Zebra Anthology

The blindfold made it impossible for him to see, the negation ring over his horn stripped him of his magic, and the drool ball lodged in his muzzle and lashed around the back of his head caused ropes of saliva to dangle from his chin, yet he made no attempt to remove them or cover his bare body. He’d learned quite quickly that insubordination was swiftly and quite harshly punished, while compliance and subservience may be rewarded. As he shifted in place, seated on the cool, polished marble beneath him, his ears swung toward the noise of an opening door.

“There he is,” a silken, feminine voice cooed. “Have you been a good colt?”

Sombra turned to the sound of approaching footsteps and gave a subtle nod. “Mmmph.”

With a heavy sigh, the unseen figure came to a halt nearby. “Such a messy little thing, but I suppose there’s no helping that,” she laughed as an ominous, metallic click came from beneath his chin. “Would you like to go for a walk?”

Pausing for just a moment, trying and failing to keep blood from surging to his loins, he grunted. “Mmmph.”

“Such a good colt, so obedient and handsome,” she sighed, drawing a finger up his chin to lift his face. “Come now, dearest.”

While her words were honeyed and sweet, he knew the venom concealed within them. She acted like he had a choice, she pretended like she cared about him, yet he was nothing but a plaything to her. Feeling a tug on the thick, leather collar around his neck, he blindly turned and crawled on all fours after her. As he gradually moved along, navigating the room and corridor beyond from memory, his mind drifted.

He was King Sombra, conqueror and bane of the Crystal Empire, and his infamy was known throughout Equestria and beyond. Regardless of what the histories said about him, he’d never truly been defeated - delayed or hampered by pesky heroes, yes, although not even death itself could stop him. Thinking back to his most recent brush with oblivion, after battling with the Elements of Harmony in his castle, his mood darkened.

In a word, he was inevitable. His arcane might and sheer force of will spat in the face of all odds, bringing him back to the land of the living time and time again, and he would persist until he’d reclaimed his homelands and his throne - at least that had always been his plan. Every incarnation was the same, reviving in a crystal grotto or in the wastelands after his being had coalesced and manifested into his corporeal form, yet his most recent reappearance had been highly irregular.

“Sit,” she quietly demanded.

Stopping without hesitation, he eased himself down.

A pleased snort veiled what he envisioned was a condescending smirk. “Beg…”

He straightened up and held his arms before his chest, presenting himself like a well-trained canine. “Mmmph.”

“Louder…” she demanded, her tone taking on a hardened edge.

“Mmmph,” he grunted, louder this time. The warmth of spittle slipping around and through the porous ball in his muzzle dripped over his chest and sailed through the air, but it gave it little thought. “Mmmmph!”

Her laugh grew louder as a set of slender, delicate digits glided over his temples and to the back of his head. With the slightest tug that undid the knot securing his blindfold, the piece of leather fell away from his face. He opened his eyes slowly and allowed them to adjust to the relatively dim light around him as he peered up at her.

With a willowy frame and gaunt features, appearing almost infirm and unwell, she smiled down upon him. Her name was Sahira, meaning something akin to witch in her native Zebrican tongue, and she was not as helpless as she appeared. From the moment he’d first laid eyes upon her, awakening on the sandy earth in some unfamiliar hut, he’d presumed she was a fool and a weakling - little had he known the true power she wielded.

“Awwwww,” she sighed, leaning in and caressing his cheek. “Is my special somepony ill-tempered?”

He held her gaze and nodded. Her eyes, like those of a goat’s and the color of amber, bored into him while she unfastened his gag. Drawing in her breath, he remained motionless and let the ball fall from his snout to the floor. She was as different from him as the night was from the day, although the few similarities they shared were staggering.

She stepped away from him and motioned with a hand. “Up.”

And so he stood, rising to his full height while keeping his arms to his sides. He towered over her, with the top of her head only barely reaching the bottom of his pecs, and one of his biceps was larger than either of her thighs. For all intents and purposes, even without the use of his magic, he should have been able to dispatch her with ease, yet any desire to do her harm, in spite of the ignominy he’d endured because of her, was nonexistent.

“Good colt,” she whispered as she turned her back to him.

Though she gave him an opening, giving him little regard as she trotted away, made no move to attack her. His eyes wandered up her legs, over her tush, and up to the thick, tight dreadlocks hanging over her back. She, much like himself, was bereft of any clothing whatsoever, yet she’d chosen her state of undress.

Easing herself into her throne, she beckoned to him. “Come…”

His plodding footfalls echoed throughout the cavernous chamber as he crossed to her. He’d made this place for her, using his sorcery to carve it and the rest of her stronghold into the depths of a glacier, and his enchantments were the only things keeping out the deathly cold. Coming to a halt before her dias, he went to kneel and stopped when she reached out and clasped his wrist.

“Not yet,” she hissed. “Stand here…”

He stepped up and peered down at her as she turned her attention down to his loins. By any reasonable metric, she was a small mare, practically a pygmy by Zebrican standards, and the sight of her contrasted to his monstrous endowment made her appear even more svelte than she already was. Diminutive stature, unnatural gaze, and svelte build aside, there was one other feature she had that made her stand out from her kin.

Plastered over her face and upper muzzle was a black marking that uncannily resembled a skull. He knew that equines of all kinds could have birthmarks or patches of discolored fur, yet his instincts and knowledge of the arcane told him that there was deeper meaning behind her appearance. Who or what she’d struck a bargain with in her homeland was a mystery, and there was an all too real chance that she’d never reveal the true origin of her dark magic.

With a smirk spitting her muzzle, she cocked her head and walked two fingers up his semi-rigid length. “You’re the only pony I’ve ever found worthy to take for myself ~ did you know that?”

“Yes,” he breathed, keeping his eyes on her face.

She leaned in and touched her nose to the root of his stallionhood, deeply inhaled, and shivered. “So robust and virile. I’d hoped you’d put up more of a fight when I summoned you - then again, you are only a pony...”

The assertion breathed life into the moldering embers of his contempt. He’d thought she was joking when she said that she would best him, that he would become her servant and champion, but she put him in his place with ease. All his strength, both physical and otherworldly, had been nothing compared to the abilities she’d harnessed in her homeland.

He’d expected to be banished after she’d vanquished him, although he’d managed to impress her - so much so that she’d made good on her promise. In a way, he wished she had slayed and cast him back to the shadows. The disgrace of being effectively reduced to a pet, stripped of his crown and forced to accompany her while wearing nothing more than a collar, the humiliation of being treated so disgracefully was almost enough to break him - almost.

Slipping a hand behind his pendulous shaft, she fondled one of his balls in one hand. “Nothing to say…?”

With his lip quivering and threatening to curl, he slowly exhaled. “No, mistress.”

“Good,” she clucked, reclining and swinging one leg over the arm of her chair. “Eat…”

His eyes shot down the valley of her modest bosoms, over her abs, and to her nethers. The dark, hairless mound of her marehood glistened invitingly, setting his mouth to water and heart to race. She may have subdued him, besting him in combat and reminding him of who held his leash on a regular basis, but his position did come with a number of benefits.

He fell to one knee and gazed up at her. Her bouquet was like no other, as wild and untamed as the lush jungles of Zebrica, and it alone held no small amount of sway over him. Mutely pondering if her scent was enchanted in some way, he drew his tongue up her inner thigh and to her sex. The flavors of sweat mingled with her arousal on his taste buds as he indulged her.

With a shuddering sigh, she shifted her leg and locked her knee behind his head. “So much more refined than those boorish hulks of which I’m acquainted.”

He paused as her entrance winked around his tongue. Listening to her belittle him, particularly after their periodic sparring matches or the few times she’d tried to escape, was all too common, but there’d been a sincerity in her admission. Willing himself not to be baited and press her on the matter, he languidly feasted on her loins.

“Not that I’d expect you to understand, but you ponies, shortcomings notwithstanding, do have a certain charm,” she continued, flicking the tip of his horn with a finger. “The great and terrible King Sombra, Umbrum of the Northlands - as soon as I heard tales of your exploits, I simply had to see if the stories were true.”

There were times when a reply was warranted, irrespective of the amorous circumstances, and this was one such time. Pulling back ever so slightly, he bowed his head and closed his eyes. “I’m honored, mistress.”

She guffawed and kicked her heel to his back. “No - no you’re not, but your humility amuses me all the same.”

Bearing his fangs and feeling the ring seated on his horn flaring white hot, he leered up at her. There were exceptionally few creatures who walked the earth who could claim they knew him, yet she was one of them. She saw through his feigned modesty and platitudes to the respect she’d rightly earned.

“Did I tell you to stop?” she hissed as her eyes blazed with spectral, harlequin fire.

He begrudgingly shot forward and rested his canines on the tender skin to either side of her marehood as he picked up where he’d left off. To evoke her ire would only make his situation worse. Though he was loath to admit it, she was as or possibly even more creative than he was in regards to tormenting those who angered her.

One corner of her lips curled upward and revealed her filed, sharpened teeth. “You hate me ~ don’t you?”

Growling into her cunt, he knitted his brow and plunged his tongue into her depths. He detested her, wishing for nothing more than to humble or slaughter her for her insolence, although there was a piece of him that admired her. She wasn’t an alicorn demigod, nor did she hold an ancient artifact of incalculable power - she was, or at one point had been, nothing more than an ordinary mare.

As much as he abhorred her, she shared several similarities with him. She’d sought and attained power her kin feared, she was an outcast, and she was just as, if not more wicked than himself. If things had been different, had they crossed paths under different conditions, she could have - would have made for an exemplary vassal - alas, fate had a sense of irony.

“Right there,” she murmured, grasping his horn and angling his snout to her clit.

With his enmity and disdain warring with his mounting lust and veneration for her, he extended his arms and slid his hands up to her chest. Groping her in such a way was brazen and impertinent, yet she didn’t try to stop him. As he pinched and twisted her nipples, she rolled her head back and moaned.

There’d been occasions when his impudence struck a chord, though she often enjoyed when he was upset. His impotent rage excited her, thrilling her in a sadistic way, and she’d freely confessed that she found him more entertaining than her ilk. Emboldened, he went to bite down, if only to show her he wasn’t to be trifled with, and discovered he wouldn’t move.

A rictus grin played over her muzzle as she locked eyes with him. “Ah ah -” she coolly tutted, waving a finger that left ghostly afterimages in its wake. “You bite when I allow you to bite ~ is that clear?”

“I…guh,” he snarled, drooling and quaking as his muscles refused to obey him.

With a strength that defied her lean physique, she wrenched his head upward. He struggled to breath, much less move, though the inability to control himself was only one facet of the dread which gripped him. Under her oppressive gaze, fear - true, primal fear mingled with his carnality. Though sheer determination alone, he glared at her unbridled animosity.

Bending forward at the waist, she brought herself face to face with him. “There it is,” she muttered. “You may think I’m doing this for fun, and in part I am, but I don’t detest you, Sombra - on the contrary, I’m doing this because I adore you.”

“W…what,” he rumbled, raging against her preternatural influence.

One of the most infuriating things about her was that he had yet to determine how her talents worked. He was aware that she had some unholy power of suggestion, bending the will of those she spoke to, but there was far more to it than that. As he railed against his unseen bonds, she kissed the tip of his nose.

“I’m making you what you’re meant to be,” she purred. “Wouldn’t it be so much easier to submit? To put it another way, would you rather remain under my heel for the rest of eternity or voluntarily serve as my right-hand and lover?”

The spell disappeared as quickly as it had been evoked. He caught himself before he fell against her, if only just, and shook his head. This was a feint - it had to be. Shirking off the temptation to strike her, he pushed himself up.

“Well?” she softly urged.

He wanted to kill her, to put this whole inglorious chapter of his life behind him and leave her carcass to be immortalized in the ice of the snowy badlands, though there was a note of truth in her words. Had somepony told him he’d ever bend the knee to anypony, much less a Zebrican mare, he would have laughed - nevertheless, were he to dedicate himself to another, it would be her.

“I do hate you,” he hissed.

She cradled his head in both hands as she crept closer. “And…?”

He could have waxed poetic about how she’d rue the day for crossing him, written sonnets in her blood of her transgressions against him, or crafted symphonies from her pained cries, yet his indignation was obscured by something else. The mere notion that he cared for her sickened him to his core, though there was no other way to explain it - he wanted her. He’d known love in the past, long before he reigned as a King, but this wasn’t that - this was something altogether different.

While it was possible that his mind had been altered, teased apart and changed in some existential way, that ultimately made little difference. He was virtually powerless against her, having been laid low by her a number of times, and a part of him was enamored by how weak he was compared to her. Her callous subjugation was vexing to say the least, although held a novel appeal that shone through his rancor.

Closing the gap between them, he locked lips and fiercely made out with her. He would never give voice to his thoughts, though he couldn’t endure it any longer. His tongue sank into her muzzle as her hands snaked under his arms and to his back. She was a loathsome creature, of that there was no question, but he, for the time being, belonged to her.

Rearing back, she licked her lips. “Should we take this to the bedchamber, dearest?”

With her legs coiling around his waist, he grabbed her shoulder and slammed her back against the throne. The choice he’d been given, be it illusory or not, did not go unanswered. Bringing his free hand between them, he clutched his stallionhood and touched it to her entrance.

She bucked her hips and slathered the tip of his length with her essence while snickering menacingly. “They told me ponies were supposed to be civil - Aaaaaaghn!”

Her guttural cry was like music to his ears, stimulating him on a fundamental level as he drove his cock into her. Glancing down and watching inch after inch of his length disappear into her balmy, taut depths, he marveled at the disparity of their sizes. Any normal mare would have been hard pressed to accommodate a stallion of his size, but she was far from an ordinary mare.

Caressing a noticeable bulge working its way up her abdomen, she traced a finger over the imprint of his endowment. “What would you give to breed me - to make me some broken sow of a broodmare chained to your throne?”

The thought sent him into a frenzy, invigorating him and playing to his darkest desires. Had he been victorious over her, he would have enslaved her and used her as a convenient outlet for his sexual urges, if for no other reason than to put her in her rightful place. Dwelling on a future that hadn’t come to pass, he withdrew a fraction of his shaft, braced his legs, and set to rutting her.

While he’d bedded many mares in his day, she was in a league of her own. Not only was she incredibly tight, practically milking him dry without even trying to do so, but her masochism was stirring to a fault. She couldn’t have endured the monumental intrusion without no small amount of discomfort - on top of that, having her insides stretched to their limit wasn’t the only hallmark of her depravity.

Wrapping a fistful of her dreadlocks around his hand, he hauled her head back and earned himself a delighted howl for his efforts. He knew it was wrong, that he shouldn’t succumb to his savage instincts, but his sense of reason was outstripped by his impulses and the glaring reality that he had no other option. She longed to be ravaged just as badly as he yearned to ruin her, so he gave them both what they so dearly wished for.

Her nails sank into his back, digging through his fur and piercing his skin, while his hold on her shoulder tightened. Had he not known better, he would have assumed she was in agony. The way she shrieked and writhed, her toes curling and eyes rolling wildly, was like that of a beast possessed as his stallionhood battered against her womb.

Tensing and spasming around him, she rewarded his efforts with a climax. Sweltering nectar bathed his pistoning groin and upper thighs, seeping into his fur and dampening his skin, but he didn’t slow - if anything, her orgasm only spurred him to plow her even harder. While she’d somehow avoided being knocked up by their many beddings, his perseverance would see him carry his foal.

The drumbeat of his balls smacking against her backside grew more intense, vying for supremacy against his grunts and her mewling. She was a mare, a creature lesser to himself, and he would dominate her - maybe not this day or the next, but it would come in time. Draping himself over her, he breathed hotly on her ear before sinking his fangs into her collar.

She screamed and convulsed beneath him, wracked with the ecstasy of another climax. Perhaps he’d been wrong about her and himself. Altering the angle of his thrusts to grind his medial ring against her g-spot, he unleashed his full sexual potential against her. It would only be a matter of time until she caved to her marish wiles, pledging herself and her doubtlessly fertile womb to him.

He gave her no quarter, making her cum over and over again before he approached his limit - even then, after delivering untold ecstasy to her, his release was carried by the prospect of all the things he was going to do with her. Leashing her to his throne would be obvious, keeping her gravid body bare for any and all to see, although that would only be the start of her degradation. In the end, no matter what embarrassments he put her through, she would be a pale shadow of the proud wretch that had attempted to claim him.

Just as he started to flare, her eyes shot wide. Her blissful expression was gone in an instant and replaced by the same stony countenance he’d grown so used to. Placing a hand on his chest and sliding her legs from his back, she touched her heels on the throne’s base and kicked off.

The world spun and his head cracked on the floor as he was thrown onto his back, but he wasn’t alone. Landing atop him, having somehow managed to remain impaled on his length, she flipped the dreadlocks away from her face and smiled down upon him. She would have been beautiful, had she not been a paragon of cruelty.

“This,” she began, fucking herself on him while guiding his hand to her belly, “is mine and mine alone.”

He tried to speak, yet all he could manage was a dull groan. Once again, she’d put him under her spell, rendering him a puppet and little else. He wanted to be angry, to turn the tables on her and make his fantasy an actuality, but the pleasure coursing through him was too great. Unable to move, he watched her recline and rub her clit while she rode him.

The physical sensations were unparalleled, better than any mare he’d ever been with, and the disgrace she put him through somehow magnified him. It was a taste of heaven and hell, bittersweet in the purest sense of the word, and it chipped away at his sanity. As she peeked back and nodded, he lifted his legs and planted his feet.

“Much - Mmmn - better,” she sighed, using his thighs as a backrest. Meeting his gaze with her heavily-lidded eyes, she grinned. “Who do you belong to?”

He would have liked to say the question was idiotic, considering he couldn’t speak, but then he realized how wrong he’d been. While he couldn’t budge anything from his neck downward, he’d regained full control of his body above the shoulders. Being overpowered didn’t concern him, nor did being given the ability and only the ability to speak bother him - no, the terror that welled up within him came from the stunning realization of the answer she sought.

Increasing her pace, she gyrated on his stallionhood. “Don’t be so shy…”

“You,” he wheezed. “I belong to you!”

The admission, simply hearing himself earnestly profess what he’d refused to believe for months on end, was his undoing. As insane as it may have sounded, he came harder than he ever had throughout his life. His stallionhood pulsed in tune with his thundering heart, sending wave after wave of his essence up his shaft and into her depths as he teetered on the brink of insanity.

What should have been his triumphant roar was a pitiable whimper that was outshone by her raucous, fanatical laughter. She’d tamed him, but it wasn’t until that moment that he fully grasped that immutable fact. Heaving air into his chest, he wearily lifted his head as she laid against him and stroked his side.

“Was that so hard?” she breathed. Getting no response, she rested her head on his shoulder. “Embrace it or not, you’ll be mine soon enough…”

He remained still and stared up at the ceiling far overhead. She was right, he knew it in his heart of hearts, and it both terrified and elated him. If he did give up, his life would be much easier and arguably more pleasant - if he continued to oppose her, his surrender would still be inevitable. Lifting a hand and placing it on her ass before comprehending he could move, he mirthlessly chuckled. As he savored the warmth she afforded, he recalled something he’d told one of his past slaves - it’s best not to resist…