootaloo’s throat was humiliating. Apple Bloom herself broke down a bit, a hoofful of tears running down her crusty cheeks. It was all just too much for her.

The only one that didn’t break down in tears was Scootaloo. Closing her eyes and fluttering her wings to push his considerable body hair aside, she swallowed as much of his cock as she could, and even a bit more. It hurt; that much she could tell without question. But this wasn’t about her throat feeling like she was being ripped in half. This was for Sweetie Belle. And for Sweetie Belle, she would keep on sucking until she passed out.

Luckily, she didn’t have to. With one last, powerful slam, her nose connected with his belly, and her jaw popped. Scootaloo’s ears were ringing, a factor that she promptly ignored as she was forced to swallow gob after gob of thick yak cum. She couldn’t spit it out if she wanted to; it was being sent right past her mouth, down her throat and thankfully into her esophagus, where it exited his penis and was propelled down into her stomach.

His groans of pleasure soon turned to chuckles of excitement. “Don’t never say I didn’t do nothin’ for ya never. Have extra protein for dinner! Ha!”

As soon as he released his grip on her head, Scootaloo fell to the floor, gasping for breath. “Thank you… master…” she wheezed, gripping her jaw with her hooves.

The other two quickly finished and grabbed Scootaloo, propping her up on their shoulders to a bowing position.

“Good enough,” their master said, looking under himself to see how clean he was. His condition would never pass pony standards, but it was good enough for a yak. “Special treat time. Which one wants to be Bed Toy tonight?”

Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom looked at each other. Neither wanted to have their filly-sized cunts stuffed with the slimy cock of an adult yak, even if it had been licked clean. Scootaloo just stared at the floor, exhausted. She couldn’t answer, but after diving in to protect Sweetie Belle, they couldn’t let her do it.

That’s when Apple Bloom hatched a devious plan. “Ya know, that fight earlier was about how Ugly had a better pussy than us.”

“It was?” asked Sweetie Belle.

Apple Bloom jabbed her elbow into Sweetie Belle’s ribs.

“I mean, It was!”

“What would bring us the greatest amount of pleasure is knowing that our beloved master was experiencin’ the greatest pleasure he could,” continued Apple Bloom with the least venomous smile she could muster. “Ah’m sure that she would appreciate the hard dickin’ y’all have for ‘er.”

Their master rubbed his chin, as if thinking. He didn’t do that often. “She was gone for several days. I should see if she still knows how to take dick.”

They followed him back to the slave quarters and watched as he grabbed Ugly from her bed and dragged her off by the tail.

“How conniving,” commented Bed Toy from across the room. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had it out for her.”

“Jus’ sharin’ the chores,” smirked Apple Bloom. “Besides, Scoots is injured.”

“Which one is Scoots, again?”

“Cocksocket,” corrected Sweetie Belle. “The one that can’t stand up and is having trouble breathing.”

“Ah. Yeah, I see that, now…”

Sweetie Belle did a lot more lifting than usual to help Scootaloo into bed. Apple Bloom was impressed. “Thanks for the save,” she said as she tucked the pegasus in. “I owe you one.”

Scootaloo turned to her and made a sound that would be completely incomprehensible out of context. However, Sweetie knew the look in her eyes, and even if Scootaloo couldn’t move her jaw very well, her message was clear as crystal:

“Yes, you do.”

Chapter the Seventh: Cramming

Apple Bloom took a deep breath. She was back in front of the crowd again. Not for punishment, this time, but because the duke himself had so enjoyed watching her being fucked by farm animals. More than that, however, he’d liked that his personal slave, one Diamond Tiara, had been particularly insightful and was downright tickled to see Apple Bloom in utter misery. This was more her wish than his, but if she was going to pleasure him better, he was happy to facilitate it.

Apple Bloom was face-up this time, her legs tied down in an open position. Her pussy was elevated, and a little bit pulled apart. A rod had been inserted behind her back to push her abdomen forward to stretch it out, making her skin go taut. She had no idea what the plan was, as her master had left after she was tied up, and she was in the control of the various yaks that were running the arena.

“Cows and gentlebulls!” called the announcer. “Please ensure that you have enough snacks and drinks, and make sure you’ve availed yourself of the various toilet slaves we have available, because you’re not going to want to miss the next event!”

Apple Bloom had watched part of the last event. Rainbow Dash had fought a very large minotaur, and while she’d been beaten pretty hard, being bruised before the fight even began, she managed to pull out another win, and while she was gasping for breath as she pulled his unconscious body past her by the horns, she managed a wink at the filly, with the words “Knock ‘em dead, kid.”

If she’d said that to Scootaloo, she’d be over the moon right now. If a pony as great as Rainbow Dash was sure you’d please the crowd, you were in very high standing. If Apple Bloom knew what she’d be doing, that’d be even better, but for what she could do, it still felt good to be acknowledged.

She was picked up on her rack and carried out onto the field, and as the yaks carrying her retreated, she looked out over the stands. Her head was upside-down, so she had to right everything in her brain, but she could see that a lot of yaks had left, presumably to go do as the announcer had said to do. Sure enough, they started filing back in as a few tables were set up behind her, and a bunch of stuff was put on it. Rather, she thought it was a table, as it sounded like an elevated wooden platform when stuff was put on it, but she couldn’t turn around and look. She could not hope to fathom what was in the boxes. There was stuff, it sounded heavy, and that was about all she could tell. She’d find out soon, maybe, as it was probably going to be used on her.

She was doing her best to remain calm, but all of the blood rushing to her head was making her a bit dizzy, and the suspense was making her think grim thoughts. Perhaps they were just empty boxes that were reinforced to support the weight of something heavy that would climb on top of her and pin her down. Not that it would need to, as she was already tied down, but that was probably just to keep her from moving. Or maybe the reason they were so heavy was because they were weights, and they were going to pierce different parts of her body and weigh them down, which was why her skin needed to be so taut. Or maybe her skin was so taut so that they could whip her, and if the lashes cut through the skin, it would be wide open and easy to see from the stands. The thought of being cut open sent panic coursing through her veins, and she felt the need to struggle, yanking against her bonds to no avail.

“Cows and gentlebulls!” called the announcer. “Please find your seats, because this afternoon’s entertainment is ready to begin!”

She squeezed her eyes closed and whimpered. While Apple Bloom was known for being brave, almost to a fault, her inability to have any control of the situation was making it hard to stand tall, even though she couldn’t stand while strapped to the table. This was going to be agonising, and she could do nothing to stop it.

“We are pleased to have for you today a brand new routine. We all know how stretchy and malleable some fillies can be. A well-trained filly can literally bend over backwards. We’ve seen how far gymnasts can go, but despite being subjected to the weight of farm animals last you saw her, we have yet to see the elasticity of this young mare. Stomp your hooves for Stinky!”

Apple Bloom heard a loud yelp mixed in with the stomping. If she had to guess from the young stallion cradling his hind end, a yak had trodden on his tail. Or worse, his balls. She hoped he was alright, but even if things weren’t going well for him, they certainly weren’t about to improve.

A yak approached from behind her and grabbed her thigh, pulling it further down, causing her pain. It wasn’t supposed to bend that far, and it felt like her pussy was going to rip apart. She was at her limit for stretchiness already, and they’d only just begun.

She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter as the crowd let out a cheer. Something was happening, but she couldn’t bear to see what. Perhaps they were going to tie her hooves to a pair of yaks and take off in opposite directions until her body tore in half. She’d hoped to live to age fifty, at least, and she hadn’t even reached fifteen yet.

And yet, her hooves remained bound as some kind of ovoid was shoved into her pussy. It was about the size of a chicken egg, but it was rough and bumpy, and it burned a little bit. She chanced a glance up between her legs as another was being pushed in.

“And that’s two limes!” called the announcer. “Shall we go for three?”

It was still just one, but as the second was pushed in, Apple Bloom could see the lumps they were forming in her abdomen. They weren’t big lumps, but she now understood why she had to be pressed forward and her skin pulled taut. She was to display everything that would go into her, in both quantity and size. As the third lime went in, it pushed the other two further and further in, which would make them a bit more difficult to retrieve.

“Okay, looks like we’re going to stop at three limes,” called the announcer. “It looks like the administrator is reaching for his knife…”

Apple Bloom began to hyperventilate. A knife? This yak really was trying to cut her open!

But it never came. Rather, a lemon was cut in half and shoved into her. And then, another, and then a whole lemon. The juice burned as it was squeezed out inside of her.

“There it is!” called the announcer. “Three lemons! What's next?”

What was next was a pepper. Rather, there were several peppers. Thankfully, they were oiled up, so as they were shoved one by one into her arse, they slipped in easily, but as the eighth went in, it cracked under the pressure, spilling its juices and seeds inside of her.

As they spilled out, it caused her intestines to burn. This caused her to tense up her abdomen, and she ended up snapping the rest of the peppers and squeezing the lemons. The intense burning was more than she could take, and she cried out. Her body was on fire, and there was nothing she could do about it.

“It looks like our administrator has one more food item,” called the announcer. Apple Bloom couldn’t look. The flames erupting inside of her body had her legs trying to tense up. Whatever it was, she knew it couldn’t be good, though.

She felt it press against her arsehole. It was big, and it was covered in a rough, coarse skin. This wasn’t going to be easy.

He pushed it hard against her. She wanted this to be over already, but as much as she tried to relax her back half and let it sink in, her gut was convulsing, begging her to shit out the irritants that had lodged themselves in there. It certainly didn’t want anymore things to be brought in, especially things that could very easily plug her up even worse than gravity was doing to her.

“Looks like he’s having a little trouble fitting it in. Perhaps it’s time that he pushed just a bit harder, hm?”

That didn’t sound good to Apple Bloom. She could feel his grip tightening around her thigh, and the pressure increased. He was bound and determined to fit it in, no matter her opinion on the matter. This was beyond testing the limitations of her elasticity. This was pushing her limits. This was strapping her down and expecting her to walk away.

Finally, it had enough pressure behind it to slip in. Tears were running up her forehead and into her mane as the giant round orb crushed up the peppers crammed into her colon even further. She was in absolute agony.

“Who wants to see how much more she can swell?” called the announcer. A cacophony of stomping responded. What else could they possibly shove into her?

Fortunately, it wasn’t anything particularly large. She was afraid that something big would be added, but it was just a little tube. What did she have to fear from a small strand of rubber tubing being squeezed into her butt?

She would soon curse herself for having that thought. The tube suddenly turned cold, which was bad enough on its own. Worse was the reason it had turned cold. Liquid began to flow through it, filling her with freezing fluids. The sudden temperature drop caused her body to clench up even more than it already had. Those peppers in her arse were all crunched up by now, and the fluid running through them carried the capsaicin all throughout her colon, burning everywhere it touched.

She’d held out for so long, desperately hoping that something would happen to slow this down, to put a stop to it; any relief at all. Instead, it had just grown worse and worse, and she could no longer hold it in. Her mouth opened, and a scream of agony spilled out.

This only seemed to rev up the crowd more. They were waiting for this moment; the point where she would break, and there it was. She had broken, and still she was being filled up like a water balloon.

She tried to squeeze something out. Perhaps if she could push out the peppers, it would stop burning? She hoped so, because for some reason, the cold water was making them burn even more. Why was cold water becoming hot fire in her butt? She didn’t know, and didn’t care. She just wanted it out.

Unfortunately, the large, rough ball was blocking her. She was able to squeeze out a bit of water around the tube, but all this did was pepper spray her thighs, which then dripped onto her vagina.

Her screams increased in volume. Suddenly, all of the burning from her arse was dripping across the lips of her cunt. Her clitoris, especially, was absolutely ablaze with unmitigated agony, a bundled cluster of nerve endings all clasped together and doused in pepper.

She squeezed harder, but all it did was force more liquid out. Thankfully, it drained down her body around her neck. If it came anywhere near her eyes, she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to stop crying. She had to loose the big ball wedged inside of her, but trying to squeeze it out wasn’t helping. She tried to just relax, returning her scream to a pitiful whimpering, but she could feel herself inflating once more. She was going to pop if she didn’t lose some of this filling, she thought to herself.

She took as deep a breath as she could. She was so full that she couldn’t think clearly, and hanging upside-down was not helping her in the slightest. She knew that she had to push it out, and in order for that to happen, she needed more pressure. She just had to wait. She had to last long enough to fill up enough to put strength behind her effort.

The cold water made her feel numb. She was sure it was ice-cold; colder than she was allowed to drink. She was afforded room-temperature water at best, no water at worst. If it was going in her mouth instead of her butt, this would have been a real treat.

Finally, she felt it running across her pussy without her needing to squeeze. She was well and truly full now. There was a dull pain reverberating in waves through her abdomen, pulsing and reflecting back and forth from being stretched too much.

“Cows and gentlebulls, I think that’s it!” called the announcer. “Look at that swell! She looks just about ready to pop!”

This was it. Now or never. If she was going to force this thing out, whatever it was, she had to act now.

“Oh, but what’s this? The administrator has one more pepper to go!”

Apple Bloom took a deep breath. She could wait. One more pepper would go in, and then she’d squeeze it all out. Better it went in now, and she could push it out with the rest.

She barely felt the hose being extracted. The big thing in her butt floated to the top, creating a plug. Good. It would be easier to force it out if it was creating its own pressure. As long as the pepper went past it, she could still push.

Except, the pepper wasn’t going in her arse. She couldn’t feel much from the chill of the water, aside from the burning sensation caused by the peppers, but she could feel that the pepper was going into her pussy.

This was terrible news. If that was where the pepper was, then it wouldn’t be squeezed out of her arse with whatever it was. Worse still, it hadn’t cracked yet. It was still holding its shape. If she squeezed too hard, that burning sensation would start anew in a much more sensitive place. A place already purified by lime and lemon juice. The pepper had little to go through to reach her more sensitive skin, and what it did have to go through would only make it more powerful.

She hadn’t even considered that squeezing the limes and lemons would cause their own burning sensation if they were squeezed. In comparison to the pepper, it was barely anything. In addition to the pepper… She didn’t want to think about it.

Unfortunately, she had to think about it. If she was going to squeeze out the contents of her colon, she would need pressure. In order to apply that pressure, she’d need to tighten her abdomen, and that would break the pepper and spill its juices inside of her pussy. Her choices were to either push out the blockage and potentially unleash the fires of hell on her pussy, or to leave everything intact and just be full of ice-cold water until she could remove it.

In the end, it came down to being removed from the arena. If she was too full to carry herself out, or if she passed out and was too heavy for somepony else to carry out, she’d be pushed aside. If she forced out all of the extra mass and weight, even if she passed out, she wouldn’t be all that big or heavy. She might just be tossed aside, anyway, but at least if somepony tried to rescue her, it’d be easier.

She took a few deep breaths and squeezed. There was no need to be gentle. If that pepper popped, she’d be unable to keep pushing for long, and she needed all of the pressure she could muster.

She could feel her arsehole stretching open, and something big was on its way out. It was wet and grippy, and it didn’t want to come out. But Apple Bloom kept pushing, biting down on her lower lip as her whole body shook. She held her breath, clenching as much as she could. If the water hadn’t washed away the oil, this would have been a lot easier, but it had to happen.

Finally, what sounded like an explosion roared out from her tail. She’d closed her eyes, but opened them just in time to see a grapefruit covered in orange chunks of pepper slam down on her face, followed by a spray of chunky water. She closed her eyes again, but it was too late. She’d pepper sprayed herself.

Her face wasn’t the only thing burning, either. While her anus tried to close itself, spilling the remaining pepper water from her arse, her vagina was filled with crushed pepper and citric acid. Her whole body was on fire.

“And there she goes, everyone! She’s finally popped!”

If Apple Bloom could tell the announcer to go fuck himself, she would absolutely do so without a moment’s hesitation. She couldn’t move right now, she couldn’t shout, she could barely breathe.

Feeling was starting to come back to her. As she was released from the rack, she felt herself hit the ground. She felt a fresh spray of liquid squirt out between her legs into her tail on impact, though she couldn’t feel from which hole right now. She was exhausted.

She heard a dull bark from… somewhere. Her head was spinning, and her eyes were burning too much to open. She couldn’t determine any directions, the only exception being up and down due to gravity still being in play.

Even if she couldn’t tell where the dog was, she could hear him coming closer, and she knew what he was supposed to do. She felt her tail being lifted and her thighs being patted, as if beckoning someone or something to take them. The dog, obviously. As she was lifted a little more, something yanked on her mane. Her captor was probably standing on her hair, if she had to guess.

It didn’t take long for the dog to mount her. He was probably trained for that exact purpose, and had done so multiple times a day for the entertainment of the crowds. These yaks were sick, and torturing ponies with massive dogs was par for the course with them.

She could feel his claws digging into her hips and waist. He was heavy, and he was big. Bigger than she was, for sure. He hadn’t yet inserted, just humping her a little bit, but she could feel him preparing himself. He was going to slip free of his sheath first, and then insert himself into her.

She didn’t have to wait long. With a growl, he lined himself up and began furiously humping, almost managing to drive his knot in within seconds, despite his massive size. His fervor was just that powerful.

However, those few seconds were as long as he managed to last. No sooner had he started than his dick began to grind up the spicy pepper that was still in there, and with a loud yelp of obvious pain, he bolted away from her as fast as he could and curled up in the corner, trying desperately to remove himself of the irritants that were now burning his dick.

Apple Bloom had mixed feelings. On one hoof, she was glad to be rid of him. She didn’t want the pepper being crammed in further and broken down into smaller chunks. On the other, much larger hoof, she felt sorry for him. He was just a dumb animal, having been beckoned to her by a sadistic yak that wanted to see what would happen. She liked dogs well enough, and if he were just somepony’s pet, she’d do her best to make sure he was happy and healthy. Some apple slices in a bowl, peanut butter and oatmeal cookies, a dish of cold water and some belly rubs would be her first thought. It was good for Winona, at any rate.

When it was clear that the dog wasn’t coming back, the yak dropped her. She could open her eyes, now, if only just barely. The yak that had been tormenting her had lost interest, as had a fair bit of the audience. If she was free to go, she could crawl back to the entrance, and if not, one of the yaks would have her dragged back. And so, she turned toward the gate and started pulling herself along on her elbows.