Zebra Anthology

Breathe - just breathe. It was the only thing Octavia could do for the time being, so she did just that. The latex encasing her was stifling, dulling her senses and rendering her unable to see, though she’d grown used to it over time. As she listened to the lilting, almost soothing orchestral music echoing through the chamber, her mind wandered back to when she’d taken the plunge.

She’d always been quite the accomplished cellist, having worked hard from the time she’d first heard the melodic instrument as a filly, and she’d earned every ounce of her acclaim, yet the routine of it all had eventually grown dull. Performing at prestigious galas and amphitheaters, events that once thrilled her to no end, had become the norm. She still loved to play for ponies, and was particularly elated when young fans told her that they wished to follow in her footsteps, although the realization that she wasn’t getting any younger, and that her life wasn’t nearly as thrilling as it once had been, had spurred her to mix things up.

It hadn’t been a year ago that she’d decided to make a change, yet the nature of that change had taken her by surprise. On an evening like any other, chosen purely by happenstance, she’d visited a club - a somewhat infamous little dive where naughty ponies went to slake their amorous desires in front of an audience. While she’d simply planned on spectating at first, curious and aroused by the provocative displays of the bold participants, she had ended up doing much more than simply observe.

She hadn’t known the stallion’s name, but she would never forget him. Tall, adonic, and with a rich, sonorous voice, the Zebrican mountain of a stud had struck up a conversation while two ponies made love on stage. It had been a bit jarring to casually chat with a perfect stranger throughout an exhibitionistic show, although his honeyed words, charming good looks, and forward nature had won her over with ease.

Before she knew it, she found herself being led to the dias by her newfound, striped acquaintance. The way he touched her had been phenomenal, caressing her in ways that no stallion ever had, and the fact that she was stripped and made love to before a crowd only made the exchange all the more electrifying. That singular moment, being taken and ravished by somepony she’d never seen before nor ever seen since, had been transformative in every sense of the word.

Her first trip to the club was followed by a second, then a third and a fourth, until she was visiting regularly. Every night had been different, with some being more obscene than others, although none had eclipsed her first performance with her mysterious zebra lover. Maybe it was because the Zebrican had cast a light on a side of herself that she hadn’t known existed, or perhaps it was because he was easily one of the most gifted paramours she’d ever had - in either case, it sent her on a quest of hedonistic self-discovery.

Things had started innocently enough at first, seeking out zebras over native Equestrians, although it wasn’t long until even striped studs weren’t enough to fully satisfy her. Her carnality, a facet of herself that had been long neglected, was unleashed, and she quickly learned that it was a ravenous beast. Entertaining two stallions in tandem had served her well for a time, as had gradually introducing bondage elements into her shows, but they weren’t enough - they were never enough.

It had been a maddening period to suffer through, like having an itch she couldn’t quite scratch fully, and it, paired with the concerns of her friends, had led her to withdraw and reflect on what she was doing with herself. She’d been having fun, she wouldn’t deny that, but her professional career had suffered because of it. There’d been engagements she’d turned down, including several in the Crystal Empire and at least one at the Canterlot castle itself, and it ultimately led her to an impasse ~ would she be willing to trade her accomplishments as a musician for her amorous wants?

Though she’d assumed the question wasn’t one which was easily answered, the solution she’d come to was as elegant as it was simple. There was a way that she could kill two birds with one stone, making a living for herself while simultaneously gratifying her lecherous desires, yet it came with a cost. In what was both the best and worst decision she’d ever made, she’d abandoned her musical art for one that was positively sinful.

She wouldn’t deny that she loved sex, having practically become an addict for it, and the depths of her depravity were as vast and bottomless as the sea - still, she held herself to a particularly high standard. Her first step was to invest in a space for her perverted pursuits, buying a derelict factory on the outskirts of Fillydelphia - next, she spent over a month refurbishing and remodeling the interior. The work had been hard, her bank accounts had been almost entirely drained, and she’d risked everything she had on a gamble, but it had paid off - by Celestia, had it ever paid off.

Kink clubs and peep shows weren’t as uncommon as they used to be, but her palace was a cut above the rest. Balanced on the razored edge of lust and art, her business elevated sexual fetishism to a medium all its own. Ponies traveled from continents away to spectate or participate in her exhibits, freed from any judgment from the second they stepped through her door, and she’d become rich beyond her wildest dreams practically overnight.

Many mares would have stopped there, basking in their success and immense wealth, but she wasn’t like most mares. The entire reason she’d started her business was to gratify herself, and so she did. Not only did she become the proprietor of her erotic establishment, but she was its star attraction.

Every night - every night, she put on a performance. Some evenings were relatively simple, consisting of solo acts where she’d pleasure herself for a crowd - others, she’d be joined by assistants for various perverse performances. Regardless of what she was doing or whom she was doing it with, there was one constant - she almost always pushed the boundaries.

Her ear twitched and swiveled to one side as she jolted back to the present. The sound of shoes on the polished marble flooring was a constant, as were hushed whispers and remarks around her, yet somepony amongst her audience was daring enough to finally approach her. Feeling a set of fingers run down her shoulder, over her side, and ultimately to her hip, she suppressed an elated whimper.

Sensory deprivation had become quite the thrilling experience for her, and she’d relished the helplessness of being immobilized, so it was only logical that combining the two would make for a rousing experience. Suspended from the ceiling and sheathed in a latex body-suit, with only her lips and nethers left exposed, she lazily spun in the center of her largest gallery.

She was a living, breathing art piece, and she was more than just a mere display. Many of her guests would merely look at her, marveling at the debaucherous creature she’d become, although there were some who weren’t content with simply spectating. As the hand on her flank glided over her tush and between her splayed thighs, her gaped, slavering marehood grasped at nothing.

The cool air against her depths was harrowing, maddening even, though it stimulated her like few things ever could. After going for hours without any stimulation whatsoever, the simple grace of a digit was enough to send bolts of pleasure shrieking through her. Sensing what she presumed was a thumb pass between her grasping lower lips and to her bulging, pierced clit, she groaned through the rubber gag lodged in her muzzle.

The excruciating torment borne from her lack of control and insight as to what precisely was going on was intoxicating. Was it a stallion or a mare that was toying with her? Would she be left wanting? What was going to happen to her? Only able to listen, feel, smell, and taste, if her visitors were so charitable as to remove her gag, she twisted ever so slightly and arched her back.

A soft chuckle graced her ear as the hand withdrew from her loins. Not knowing what would become of her was excruciating, but she’d willingly signed up for this. It was almost laughably easy to seduce somepony, especially in an establishment such as this, but it took a very special individual to place their body, pleasure, and very well-being in the hands of strangers.

Anypony and everypony in the room could see how aroused she was. The imprint of her nipples was made obvious by the sheer, black rubber sheathing her, there was a puddle of juices and saliva beneath her, and her desperate, honestly pathetic whining echoed throughout the cavernous chamber. On the cusp of accepting that her suitor had found her wanting, she tensed when a pair of hands clutched and squeezed her breasts.

Her tits were the one part of herself that she’d willingly taken liberties with after her business had become successful. Formerly modest and quite small, little more than handfuls, her bosoms had grown into a pair of fat, fuckable mounds of delectably sensitive flesh. Breathing hard and torquing her shoulders from side to side, she practically wept when the hands groping her departed.

The position she was in wasn’t exactly ideal for having her chest played with, but it was good for a great many other things. Her forearms were lashed behind her back, her ankles were held by lengths of thick cord, and a single strand of rope was wound masterfully around her torso and limbs. Anypony was free to use or abuse her as they so chose, even having access to a small number of toys available on a nearby table, and the pony, if they were a pony at all, who’d just fondled her was the first to touch her that evening.

She went to twist her head and froze as the faintest scent graced her nostrils. Thick and redolent, smacking of somepony who hadn’t bathed in some time, the aroma of an unwashed stallionhood graced her sinuses. Breathing deep and following her nose, she swung her snout toward the source of the smell and flinched when something warm tapped against her chin.

Her mouth watered, her pulse spiked, and a rope of drool slipped from her battered confines to dangle in the open air. A zebra was standing before her, she’d bet every bit she had on that, although what his intentions for her were yet to be seen. One of the perils of these particular performances was that she had no control whatsoever, occasionally being teased and left wanting, although that was precisely why she adored putting herself in such situations.

Offering herself to any stallion was a gift, but giving her body to a zebra stallion was akin to a religious experience. The exotic studs were indomitable, primal and zealous on a level that made ponies look meek in contrast, and they took what they wanted. When one of the striped demigods took her, having their way with her like she was their property, the ecstasy which overtook her was breathtaking.

She groaned and writhed against her bonds, drooling from both ends while her wrapped tail flagged. Earning his favor wouldn’t be easy, but that was nopony’s fault but her own. After months upon months of being used, fucked and even fisted by guests, her once-taut holes weren’t nearly as appealing as they’d once been.

Her marehood meaty and perpetually yawned open, prepared to take a stallionhood at a moment’s notice, and her backdoor was in no better condition. The tight crater of anus had developed into an engorged, doughy ring that was capable of accommodating more than her actual sex. She was completely aware that many stallions would be turned off by how loose she was, wishing for a tight, less worn out mare than herself, although her whorishness separated the wheat from the chaff.

The small number of ponies who chose to fool around with her were largely left unsatisfied. Even when she clenched around them, attempting to wring their stallionhoods dry, her grip was weak and slack at best. Only the largest endowments came close to filling her, and the biggest of which were typically held by a singular class of equine.

With a soft click, the strap securing the gag to her head came free. Like a carpet being rolled out, her tongue lolled out as she opened her muzzle fully. There was no urge for her to beg, simply because she hadn’t been asked, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t offer herself in a mute, curt fashion. Coinciding with a soft chuckle above her, a blunt cock-head slid into her snout.

The harsh flavors that exploded over her palate affirmed her suspicions. She most definitely was dealing with a zebra, likely a young, impetuous one, and she was overjoyed by the opportunity to clean his stallionhood. One of, if not the best thing about being blindfolded was that she had no way of knowing who was seeking out her services - given that, her imagination was left to fill in the blanks.

She liked to think that her suitor was inexperienced, some stallion half her age who’d heard whispers about the naughty, kinky mare who ran an adult-themed exhibit just outside of town. He’d likely brag about his time with her to his friends, regaling them with how she struggled to handle him, although that hardly mattered to her. Her only concern was that he enjoyed himself, preferably while seeing and treating her as an object to vent his frustrations before giving her a heaping helping of foal-batter.

Mopping his shaft with her lips while he started to buck into her face, she faltered. Something brushed against her inner thigh - no, two somethings. As she mused on if the stud had brought a friend, or if his boldness had inspired another member of the crowd, a set of what could only be knuckles ran over her marehood and up to her backdoor.

She’d long ago learned to prepare for every possibility, thoroughly cleaning and lubing herself prior to being paraded out and hung like a fetishistic ornament in her gallery, and that was for good reason. There were occasionally guests who didn’t seek physical pleasure, deriving enjoyment solely from demeaning or abusing her, though they were relatively rare. Bending her knees as much as she could, she set herself to swing back against her second visitor.

The sudden intrusion of a fist in her ass caused her to bray out in surprise and glee, but it was cut off almost immediately. With her airway open and mouth gullet vulnerable, the stallion standing before her plunged his length straight down her throat. Her startled cry became a gag while the stud laughed and hilted in her muzzle.

Having what felt like a foot of dick shoved into her esophagus was delightfully intense, preventing her from breathing or making anything but the most pathetic of noises, but it was the sensation of a forearm gradually snaking into her colon that threatened to break her. The quivering ring of her pucker was forced open as it embraced the muscular limb. He, if it was indeed a he, didn’t slow in the slightest until his elbow pressed to her hole - even then, after taking a second to possibly appreciate the sight of her, he continued onward.

Though she couldn’t see it, she could sense her belly distending and conforming to the arm within her colon. The muttering around her grew louder and more animated as her audience marveled at her. She was a toy, one which had been put through its paces many times before and many times yet to come, and tonight she would be tested.

Thick fingers traced down the back of her neck and around her throat while the stallion fucking her face began to move faster. He could have done anything, from pulling her mane to hauling on her restraints, but he was more creative than most. As he tightened his grip and throttled her, effectively stroking himself off and choking her more than she already was, her rapture reached its zenith.

Wracked with ecstasy, she came. Her marehood erupted like a geyser, tears slipped from beneath her blindfold, and her heart thundered wildly in her bosom. This was what she was made for, not sitting in front of an audience to craft music, and her only regret was not finding her true place sooner than she had.

Her suitors relented, one pulling his arm from her ass while the other stepped back just enough to let her oxygen-starved lungs get a sip of air. She’d always presumed that nothing could ever beat playing her cello, yet she’d been terribly mistaken. Acting as an outlet for stallions’ sexual desires, while giving perilously little regard to her own needs or wants - that was her real calling.

The stud behind her wiped his arm off on her lower back while stepping between her legs. She’d had her doubts on if the stranger was a stallion at all, although that concern was answered when she felt a broad, fat cock-head bear against her loosened, cavernous pucker. As nice as it would have been to get her marehood stuff, she certainly wasn’t opposed to having her ass plowed.

Thrusting completely out of sync with one another, the duo fucked her without a shred of restraint. One titanic stallionhood effortlessly pounded her backside, causing a mixture of lube and pre-cum to drool over her winking cunt, while a second plunged in and out of her muzzle. It was glorious, everything she yearned for and more, and the fact that she had an audience to savor the savage display only served to elevate her bliss.

“I got next,” somepony grunted from beside her. “I’m gonna fuck up that pussy of hers…”

She practically climaxed hearing his voice alone. He sounded big, his voice impossibly deep, and she could tell that he was going to make good on his promise. There was something decadently hedonistic about being as worn-out as she was. Zebras, even well-hung ones, rarely gave her much of a challenge, but something told her that the stud waiting patiently for his turn wasn’t going to take it easy on her.

Fantasizing about what fate would befall her next, and if there was cue forming for her services, she slipped into a mental haze. Her breasts swayed beneath her, her body swung between the duo railing her, and a golden, heavy-gauged ring weighed upon her clit. The only thing that could have improved upon the situation would be if she was nude - on the other hand, only being able to feel completely with her mouth and nethethers came with benefits of its own.

Time steadily passed while the studs grew more impassioned. It almost seemed like they were in a race with one another, each snorting and bucking their hips like it was the last thing they’d ever do, but she doubted that was the case. Feeling the stallionhood throb against her backdoor, pulsing while ropes of seed coursed into her, she bore down and clamped her ass around the base of his shaft.

A proper mare, irrespective of the circumstances, didn’t let a stallion’s essence go to waste. Her depths warmed under the flood of his spunk, slickened further by his generosity, although he didn’t stay hilted within her for long. Stepping back, he hauled his flared cock-head free with a wet pop, snickered, and violently slapped her cum-slathered hole.

“There ya go, pops,” he guffawed as he departed.

She strained to contain the jizz in her rear, but it was no use. Spunk flowed from her velvety, distended pucker, rolling over her marehood and down to her clit before pattering to the floor. One of the few drawbacks to being as seasoned as she was was that messes were practically unavoidable, although that clearly didn’t bother the stallion using her throat.

With his thrusts faltering and growing erratic, the stud choked her as he buried his length. “Fuck yeah.”

Pain mingled with pleasure, her consciousness faded, and her lungs burned. It was through sheer determination and experience that she didn’t succumb and black out, having learned some time ago that panicking was the worst thing she could do, so she suppressed her gag reflex and cherished every drop of seed that coursed into her stomach. Her only real fear had been climaxing, understanding that the overwhelming pleasure would be too much for her to handle, although she held herself back just long enough to let him unsheathe his stallionhood and paint her face.

“Fucking slut,” he growled.

A soft sound graced her ear seconds before a warm gobbet of spit impacted on her cheek. He was wrong, she wasn’t a slut - she was both less and more than that. A slut merely had sex for the sake of having sex, whores capitalized on carnality, but she had transformed eroticism into an art form - a contentious art form that many found repulsive, but an art form all the same. Clearing her throat as quietly as she could, she respectfully dipped her head and mutely thanked the stallion for his time.

She must have - no, she was a total mess. White cum lay strewn over her jet-black body suit, her lipstick was smeared and mascara ran from beneath her blindfold, and both her destroyed marehood and ass were open for all to see. While many would have hated themselves for being reduced to such a debauched spectacle, she was filled with nothing but pride.

The sound of boots on marble tore her from her musings and prompted her to turn her head. Either having cowed his fellow attendees into submission intentionally or purely by his doubtlessly intimidating nature, her next suitor grabbed her ankles and pulled her legs apart. He’d said he was going to fuck up her pussy, and he meant it.

Without any warning whatsoever, her cunt was filled. Whoever this stallion was, he was definitely bit in at least one way. Deeper and deeper he plunged, slipping through her cervix and into her womb, until his big, heavy balls came to rest against her clit. Her jaw went slack and she stiffened, taken aback by the vehement violation of her inner chamber, yet her silence was fleeting.

With her maw clear, she sang - she sang a song of sin that resonated and echoed throughout the gallery. She’d never been much of a vocalist, much preferring to let her instruments sing for her, but her rapture made her a songstress. Everypony in the building would have heard her, unquestioningly listening to her blissful wail, and they steadily flocked to enjoy the show.

She climaxed as soon as the stud pulled on her dock, delivering a dose of discomfort alongside the bliss of plowing her, and she sullied the floor with her juices. Other mares, the ones who would gaze upon her with disdain, were blind; they didn’t understand the divinity of embracing their true selves and finding their purpose. With her head yanked to the side, her mane tugged by the brute, she suckled and nursed upon one of his calloused digits.

Some of the onlookers laughed, others questioned how she could have fallen from grace, and a few even remarked about how pitiful she’d become - in every case, their adulation thrilled her to no end. Having endured two orgasms already, and with hours to go before her exhibit concluded, she smiled around the stallion’s fingers. No matter how many guests she had, regardless of whether she was touched, screwed, teased, or simply talked down to, she was certain of one immutable fact - she was happy.