Zebra Anthology

What was supposed to be a week-long vacation had stretched into months upon months - still, Sweetie Belle couldn’t have been happier with the direction her life had taken. The magical paint adorning her from head to toe had permanently marked her as the betrothed of a Zebrican chieftain, her breasts were full and heavy with milk, and she was on the cusp of delivering her first foal as her lips dutifully mopped a long, thick ebony length of flesh. Seated on the floor before a throne and between Oba’s, her loving husband’s, thighs.

The approving smile on his face never failed to warm the depths of her heart, yet that was but one of his captivating features. Tall and heavy set, he was a giant among giants and looked every part of the wise, caring ruler that he was. While he may have been old enough to be her father, his virility and strength left nothing to be desired.

She shifted slightly and caressed her distended belly, feeling their unborn colt shift within her. It had come as no surprise that she’d eventually ended up carrying a zebra foal, although the specific circumstances of her newfound family still gave her moments of amused awe. Oba had told her that he would make a wife of her, erasing her unbecoming and frankly whorish youth from existence, and he’d done just that.

Leaning forward and running his fingers through her long, luscious mane, he beamed. He’d given her everything she could ever want and then some, ensuring his tribe accepted her as one of their own, and she never went without. Likita, his son and local shaman, had tended to her and promised that their foal would be healthy and strong, though she was far from the only expecting mare in the village. Whether from serendipity or just dumb, blind luck, Scootaloo was now her daughter-in-law and a mother to be as well.

“A visitor approaches,” a voice called from just outside, causing her and her lover to glance at the door.

Straightening up in his seat, Oba waved a hand. “Let them come.”

Sweetie remained where she was, using one hand to lovingly knead her stud’s balls while stroking the base of his shaft with the other. Zebricans held little regard for Equestrian sensibilities, accepting that a mare’s place was to tend to her foals and her mate, so amorous displays were commonplace in the harsh, arid lands in which she now resided. Hearing the beaded curtain of the door swing open, she went rigid when a marish, all too familiar gasp caught her ear.

“S…S…Sweetie?” Rarity sputtered.

Though she heard her name clearly, she remained where she was to continue worshiping the seated giant. Her place, figuratively and often literally, was beneath him, and there wasn’t a day that passed when she wasn’t thankful to him for showing her the light. Dragging her tongue up his shaft and to the thick folds of skin of his sheath, she met his eyes when he looked down upon her.

She coolly withdrew and continued to languidly jack off the chief, only then choosing to speak. “Sir, may I?”

Reclining, he gave a faint nod. “You may.”

She rose and turned to face her sister. Dressed in an impractical parody of an adventurer’s outfit, consisting of a pith hat, blouse, shorts, and a pair of boots that had likely never touched mud, Rarity looked over at her with a mixture of awe and shock. Stepping back and leaning against Oba’s, she smiled.

Her sister hadn’t come alone. Carrying a little striped filly in her arms, the bastard offspring from some unnamed stud who’d knocked her up either in Manehattan or Ponyville, Rarity was the quintessential, albeit well dressed single mother. Having received no forewarning of the visit, she was as pleased as she was curious about her sibling’s appearance.

“Been a little while, Rarity,” she hummed, giggling as a set of strong, calloused fingers wandered up her thigh and to her nethers.

Visibly gulping, Rarity fidgeted in place. “Y…yes - uh - it h…has been some time.”

There weren’t many mirrors in the village, given that the residents had little need to look at themselves, but Sweetie could understand why her sister was stunned. Clad in a grass skirt and nothing else, her body was bare for all to see. While she would like to say she was the same mare she’d always been, her appearance had changed dramatically after devoting herself to Oba.

Golden hoops hung from her ears, a delicate chain hung between her pierced nipples, and the black stripes on her white coat would never wash away. Though the tribe - her tribe would be considered in many ways, lacking the advantage of Equestrian technology, their mastery of potions and elixirs was unquestionable. The black, magical ink anointing her marked her as Oba’s wife, property, and mother of his heir, and she loved him for the rare honor.

“It’s a colt,” she mused, noticing Rarity peering over at her belly. “You know, I’m kind of surprised I hadn't thought about this earlier…”

With a start, Rarity looked away. “It’s f…funny you should mention that. After hearing about you and Scootaloo, not to mention my own group of friends all having foals of their own, I thought it was about t…time I move on and settle down a bit.”

“Good,” Oba huffed, lightly slapping Sweetie’s rear. Turning his attention over to the elder unicorn, he grimaced. “Who’s the father?”

“W..well, I’m n…not entirely sure,” Rarity stammered. Bending forward and setting the young filly down, she ran her fingers through her daughter’s little mohawk. “I love her with all my heart, but I feel as though her life would be better if she had a full family.”

Oba smiled warmly down at the young zebra mare before turning his eyes up to Rarity. “And whose decision was it for you to sire a bastard? If starting a family is what you wanted, you should have come to us sooner. Unlike Equestrians and the young Zebricans who have moved to your lands, we have standards,” he explained, fondling Sweetie’s rump. “Sit.”

Sweetie stepped in front of him, squatted down, and nonchalantly impaled herself on him while he spoke. Though her heart skipped a beat and her eyes rolled back, she bit her bottom lip to stifle herself. It was her privilege to serve him, regardless of where they were or whom was watching, and it was far from the first time that she’d fucked herself on him in someone else’s presence.

Rarity’s jaw went slack and her eyes widened as she started to move. She realized that such moments would come to an end before long, if only temporarily after she’d given birth, but that only meant she savored each and every one. Reclining against his stomach and chest, having hilted the entirety of his gargantuan shaft, she gyrated her hips and fiercely gripped his stallionhood.

Unable or unwilling to look away from her sister’s stuffed cunt, Rarity licked her lips. “S…surely there’s a fine stallion in this village who would be interested in m…making an honest mare out of me.”

Oba shrugged and snaked his hands under Sweetie’s arms. “That’s not my place to say….”

Rarity shied back as the chieftain squeezed Sweetie’s tits and sent milk showering over the floor. “W…well perhaps you would be interested. As Sweetie will tell you, I’m one of the Elements of Harmony - not only t…that, but I’m her elder sist-”

“That means nothing here,” Oba growled, planting his feet and nonchalantly driving his hips upward. Ignoring the squealing, whimpering mare riding his cock, he glowered over at his guest. “I won’t stop you from seeking a mate in my village, but Sweetie is more than enough to keep me happy.”

Sweetie convulsed and spontaneously climaxed, yet she didn’t slow. Though Oba often spoke fondly of her, flattering her and praising her for her beauty, fertility, and devotion, his kind words had a way of exciting her like few things ever had. He was incredible in every sense of the word, in spite of his age, and he was the first stallion to ever treat her as more than simply a lay.

Turning her head as he pecked her cheek, she slipped a trembling hand to the back of his head and locked lips with him.

His powerful tongue sank into her muzzle while he pinched and twisted her tender, rock-hard nipples. Zebrican studs were the only creatures on the face of the planet who could make her climax multiple times in short order, although Oba was a cut above the rest. Maybe his size gave him an advantage, or perhaps the knowledge that he was the father of her unborn colt played a part - ultimately, irrespective of what specific thing about him made him so incredible, she was putty in his hands.

Flung to the cusp of another climax, trembling from head to toe, she panted when he broke the kiss and turned his attention back to his visitor. She followed suit seconds afterwards, having nearly forgotten about her sister in the brief seconds he’d made out with her, and dutifully continued to milk his length. A part of her felt bad for Rarity, but there was nothing she could do - well, almost nothing.

As she gave Oba a pleading look, he sighed. “Fine. Seek out my son, Likita. He has a wife of his own, but he may be able to offer you some insight.”

“Thank you,” Rarity blurted, bowing her head and backing to the door. “Thank you so much, Sir Oba.”

“Thank your sister,” he grunted, continuing to play with the expectant unicorn’s tits. “Were it not for her, I wouldn’t have mentioned it.”

Rarity slipped a fleeting glance over to Sweetie, faltered, and hastily rushed out of the hut with her filly in her arms. There were plenty of stallions in the village, including a sizable number who’d undoubtedly be happy laying claim to a unicorn, but that was no guarantee of her sister’s success. Standing at the precipice of a second release, she started to move.

While the position she was in didn’t afford her total freedom, there was plenty she could do to please both herself and her lover. Bouncing on his dick and rubbing his sides, she rested her head against his collar and loudly moaned. Unlike when she was on a set, back when she’d been starring in films, there wasn’t a theatrical element to her actions.

She hadn’t asked, but she felt comfortable saying that everyone in the village had either heard or seen them making wild, unabashed love with him. When he was tending to his duties and settling disputes in the tribe, she was either on his side or swabbing her throat with his stallionhood - when the days were finished or before they’d begun, her role was to serve him in any way he saw fit. She was a homemaker, a wife, and a lover - that was when his passion didn’t reduce her to a convenient cock warmer.

Like many times before and many times yet to come, she wore his patience thin. His hands drifted down to her hips, holding her tightly when he tensed his legs and started thrusting into her. Even if she’d wanted to resist him, to get away for some unfathomable reason, there was no stopping him once he fell into a rut.

It only took her a moment to get his timing down and clench her marehood around him on his backstrokes. They’d screwed in more positions than most could dream of, given her flexibility and his unyielding strength, and it was hard for her to pick a favorite among them. Breathing hard and sensing the crown of his dick slam against her womb, she winced.

“O…Oba,” she began, drawing his eye. “May we move to the bed?”

She struggled to think of any drawbacks about being pregnant, but one was that certain positions weren’t as accommodating as they’d once been. The weight of her foal, plus the size and heft of her bust, made being on top a bit of a workout - mercifully for her, Oba was more than capable of picking up the slack. She peeked back at him as she guided one of his hands up to her abdomen.

His amusement faded seeing the trace of discomfort on her face. “But of course, love. Shall I carry you?”

She nodded moments before his big, burly arms wrapped around her torso and under her bust. It wasn’t that uncommon for him to pick her up and carry her, especially now that she was close to her due date, yet she adored it each and every time. His stallionhood was buried in her depths, she could hear and feel the massive heart beating in his bosom, and his grip was like iron as he stood and lumbered over to their bed. Staring over at the mattress, the very one they’d conceived their foal upon, she felt suddenly torn.

Something told her that she could rest, that catering to her lust wouldn’t be in her best interests, yet her desire for more was too strong. Scrunching her snout as he unsheathed her and delicately placed her on the bed, he peered up at him. The slight of his slickened stallionhood glistening in the dim light, bobbing well within her reach, did nothing to hamper her raging libido - if anything, it only magnified her desire.

Steadily rolling onto her back, she wiggled her tush to the edge of the mattress and splayed her legs. She could have begged him, asking him to give her what she craved, but that wouldn’t be necessary. Throughout their time together, they’d learned one another well enough to communicate without actually saying a thing.

He smirked and shook his head while his eyes settled on her winking, gaped pussy. “To think you’d present yourself for an old, fat stallion like me.”

While he may have been old by most standards, he was anything but fat - sure, he carried a bit of extra weight, but anyone his age would kill for a body like his. His thighs and biceps were tree trunks, his pecs were like boulders, and his mighty stallionhood was a war club in everything but name. He was as beautiful as he was mountainous, and he was all hers.

Undeterred, she reached down and shamelessly rubbed her clit. “Only for you, daddy…”

Typical dirty talk didn’t work on him, it never had and she doubted it ever would, yet there was one exception to that rule. For one reason or another, though she knew not why, calling him daddy got his motor running. She presumed he had some unspoken fetish, since she was young enough to be his daughter, but that wasn’t important - what was important was that his cock jerked the moment she’d uttered the word.

“So that’s how it is,” he chuckled, grabbing one of her ankles in each hand. Driving her legs up and back, he forced her feet over her head and loomed over her. “Beg me for it…”

“D…daddy, please…” she breathed, rolling her hip and rubbing her upturned marehood against the underside of his shaft.

Stepping back, he brought his cock-head to her sex. “Please what?”

Gazing down her chest, between her udder-like breasts and over her distended stomach, she fixated on the obsidian goliath that was his stallionhood. “P…please give me another foooooOH!!!”

Her pitiable request devolved into a guttural, incoherent groan as he plunged into her. There wasn’t a thing wrong with riding him - heck, there’d been time when she’d done it until her legs gave out, but nothing - nothing could beat the sensory overload of having him lock her in a mating press. Since Likita had assured her that the ordinarily demanding position wouldn’t harm her or her foal, she wasn’t worried about being utterly dominated by her stud.

With his medial ring teasing her entrance, leaving the root of his length free from her balmy confines, he dipped his head and nursed on her teat. His big, soft lips around her nipple made her hair stand on end. She felt like things would be different when she was breastfeeding her foal, but she wouldn’t be shocked if she took to rubbing herself while her colt was suckling on her.

Immobilized as she was, she tightened her grasp on his stallionhood. He would screw her if she’d asked, although softly goading him to act came with its own rewards. Sure enough, after writhing and softly cooing beneath him, her efforts bore fruit. He peered up at her, pulled back, and swallowed a mouthful of her milk as he steadied himself.

“So needy,” he chuckled, playfully bucking his hips.

With her arms pinned under her legs, she beckoned him with her fingers. “Only for you, daddy.”

Leaning in, his patience having worn thin or eager to indulge her, he kissed her while he began to rut her in earnest. Only able to squeal with delight, utterly at his mercy, she did just that. He had remade her in almost every conceivable way, transcending her from a literal porn star to a proud, expectant mother, and her body had gradually adjusted to accommodate his needs.

Zebrican stallions were large, far larger than pony stallions, although Oba’s endowment made even his most impressive kin appear modest in comparison. She joked that being his lover would make giving birth easy, that she’d be able to squeeze out their foal with little or no effort, and she may not have been wrong. With his stallionhood being nearly as thick as her calf and longer than her forearm, he’d ensured he would be the only stud capable of satisfying her.

Though she came within seconds, only withstanding a handful of thrusts from his cock, her orgasm was as mind-shattering as ever. Her back arched, milk sprayed from her heaving breasts, and her quivering marehood became a geyser of climactic juices. She truly did love him with all her heart, but she wouldn’t deny that his amorous skills and his monstrous dick had played no small part in her abject adoration of him.

As she rode out her ecstasy, her thoughts drifted to her time in Equestria. She knew good and well that she’d inspired innumerable mares to pursue striped lovers, having met no small number at conventions or off set, and that fact filled her with pride. As much as she wanted to feel bad for pony studs, they simply couldn’t compare to their exotic cousins with amorous affairs.

She wondered if she’d been the inspiration for Rarity’s exodus when her second climax hit her like a bomb. With her toes curling and her shrill, blissful wail raising an octave, what little strength she had fled from her. There was something profoundly intoxicating about being conquered by a stud of Oba’s caliber - doubly so considering he was the very stallion who’d put a foal in her.

“Oh buck,” she groaned, throwing her head back.

The bed slamming against the wall, her persistent mewling, and his resonant grunts crafted a sinful symphony that married perfectly with the scent of arousal and musk filling the air. Neither she nor Oba cared if anyone walked in on them - in fact, they practically welcomed it. Their love was no secret, and they had nothing to hide, so anyone foolish or lecherous enough to get a peek at them going at one another was more than welcome to watch them.

She was never one to believe in magic - well, outside of the type that could be wielded, but she knew she’d found something special when she laid eyes on him. Handsome, bigger than a yak, and with decades of experience pleasing mares, he was an unparalleled lover. Since she’d only come to Zebrica to have some fun, she’d been shocked when he proposed to take her as his mate.

Many mares would have refused the offer to wed a perfect stranger outright, but she wasn’t most mares. He gave her everything she ever wanted, the care and consideration her fellow actors were only paid to dole out, and she quickly became enamored with him. Lifting her head, reminded of how amazing he was, she kissed his neck.

She was intimately familiar with every facet of his being, from the taste of his sweat and his scent to the gradual upward curve of his endowment, and she knew she’d never tire of him - yeah, her endurance with him had grown over the months, but that was for his benefit. Gone were the days of cumming as soon as his stallionhood stretched her open, replaced by a zeal to return every ounce of his affection. She moved in tune with him, rhythmically constricting and relaxing her marehood around his girthy, godly tool.

Feeling a third orgasm building before the second fully finished, she tensed. It took her a moment to realize something was amiss, nearly lost to her blinding rapture, yet a singular sensation shook her from her stupor. A deep ache seized her abdomen, one not caused from Oba’s pistoning length, as she peeked down at her belly.

She couldn’t just feel her foal squirming and kicking at the taut flesh of her stomach, she saw it. A veritable torrent of fluid flowed from her depths, drenching the bed and Oba’s lower half, when realization dawned on her. She wasn’t close to giving birth to her foal, she was having her foal.

“O…Oba,” she shouted, “I think my water just broke!”

He stopped in an instant, twisted his head to the side, and looked down to her belly. With a speed belying his titanic size, he leapt back, freed his stallionhood, and knelt by her side. Being a chieftain of many years, it was far from the first time he’d been present to greet a new member of his tribe - even so, the care and concern in his eyes was beyond reproach.

“Sssssssh,” he hissed, taking her hand in his own. “Breathe…”

Though she’d been coached for this moment, walked through the motions by a number of the village mothers and Likita alike, she’d be lying if she said her arousal wasn’t immediately eclipsed by concern. Taking long, deep breaths, she braced her feet on the mattress and contracted her abdomen. The cool air against her marehood and exposed depths was yet more evidence that she was dilated, prepared to bring a life into the world, yet Oba’s grip reminded her that she was not alone.

She truly couldn’t say how long she lay there, keeping her eyes clamped shut while listening to her body. When her instincts told her to push, she pushed - it was as simple as that. While she couldn’t see it, she could feel her cervix yawning open while her foal gradually made his way to her entrance. The entire experience was surreal, the sort of thing that was hard to put into words, but she was immeasurably thankful that there was only the smallest amount of discomfort.

Setting her jaw and giving a final, triumphant push, she screamed when Òkè, her son, slipped from her depths. Her eyes snapped open as his cry met her ears. She’d done it, she’d weathered the storm and was now a mother, and she was not alone. Gathered around her, apparently having crept in to offer her their support, stood nearly a dozen of the tribe - her tribe.

Oba reverently lifted his foal in his hands, holding the little one up for all to see, and shed a tear. Sweetie had known his heart was kind and just, a fair ruler and fine stallion if ever there was one, yet the sight of him crying broke her. Openly weeping and holding his hand, overwhelmed on an existential level, she wiped at her face and sniffled.

Shuffling closer, Scootalloo snared her in a soft, affectionate hug. “You did good…”

“That she did,” Oba affirmed, bringing their foal to her bosom. “More than ever before, you are now one of us.”

Sweetie gazed down at her son, her little Òkè, and beamed. She didn’t have the words to thank them, appreciative beyond measure for Oba, Scootaloo, and the dozens of villagers who’d been nothing but supportive of her for months on end. Turning toward Oba as he kissed her cheek, she smiled up at the colossus.

“Thank you,” she began, looking between all the assembled faces. “Thank all of you so, so much…”

Peering from one zebra to the next, her eyes eventually settled on Rarity. She lifted a hand and waved her sister forward, feeling both guilty for being dismissive earlier and eager to share her newfound maternity with her only sibling. Motherhood was yet one more thing they had in common, and he was genuinely happy to have one of the only family members there to share the tender moment.

Rarity paused by the bed, lowered a hand to the small colt, and hesitated. “M…may I?” she breathed. As Sweetie nodded, she gently caressed the foal’s cheek. “He’s beautiful, darling.”

“Thanks,” Sweetie whispered, seeing the young filly, her niece, standing nearby. “I hope they get along together…”

“I’m sure they will,” Oba mused. Rising to his feet, he raised his hands over his head. “Tonight, we will feast to our three newest members of our tribe!”

The crowd roared in approval, whooping and hollering their adulation, yet Sweetie’s focus lay solely on her son. She’d only just met him, but he meant the world to her already. As he opened his big, blue eyes and peered up at her in wonder, fidgeting ever so slightly in her arms, she found the one thing she never knew she was looking for - she found true peace…