Zebra Anthology

Fleur adjusted her top, pulling it slightly tighter around her heaving, heavy bust, as she inspected herself in the mirror. Fashion shows were nothing new, she’d been attending or participating in them ever since she was a filly, though this one was different. As her eyes drifted from her chest to her rounded, taut belly, a smile graced her lips.

Years prior, had someone told her that her modeling would eventually include sporting maternity wear for a live audience, she would have brushed off the notion as absurd - fortunately or unfortunately, like a great many unexpected developments in her life, that’s precisely what had ended up happening. Fancy Pants, her beloved husband, had been elated to discover she was with foal, lavishing her with promises to be an amazing father while constantly flattering her on her gradually expanding figure, though there was a catch - one she’d grappled with since finding out she was pregnant. Tearing her eyes off her stomach, she lowered her arms and continued giving herself a final once-over.

The dress she wore, while tasteful, was remarkably revealing. Sheer, lilac material flowed over her breasts, abdomen, and down to just below her knees, allowing her lacy, mauve lingerie to be seen by any and all. It wasn’t that showing off a bit of flesh bothered her in the slightest - it was what she knew was going to happen once she was on stage that gave her a moment for pause.

“Mrs. Fleur,” a voice intoned, prompting her to turn to the opening door, “you’re on in three.”

Nodding a silent thanks, she smiled at the young stagehand peeking in on her.

Turning and exiting the fitting room, she steeled herself. Her heels clicked against the polished wooden floor, the flash of cameras could be seen from around the side of the curtain, and her dress flowed behind her. It wasn’t the crowd’s impending reaction of her that heightened her anxiety, nor was it the fact that anyone and everyone in attendance would clearly be able to see the milk-stained fabric over her engorged teats - no, it was that her display would be anything but typical.

“And here we have Fleur de Lis modeling a stunning ensemble from none other than Ms. Rarity,” the announcer smoothly declared.

She strutted out without the slightest bit of hesitation, placing one hand on her swaying hips as she flipped her long, luscious mane away from her face. A hushed awe rose from the crowd, music softly played, and several ponies excitedly whispered as she made her way down the catwalk and to the riser. Her years of training and experience allowed her to keep her eyes forward, paying little heed to the throng gathered around her, until she reached her destination.

Turning in place, she brought one hand to the back of her head and struck what would be the first of several poses. Contrary to popular belief, exhibits like this were practically a science; how to walk, where to look, and her expressions were all carefully planned, yet she was far from perfect. In spite of herself, having sauntered down more catwalks than she could dare to count, the feeling of so many eyes on her gave her a special thrill - a thrill made all the worse when she heard plodding footfalls approaching from behind her.

The assembly’s focus was instantly torn, with some ponies focusing on her and others looking toward the curtain at her back, yet everyone in attendance was shocked, confused, or some combination of the two. Excluding when they passed one another, it was almost unheard of for models to share the stage - then again, she wasn’t joined by a model. She tranquilly smiled down at the spectators, looking for someone specific, as a pair of big, strong hands ran around her back and cupped her bosoms.

She was tempted - merciful Celestia, how she was tempted to turn and return the titan’s affection, yet she abstained. Thick, calloused fingers wandered over her teats, a strong, powerful chest pressed against her back, and a sonorous, approving grunt crept to her ear, chipping away at her ordinarily immovable resolve - nevertheless, she continued scanning the audience. When her eyes finally settled on an alabaster unicorn with an azure mane, her betrothed, the breath hitched in her throat.

Fancy was a fine stallion and he’d treated her like gold, practically worshiping the ground she walked on, but money, compliments, and praise could only go so far. His performance in the bedroom was, in a word, lackluster at best and disappointing at worst. She’d tried - oh how she’d tried to tell him her needs, how she yearned to be subjugated and treated like an outlet for his stallionly desires, yet he’d failed time and again to satisfy her.

Holding his gaze for a fleeting moment, seeing the bewilderment in his eyes, she spun on one heel and faced her partner. Even with her heels, the top of her head only barely made it to the towering stud’s chiseled pecs. She’d spent most of life silently pining to find a stud, a true stud who’d give her what she wanted, and she’d finally been granted her wish.

Jitu, like many of his brethren from Zebrica, was an absolute colossus. Bigger, stronger, and more masculine than virtually every stallion in Equestria, the mute giant was like a dream made flesh. His adonic build, striped hide, and sculpted physique were the sort of thing budding mares fantasized about, and she had him all to herself.

Lifting a hand and brushing thick, monochromatic dreadlocks from his face, she smirked. Though he lacked the ability to speak, he never had a need to use words. As he lowered one arm and sank his fingers into her tush, practically lifting her off the floor, he dipped his head and locked lips with her. His kiss was deep and passionate, making her loins ache with anticipation, but it was the sensation of something hot bearing against her belly that set her heart fluttering.

She’d met just over half a year ago, back when he’d been doing odds and ends work throughout Canterlot, and she’d been fascinated with him from the moment she laid eyes upon him. With the gates of Equestria open to him and his kin, he’d come seeking a brighter future for himself - sadly, it had been a struggle. It wasn’t until she took pity on him, helping him find work and a stable place to stay, that he was given a glimmer of hope.

As his hand slid up her back to the lace securing the back of her dress, his breath washed over her face. She replied in kind, reaching for the strip of leather tying his loincloth in place, and closed her eyes. This was their time, their grand display, and she’d waited for this moment for months on end. Finally - finally everyone would know the true glory of acceptance in its purest form.

Without breaking their kiss, she elegantly twisted from side to side and allowed the dress to slip from her shoulders, down her body, and to the floor around her ankles. The light overhead, the murmurs from the throng, the flash of cameras, they did nothing to deter her or the stallion steadily undressing her. As scandalous as the scene was, with everyone realizing she was a married mare, she was one of the only ponies present to know it was merely the opening act.

She pushed herself away from him the second his digits graced the clasp of her bra. There was a certain theatrical flare to her performance, injecting the slightest bit of drama, though it took no small amount of self-restraint to pull it off. Glancing to his crotch and folding her arms over her chest, she turned her nose up and gave a small, petulant snort. He followed his cue flawlessly, caressing her arm while untying his loincloth and letting it fall from around his waist.

The crowd gasped and went abuzz with quiet chatter as his endowment was revealed. Maintaining her charade, she peeked down with a single eye at his coal-black, gradually swelling length. Though he was partially erect and getting bigger by the second, the sheer weight of his stallionhood forced it to hang like a cudgel between his muscular thighs and over his ripe, succulent balls.

A smirk graced her lips, her marehood winked within its silken confines, and her nipples went hard as she shifted to him and steadily sank to her knees. She’d known and seen a number of studs who were exquisitely well-equipped over the years, yet there wasn’t a single one of them who could match Jitu in length or girth. Reverently extending one arm, she slid her palm up his shaft and to the folds of flesh at his sheath.

While she was putting on a carefully orchestrated show, the veneration she showed him was no sharade. Simply feeling his velvety flesh against her fingers, tracing the thick veins along its length and feeling the heft of his stallionhood, was enough to chip away at her composure. Shuffling to the side and into a better position, ensuring Fancy could get a perfect view, she looked in the direction of her husband while she lifted the stud’s - her stud’s cock.

Maintaining eye contact with her betrothed while she leaned in and gave the tip of Jitu’s length a small, introductory kiss was the hardest thing she’d done in ages, far more difficult than keeping her affair a secret had ever been - not because she didn’t savor Fancy’s dumbstruck expression, but because her true lover’s package practically demanded her full devotion. There’d been times when she simply worshiped him and fawned over him for no reason other than her self-indulgent desires - something she’d never done with her husband. Feeling the zebra stroke the top of her head, she opened her mouth, extended her tongue, and wrapped her lips around the tip of his shaft.

She waited until seeing her husband stiffen and swallow hard, growing increasingly disconcerted or possibly aroused, before swinging her free arm back. As she unclasped her bra and tossed it to the side, letting her engorged breasts spill out onto her distended belly, she bobbed her head and cradled the stud’s pendulous, cum-filled nuts. She adored every part of Jitu, from the way he treated her to the way he smelled, but she had a particular fondness for his balls - after all, without them, she wouldn’t be in the state she was in.

Obscenely splaying her legs and hooking a finger over the waistband of her panties, she tore the undergarment off to reveal her nethers. Just above her plump, rosy lower lips rested a stylized tattoo of a black heart with swirls and traceries around it. Even after she gave birth to her lovechild, her dedication to Zebricans would be evident for those lucky enough to see her undressed.

As she drove her head forward, having filled her lungs with the ambrosial aroma wafting off his package, her eyes watered and throat bulged. A time may come when she was able to fellate him easily, her gullet beaten into submission from repeated abuse, though she hoped that day would never come. Being choked from air, feeling her lips stretch around his godly shaft, and the sensation of her airway spasming around him were intense and caused her pulse to quicken.

Bobbing her head and choking herself, as naked and shameless as the day she was born, she brought her hand between her thighs and stuffed three fingers into herself. In truth, the masturbation was unnecessary, seeing as how Jitu had plowed her that very morning, but warming herself up served a dual purpose; for starters, regardless of how many times her mate rutted her, it was always a struggle accommodating his gargantuan endowment - secondly and just as prudently, the onlookers needed to see how enthused she really was.

Try as she might, she couldn’t help but give the titan her undivided attention. The flavor of sweat, unwashed flesh, and hints of her marish juices washed over her palate while she sank a fourth digit into herself. Compared to Fancy, Jitu was a god, an embodiment of virility and masculinity, and her place was to serve him for the gift he’d given her.

She sucked him off for as long as she could, until her lungs burned and tears streamed down her face, yet she pushed herself to her limit. All growth was painful, whether in a literal or figurative sense, and the only way she could properly gratify him was to push herself. Waiting until she stifled an involuntary gag, she mutely reared back, sharply inhaled, and freed him from her snout with a soft, satisfying pop.

Inching back and bending at the waist, he drew a finger under her chin and lifted her face up at him. As primally beautiful as he was, his physique seemingly hewn from marble, he had the face of an angel. His piercing blue eyes contrasted the white and black of his mane and countenance, silently urging her to take the next step of their dance. She took her hand as soon as he offered it, slickening his palm with the juices flowing from her loins, and rose before him.

Facing him, she placed her hands on his hips while resting her cheek against his palm. He was so much bigger than her, making her look almost like a filly in comparison, yet he could be startlingly delicate when he wanted to. She was a nearly chaste flower, pristine and pure to a world she’d never known, and he’d plucked her and taken her for himself.

He stepped back and appraised her, seemingly to judge if she was worthy. Though she understood she had nothing to fear, standing under his discerning gaze. All those assembled could see the disparity between them, realizing how small and vulnerable she was in the face of such a colossus, but that wasn’t enough. The life within her was theirs, her body practically belonged to him, and she would gladly forsake everything and everyone she’d ever known to be with him - which had led her to this juncture.

Kneeling, he picked up a small crock resting beside himself and beckoned her forward. She obeyed without question, stepping to him while extending her arms to either side. As he swirled a brush through the urn of black paint, she spared one last glance over to Fancy. It felt like it had been eternity since she’d said her vows to him, pledging herself to him before the Princesses and their respective families, but that had been prior to her discovering her true purpose in life.

Cool ink flowed over her coat and seeped down to her skin, making her shiver as his brush anointed stripes over her ivory fur. Part ritual, part art, and all soulful, the markings were a blessing of her allegiance to the stallion who’d truly won her heart. She reveled in it, basking in the undoubtedly astounded audience, while her transformation was slowly and methodically completed.

She only dipped her head once he’d finished, peering down at herself with a broad, proud smile splitting her features. Black starbursts lay around her leaking bosoms, a broad swirl was emblazoned on her stomach, and bands of ink covered her from the tips of her toes to her cheek. There’d been many points in her life when she felt gorgeous, though being painted in such a way spoke to a primitive side of her that Jitu had brought into the light.

While she’d asked him to mark her, if only in preparation for this evening, he’d refused. The ceremony of being claimed was sacred, something his kind didn’t take lightly, and it was only meant to be done once. Her patience had been tested, her indecision had waxed and waned, and a part of her had been disheartened for the lack of preparation, but it had been worth it - heavens above, had it been worth it.

Beaming down at her, he opened his arms. It would be impossible to say what the crowd expected, possibly presuming they would simply embrace and end their performance, although the overwhelming majority watched with rapt awe. Closing with him, pressing her breasts against his midsection, she lifted a leg and brought her knee to his hip.

He reached down, secured her backside with both hands, and lifted her from the floor. Brought up as though she weighed nothing at all, she wrapped her legs around him and looked deeply into his eyes. There was only one way for everyone, including Fancy, to fully comprehend what she and Jitu had, what they’d made, and she was going to show it to them.

She bit her lip when he flexed his crotch and kissed the tip of his length to her entrance. When she’d first succumbed to her bestial urges, abandoning the sanctity of her marriage, she’d worried that they couldn’t consummate their budding fondness for one another - mercifully for her, he’d shared no such concern. Cradling her in one arm, he held his shaft steady and slowly but forcefully impaled her.

The sensation of fullness he imparted was mind-melting, making her moan against his shoulder in defiance of her desire to remain silent, and that was only from the head of his stallionhood. As broad as her fist and just as intimidating, his endowment slowly stretched her marehood to the breaking point as inch after incredible inch of his shaft sank into her. Trembling in his iron grasp, she was stricken with waves of unimaginable pleasure.

Sex with Jitu was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. The amazing size of his stallionhood was only rivaled by the strength and skill with which he wielded it, robbing her of anything but raw, unfettered bliss. Sensing herself skyrocketing to a climax, even though they’d just begun, she threw her head back and looked behind herself.

Fancy stood motionless, his mouth agape and eyes wide. She felt some sliver of pity for her former paramour, understanding that breaking his heart under any circumstances was wrong on a fundamental level, although she couldn’t help herself. A refined, demure pony though she was, she was still little more than an animal at heart. Watching her husband closely, inspired by his reaction, she howled and yielded to her rapture.

Climactic nectar erupted around his jet-black cock, fleetingly glimmering like sparkling like diamonds under the light overhead. Her marehood spasmed and fiercely gripped him, desperately clinging to him while she brayed to the heavens. The simple act of being penetrated, of her depths embracing him, was enough to evoke a climax, but they were far from finished. Lower and lower she sank down his girthy rod until his thick medial ring ground past her entrance.

He slowed, waiting until she’d composed herself enough to look at him. No sooner did their eyes meet than he reversed course, lifting her up again. No matter how hard she clenched, feeling her marehood being drawn out by his indomitable shaft, she couldn’t stop him - not that she wanted to. She wasn’t fighting his retreat - instead, she was milking him and doing what little she could to show her appreciation for him.

Leaning her back, he dipped his head and brought his face to her breast. She’d only started lactating a week ago, yet he’d developed quite a taste for her milk. Latching onto her teat and drawing in a mouthful of her thick, sweet cream, he steadied her and began rutting her in earnest.

Her fingers weaved through his dreadlocks, holding him to her bosom while his shaft pistoned into her. The pleasure of being used in such a way was astounding, a far departure from anything that any pony had or likely would deliver, and it wore away at her self-restraint. What began as soft whimpers of delight blossomed into guttural groans and incoherent mewling. Though she fixated on her lover, all but forgetting about the spectators gathered around her, she fought through the blissful haze and turned her head.

Remaining right where she’d found him, either taken aback or too mesmerized to move, Fancy watched the scene unfold. A curious combination of what seemed to be lust and envy played over him, elevating her arousal into the stratosphere, yet it wasn’t until she lowered her gaze that understanding dawned on her. With a number of the onlookers having departed, she was given a clear view of his groin and the small but obvious tent in his slacks.

The sight of his pitiable excitement was enough to send her spiraling over the edge in an instant. Her shrill scream of ecstasy filled the air while another spray of her marish juices pattered to the stage and over Jitu’s powerful thighs. Fancy had done nothing to keep her, neither challenging his rival nor abandoning her in disgust - instead, like some pathetic sycophant, he stayed to see how a real stallion claimed her.

Without fully realizing it, lost to a tumultuous sea of rapture, she started to move along with her mate. She flexed her legs and swung her hips up on his backstrokes while throwing her weight down when he plunged into her. He’d earned her for no other reason than existing, by being superior, and she was thankful to have ever met him.

Jitu shifted and nursed on her other bosom, having drained one dry, as he steadily hastened his pace. His weighty balls smacked against her ass as he thrust into her, adding a soft drumbeat to the symphony of her bliss. Peering down at him, watching him swallow down mouthful after mouthful of her milk, she was reminded once again of what they’d done - what they’d made.

She’d heard that the pairing of a zebra and a pony would result in a zebra foal, and she prayed that would be the case. The tattoo she had was carefully placed, easily concealed, yet nothing would hide her allegiance when she was carrying a happy, healthy Zebrican colt or filly in her arms. While some ponies would look at her with disdain, judging her for abandoning her kind, she knew that it was jealousy that motivated their intolerance.

As she held him tightly, relishing the feeling of his stallionhood battering her womb, her eyes rolled to the back of her head. She’d endured two climaxes over a matter of minutes, while sleeping with her husband may, if she was lucky, result in a single orgasm over the course of an hour - even then, it was typically after he’d cum and when he ate her out. Sensing herself getting close, rebounding and driven to the brink yet again, she willed herself to look over at her betrothed.

Though Fancy hadn’t budged, his demeanor had shifted considerably. With one hand thrust down his pants, wantonly playing with his colthood, he gnawed his lip while his eyes were glued on her rear. It was in that moment, fully comprehending how inadequate he was, that she fully surrendered herself to Jitu. Lifting his head from her chest, she shot forward and drove her tongue into her stud’s mouth.

Her kiss took him off guard, causing him to falter, but he quickly reciprocated her passion. Whether he could sense her acceptance of him, had been getting close to his limit, had some exhibitionistic tendencies, or some combination of the three, he crossed the point of no return. With the crown of his stallionhood flaring, expanding to more than double its original size, his length pulsed in tune with his thundering heart.

She could feel it, his need to breed her, and it gave her the strength to endure until the very final moment. Feeling as though she was going mad, envisioning the battering ram-like tip of his cock seated against her cervix, she came as soon as the first shot of his virile essence surged into her. The sheer volume of seed he could produce was unbelievable, enough to coat her entire face with ease, and feeling it bathe her interior was the experience of a lifetime.

Viscous, rich jizz mingled with her nectar, squirting and leaking out of her battered sex. The cocktail pooling on the floor around their feet was the closing act, a representation of what they’d become and what she was leaving behind. She’d always thought she’d found happiness, getting married and taking a career that had made her proud for years, but she’d been misled. Her real role was to please her mate, the stallion who’d sown life within her, and she had no doubt that her little colt or filly would be the first of many, many zebra foals she would bring into the world…