Mare After Midnight

by MerchantofMisrata

Rating: mature
Tags: Original Character, Porn, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Bat Pony, Fetish, Romance, Non-consensual, Sex, Equestria at War, Dark
Length: 7094

A Chiropterran slave settles in for a long night with his mistress.

Darkness has fallen over North Zebrica. The fanatical legions of Chiropterra have crushed the neighboring kingdoms through force of arms, enslaving their peoples in preparation for the return of their goddess.

Parcel Pack knows he should try to escape. He knows the Chiropterrans will never grant him his freedom, will never see him as anything but property. He knows his batpony master will treat him however she sees fit, and he knows he will be made to serve her for the rest of his days.

Perhaps, he thinks, that won't be so bad.

F/M smut, tagged non-con for slavery. Contains femdom, body worship, cunnilingus, and breeding.

Thanks to EdgarFox for proofreading.

Published 2024-12-07 20:10:00 UTC
Last updated 2024-12-07 20:10:00 UTC

Slave to the Nightmare

Pale moonlight shone on the waters of the Green Bay. Leaning on the railing of another pony’s balcony, Parcel Pack watched the shimmering surface and wondered how his life had come to this.

The moon was the only light left now: across the bay, the windows and streetlamps of Tobuck had gone dark, perhaps forever. His former home was newly subjugated; another jewel in the Nightmare’s crown. It had been years since he’d last seen it and its fall brought him no grief, but all the same he didn’t feel like looking at it now. Too many memories, perhaps.

“Laborer! Get over here!”

Parcel whirled about and hurried back inside, back to the comfort of routine. What had once been a small sitting room was now barren, the furniture cleared by his own hooves and a table brought in to hold maps and a radio. The gilded chandelier and plush carpets had no place in a command center, but they impeded nothing and so they remained.

Commander Sabre was standing over the table, her slitted green eyes wandering back and forth as she read over a report. Her sector of the rear had been quiet, and she was in no hurry. She’d left her uniform unbuttoned, exposing the prominent tuft of steel-gray fur on her chest, and the warm breeze from outside had scattered the dark blue locks of her mane in a manner unbecoming an officer.

“Fetch me a coffee,” she snapped without looking up. “Milk and two sugar cubes, make it quick.”

Parcel didn’t need to think about it. “Of course, ma’am.” He gave a quick nod and hurried off.

Darkness shrouded the rooms downstairs. A pair of legionnaires loitered in the foyer, standing guard over the command post, and Parcel did his best not to catch their attention: soldiers could be cruel at the best of times and he’d do well not to give them a reason. A few packs of supplies had been left in the kitchen, and after rummaging through them he retrieved a packet of rations and a tin cup. There was an abandoned woodstove nearby and it only took a quick flare spell to get it started again.

Before his capture by the legions, he’d never once tried to make coffee. Too many steps - he’d been a mailpony, not a barista. Brewing was a skill he’d had to learn the hard way, through trial and painful error, and he was hardly an expert at it even now. It was good, then, that instant coffee was so common in the legions: even he couldn’t mess it up.

There was still the matter of Sabre’s tastes, of course. After pouring out most of a powdered milk packet and stirring it in, he took a surreptitious sip from the cup and added a little more - best to err on the lighter side with her. Then, after adding a couple sugarcubes and testing it again, he delivered it upstairs.

Sabre raised her head as he approached, her nostrils flaring at the warm, soothing scent that filled the room. As he levitated it into her hooves, he noticed the small smile she gave him before returning to her reports.

Sabre Rattle had been in charge of Parcel for three of the four years he’d lived under the Nightmare, having requisitioned him personally. For a Chiropterran she was not a cruel master, nor was she strict - she allowed him to use magic, for instance - but she did have her idiosyncrasies, as all masters did.

She took a drink, set the coffee on the desk and cleared her throat. “Very good,” she said.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“A little less milk next time.”

It was still a victory in his mind.

He stood stoically to the side while she worked, as was expected of him. In the official sense, his purpose was to “aid and assist her majesty’s loyal officer with menial tasks unbefitting their rank.” In practice, he was to do whatever the Commander asked without question. It was not always simple, but he often reminded himself it was better than the alternative. Even a hard life following the legions was an improvement over the work-camps.

And, in truth, he wouldn’t want any other master.

Sabre kept shifting from hoof to hoof as she looked over a telegraph from one of her subordinates. She went through her coffee quickly, picking it up and setting it down again every few seconds, and Parcel figured he’d have to go make more soon. Though he wasn’t supposed to, he took a few peeks at the report she was reading: nothing bad, just a dispatch on logistics. The legionnaires had captured more ammunition than they’d fired, or so it claimed.

“More coffee,” said the Commander, pushing her cup to the edge of the table right on cue. This time she glanced at Parcel, and he lowered his head to avoid meeting her eyes.

By the time he got back she’d moved on to a different missive, leaning on the table with her head propped up by a forehoof. Her fangs gleamed white as she chewed on her lip, and her wings hung unfurled at her sides. He knew this mood well, and didn’t dare interrupt it. As he passed her the coffee she downed it greedily, pausing now and then to blow on the hot liquid and paying little heed to the messages on the table.

Parcel smiled to himself. How funny, he thought, that the warriors of the night still get tired.

Having to follow Sabre around had caused him to see things that he was not supposed to. Most of her nights were spent marching around the camp, yelling at lieutenants and making speeches about the glory of the Nightmare - but then there were times like this, times when all her zeal had run out and the only thing left was a young mare with a boring job and too much time on her hooves. It was hard to be intimidated when he knew what her time off looked like.

It had taken him several weeks to notice that Sabre wore eyeshadow: just a thin layer, nothing too obvious. Every evening she applied it in front of a mirror, or a pond, or a piece of broken glass if that was the only thing available, and every morning she washed it off before laying down in her cot. He thought it was a silly thing for a military mare to do, because invariably it would smudge, or run, or get mixed with dust, and nopony was likely to notice it anyways. But who was he to judge?

Tonight, her makeup was smudged on account of resting her head on the table one time too many. A bit of it had found its way onto her cheek, where it stood out as a little dark splotch on her coat: she hadn’t noticed it yet, and Parcel had caught himself staring at it several times. It looked a bit like a beauty mark, or perhaps an oddly-shaped freckle, and he couldn’t help but think that it would be a shame to tell her about it.

When she’d finished her second cup she set it aside and went back to reading with a sigh. Coffee or no, he got the sense she wouldn’t bother for much longer. His eyes drifted back to the spot on her cheek, the spot that only he had noticed, and then wandered on a whim down to her neck. Sabre cut a very different figure at such a late hour, with her ponytail coming loose and her upright posture now slanted to the side. Her uniform was slightly too small for her - an error of logistics she hadn’t bothered to rectify - and the way it hugged her barrel was all the more apparent with her body stretched out and her muscles relaxed.

Her tail caught his attention where it stuck out from the rear of her uniform. It swayed side-to-side as she read, loose strands trailing behind it, and underneath was-

“Ahem.”

Parcel snapped to attention. Sabre had pushed her current report aside, and was now looking at him with a slight smirk on her muzzle. “You’re staring again,” she said.

“Sorry, ma’am.” Parcel lowered his head in an attempt to hide his blush. Even so, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

“Tsk, heathens.” Sabre let out a snort and shook her head. “I’m busy right now. You’ll wait for me to finish, and then” - she turned back to her reports - “we’ll see.” A small flick of her tail punctuated her sentence, erasing any doubt about her intentions.

No arguing with that. Retreating from the table to the sitting room wall he leaned against it to wait, his head already spinning with thoughts of what the night had in store.

There were some in Tobuck, he knew, who would call him a traitor. The Chiropterrans had enslaved thousands of his compatriots, had enslaved him, and he ought to despise them for it. And maybe, somewhere deep down, he did bear some tiny kernel of resentment towards the Nightmare.

But not towards Sabre. Never towards Sabre.

She caught his eye with another flick of her tail, bringing it up high enough to reveal her inner thighs, and he noticed they were pressed together. That alone would have been enough to start a fire in him, but then she wiggled her hips and he found himself holding back a nicker. It was cruel of her to tease him like that - already he was getting too worked-up to think straight - but he had come to expect nothing less of her. Ever since she’d first discovered his half-buried interest, she’d taken every opportunity to hold it over him. Tonight would be no different.

He tried to avoid paying attention. It was part of the game: she was trying to get him riled up, to make him come on to her so that she could deny him. The outcome wouldn’t change - it was inevitable by now - but she would get a good laugh and he would get blue balls for an hour or two. And as nice as it would be to see her smile like that, as content as he’d be for her to get off on his misery, he knew she'd take just as much pleasure in the alternative.

All the same, he couldn’t help but sneak a few peeks. Sabre was putting on quite a show; the firm, muscular curves of her rump swaying hypnotically, accentuated by each swish of her tail. A little bit higher, and he caught a glimpse of her soft, supple dock where it emerged from the tailhole of her uniform, the underside already glistening with sweat.

That made him regret looking, and as he shuffled back against the wall he squeezed his legs together to hide his erection - no sense urging her on just yet. It was clear that she wasn’t doing much reading anymore, and it was only a matter of time before her own resolve broke down.

Right now, though, she was counting on him not being able to help himself. It was a safe bet: even before she’d made the first move, back when one wrong step might have brought punishment down on him, he’d still stolen the occasional guilty glance at her form. How could he not? She was a strong, athletic mare in her prime, with a dominating presence and an air of confidence and the sort of rough, natural beauty that made him want to look just a little longer. How could he ignore her when he spent every waking moment by her side? How could he bury his thoughts when she reinforced them at every turn? How could he not desire her when she already owned him?

The worst part - the maddening part - was that she knew. She could tease him, torment him to her heart’s content, and rest easy knowing that he would always come back for more. And if he didn’t, well…

Sabre drew his attention again by leaning harder against the table, lifting her rear like a mare in heat. Then her tail swung aside and he could see the round pair of teats squeezed between her legs, nipples visibly hard beneath her tight uniform, and the curve of her mound where it pressed against the fabric. The final touch was a single obscene thrusting motion with her hips, as if she were begging him for it.

It was cute that she thought he’d fall for that.

To be fair, it did make him snort like a wild bronco, his body burning with lust as his cock twitched between his legs, but he held out all the same. She had given him an order to wait, and no matter what she did he wouldn’t disobey her. He did consider letting her win, if only out of respect for the effort; but in the end he settled his breathing, turned his gaze away, and contented himself with knowing that her own desire would soon get the better of her.

She tried it again, even spreading her legs a little, but it was clear by the dark patch of moisture beneath her sex that she wasn’t in the mood to wait. Finally she raised her head and cleared away her papers with a huff before turning to face him, struggling to hide her grin.

“I think it’s time for a break,” she sighed. “Come clean up these files for me. I don’t want them cluttering up my map table.”

Parcel shuffled over, doing his best to hide his erection. Though his chest fluttered he kept his head high and his expression calm in an attempt to feign innocence, an effort that would soon be irrelevant. Sabre was on the prowl now, and no matter what he did he wouldn’t get far.

His hooves had barely even touched the files when she hemmed him in. Pushing herself against his side until she had him pinned against the table, she leaned over him and smirked. “Well, what have we here?” Her hoof slid beneath him, and he stiffened as it brushed against his cock.

“Nothing, ma’am,” he lied, his voice wavering.

The little frustrated growl that drew from her sent a shiver up his back. “Liar,” she hissed. “Filthy heathen liar. You’ve been lusting after me, haven’t you?”

He hesitated for a moment, wondering whether he ought to push her further. It was easy to forget that the power she held over him was very real, and very dangerous, but ultimately his curiosity won out. “No, ma’am. I would never.” He avoided looking at her, but he couldn’t hold himself back from smiling.

Sabre shoved him hard against the table, hard enough that the edge dug into his side, and he gasped in pain as she bit down on his ear with her fangs. Those twin points pressed into his brown fur so deeply he was sure they’d broken skin, and then they retreated and his ear grew hot as blood rushed to it. Her eyes were burning with a mad, vicious desire as he met them, and for a second he forgot it was a game and the fear coursing through him was real, too.

“Keep it up,” she said, “and I’ll have you flogged.”

He didn’t have time to process the excitement in her voice before she pressed her lips to his, pushing hard enough to bend him over the table. Her fangs bit into his lower lip, and his whinny of protest descended into a moan as her tongue slid into his mouth. She was quick like that, when she wanted to be: the kind of mare who took what she needed without remorse, without hesitation. It could be terrifying sometimes, sudden, painful even, but he knew what he’d been getting into and he’d still gone through with it all the same.

The Chiropterrans liked to speak of sacrifice - of giving oneself to the Nightmare, mind, body, and soul, that she might offer even the slightest mercy. Was he not one of them in that sense, at least?

Sabre mashed her lips against his like a wild animal, breaking only to get a better angle before resuming her assault. Parcel pushed back on occasion, but just enough to rile her up, enough to drive her to new heights of ferocity. He was aware of her leathery wings wrapped around him, preventing him from pulling away, and the searing heat of her body through her uniform, but beyond that he could only focus on her fangs clicking against his teeth and her tongue coiled around his own. His chest ached for lack of air and his head grew dizzy and he groaned in desperation even as she moved her leg beneath him and pressed her warm thigh against his cock.

He expected her to let up after a few seconds. The both of them would go aside, blushing like teenagers, and she’d finish what she’d started somewhere with more privacy. Instead she kept going, kept pressing against his side and stealing the breath from his lips and drowning him in her lust, and as her leg started grinding against him he realized too late what she was doing.

Struggling and moaning and squirming under her touch he tried to hold back, but with his whole body pinned there was nothing he could do as she pressed his erection against his belly. A few strokes was all it took, and the first throes of an orgasm wracked his body. He melted into her touch as he came, cum erupting from his twitching cock to splatter his forelegs and dribble down onto the carpet, and for a few seconds he was limp against her as the bliss drowned out all else.

Sabre pushed off him, and even as he sucked in great gasps of air she was laughing. “Pathetic. Just pathetic. You can’t even restrain yourself for a minute, can you?”

Parcel turned beet red, and remained silent as he bowed his head. He knew she didn’t mean it - if she pushed him to tears there would be hugging, and petting, and whispered reassurances - but the words cut into him all the same, and he resolved not to provoke her any further tonight.

Maybe she’d noticed his reticence, or maybe she’d simply had her fill, but some of the mirth drained from her face and her next words were a little softer. “Go clean up the mess you made. I don’t want any stains in my command room.”

“I’ll… right away, ma’am.”

It took a little longer than he’d have liked, but the house still had towels in the bathrooms and the washbasins were still full. Soon he’d scrubbed his sand-colored coat clean, and after getting a bucket and a cloth returned to do the same to the carpet.

The bathroom had given him some time to cool down, but his face grew hot all the same as he had a seat on the floor and got to work. Sabre watched him intently, leaning on the table with a smug look on her face, and he couldn’t help but wonder what was going through her head.

Her earlier threat came to mind. Sabre had never used a whip on him before, not even before she’d taken him on for other purposes. His rare mistakes in her service had been met with complaints, reprimands, but never real punishment: he supposed she wasn’t fond of cruelty for cruelty’s sake, or perhaps she simply didn’t care. Either way, her suggestion came as a departure from routine that left his fur standing on end.

Having thoroughly cleaned the carpet, he returned the bucket to the bathroom and presented himself before Sabre once more, kneeling on all fours in submission. His loins twitched with fresh stirrings of need as she approached: obedient or no, he doubted she’d let him get off without further punishment.

“Good work,” she said, simpering at him. “But you missed a spot.”

He raised his head and watched as she turned and presented her side to him. There, on the thigh of her uniform where she’d been grinding against him, was a small, white stain.

Parcel grew pale. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, I’ll get the wash-”

“No,” she huffed, and then she turned and pressed her thigh to his muzzle. “Clean it, slave.”

He blinked at her demand, and then wrapped his hooves around her leg and scooted closer. Hesitating only a second, he pressed his lips to her thigh and began to lap at it, his cheeks burning at the salty taste of his own cum. It wouldn’t have been his first idea for a punishment, but something about the sheer humiliation of her request, the animal lowliness of the act, made his body quiver with want for her.

Oh, he’d been mistreated before - he’d had masters whip him, beat him, call him worthless - but Sabre? Sabre owned him, owned him in a way that nopony else ever had or ever could, so completely that he would die without her, and he loved her for it.

The firm muscles of her thigh twitched beneath his touch, separated from him only by a thin layer of cloth, and how he longed to tear it away and just bury his nose in her fur. If she’d asked him to rut up against her like a dog, to take his pleasure from her thighs and hooves alone, he would’ve, and indeed he couldn’t help but pull himself closer and press himself against her fetlock; but that was all. His orders had been clear, and so for now he laved his tongue over her body and focused on his duty to her.

That said, cleaning a piece of clothing with his mouth was not all that simple. The cotton drill stuck to his tongue, and after a few licks it was soaked through with spit; with the mess only getting worse he concluded his efforts with a gentle kiss and pulled away. He could always wash it properly later.

Sabre craned her neck to look at the wet spot on her pants, and then smiled down at him. “Not bad. It seems you degenerates are good for something after all.”

The praise made him blush, even if it was backhooved. It wasn’t something that Chiropterrans gave freely, not to those beneath them, and hearing it from Sabre was like salve on a wound: warm, and tingling, and light.

He only had a few seconds to enjoy it before her fangs dug into his ear again, and he whimpered as she hauled him upright. “Come on,” she growled. “I’m not done with you yet.”

His legs felt weak as she led him to one of the doors adjoining the sitting room and pushed him through it. Seeing as the house had only been seized yesterday, he had yet to see most of it, and this room in particular looked untouched. The dressers still hung open, bereft of their contents, and the large four-poster bed that dominated the space had been stripped of its pillows and blankets. Even so, it would serve Sabre’s purposes well: legionnaires had little need for comfort.

For Parcel, of course, it was the nicest bed he’d seen in weeks. As she pushed him down on it he sank into the mattress with a sigh, luxuriating in the soft give of it, and then she rolled him onto his back to straddle him and his attention was drawn elsewhere.

Sabre’s batlike wings flared wide, her lithe body undulating as she slid out of her shirt and tossed it aside. Baring her fangs in a wolfish grin she started working her pants down, grinding herself against Parcel’s belly as the crossed swords on her flanks were exposed. He trembled beneath her predatory gaze, aching with lust, and as she kicked the last piece of her uniform away his breath caught in his throat.

Sabre became a very different creature without her clothes: powerful legs, broad hips, a coat that shone like moonlight. With the mark of her superiority cast aside the only thing holding him down now was her - her hooves, her will, her want. He could struggle now, if he wanted, and be punished with nothing but kisses and laughter and perhaps some teasing, but why would he? She had allowed him to give himself to her, had permitted him to see her in all her glory, and he would be remiss to spurn her by resisting.

She shifted on top of him, purring as she settled in, and he felt the warm, wet heat of her sex where it pressed against his stomach. He could imagine shoving his cock into her tight, greedy marehood, could imagine rutting into her until he’d slaked his lust several times over, but he knew that would not happen tonight. Mounting Sabre like a stallion was a privilege, a privilege he had not yet earned and perhaps never would. It wasn’t his place to take pleasure from her like that: he would serve her, please her, and perhaps be rewarded in turn, and if that was all she ever gave him he would be satisfied.

Her hoof moved to his head, ran gently down his cheek; he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. It was there for only a moment, an aching, blissful moment, and then it was pulled away again as Sabre changed positions. She scooted herself forward until she was seated on Parcel’s chest and her body filled his vision, and then he felt her hoof press at the back of his head. She pushed him forward until his nose was pressed between her teats, and he moaned at the thick, cloying scent of her musk.

“Show me your loyalty,” she demanded. “Show me how much you want me.”

At once he parted his lips, seeking out one of her nipples. Even with his eyes closed it was a simple matter to find the hardened peak, and he laved over it with his tongue. That made her shiver a little, but it wasn’t near enough and so he pressed his lips against her teat and suckled.

Sabre groaned in response. “Mmmh… there’s a good heathen.”

He redoubled his efforts, licking and kissing and sucking at her firm flesh until it was hot and slick with spit. A small bite earned him a gasp from her and a push against the back of his head, and then he moved on to her other teat to do the same, taking it into his mouth and toying at the nipple with his tongue. Between his legs he felt his neglected cock growing hard, begging to receive some attention itself - but he ignored it. Sabre wanted him to worship her, to please her, and nothing else mattered until she was satisfied.

She pulled away abruptly, leaving him to fall back against the mattress, and he had only seconds to register the transition before she turned around and planted her rear on his face. A surprised grunt was cut off as her labia mashed against his muzzle, pressing down until he was seated firmly between her lower lips. He did struggle then on instinct alone and discovered he could do nothing but buck: her weight was still on his upper body, and his forelegs were pinned by her hindquarters.

“Come on!” she whined, grinding her sex against him and smearing his face with her juices. “Keep going, damn it!”

Her words set a fire in him and he obliged her, sliding his tongue along her winking folds. Her pussy was burning hot and swollen with desire, clenching over and over as he teased at it - Sabre had held herself back long enough, and now she wanted what she was due. Her thighs squeezing his head told him to pick up the pace and he delved inside, exploring her needy cunt only to be met with more frustrated grinding.

He hesitated for a moment, savoring the strong, heady taste of her arousal, and then shifted his attention to her neglected clit. Merely lapping at it caused her to groan and press down against him and so he upped his effort, licking it clean of her juices before sucking on it gently. Each caress, each tease of her desperate love-button made her quiver and buck on top of him, and he knew it wouldn’t take her long to finish.

“Yes!” she hissed, her voice wavering under his assault. “Just like that, keep going you heathen bastard! Show me what you’re good for!”

Her hips rolled back and forth as she ground herself on him, and though he struggled to stay on target he kept on pleasuring that nub until she slammed herself down on him with a loud moan. Her generous rear engulfed his muzzle and deprived him of air, her tail swished wildly above him, and her voice rose to a sharp, shrieking cry.

He laid still and let her take him, the sound of her orgasm ringing in his ears as he rode it out alongside her. His own straining, needy erection was left ignored: her pleasure was all that mattered right now, her climax more satisfying than his own could ever be. Even as he ran out of oxygen he refused to push her off, savoring every twitch and tremble as she drenched him in her fluids.

All the same he gasped and wheezed when she rolled off him, struggling to catch his breath. It took a few seconds for his head to clear, but when it did he became aware of her warm body laying against him and her low, affectionate purrs as she kissed his forehead.

“Good boy,” she said, and he shivered at the words. Sabre’s approval was all he needed, all he lived for, and it made his mind go blank. If she just stayed there with him all night, letting him service her to completion again and again and whispering her praises in his ear, he would be happy - but he got the feeling she had something else in mind.

She pressed her hooves to his chest and sat up, and he watched as she broke into a fanged grin. She’d made a mess of him: his muzzle glistened with the evidence of her lust, his shaggy brown mane was mussed and disheveled, and his fur was slick with sweat. Yet he still ached for her to do more, to push him to the brink, to ruin him utterly for her own amusement and remind him that he belonged to her; her loyal slave beneath the Nightmare, now and forever.

Her leg brushed against his cock as she shifted, and she turned to eye his hardened length. “Oh? Is my little servant turned on again?” She snickered. “How cute.”

Parcel whined and squirmed uncomfortably, his hips bucking up against her on instinct.

“I know what you want, you filthy heathen.” Sabre stood up, straddling him with her legs, and her sly grin grew wider. “You want to fuck me tonight, don’t you?”

He whined again, and bucked again, and she pressed her hooves down on his chest to let him know that would not be tolerated. “Yes,” he admitted quietly, the desperation clear in his voice. “Please.” It was selfish of him, unbefitting of his role, but his body wanted it all the same.

As expected, she laughed at him. “As if!” she cackled, moving her rump over his erect member and wiggling her hips to taunt him. “As if I would ever mate with a savage. Look at you, lusting after me like some dirty animal.” She lowered herself until her sex was but an inch away from his tip, and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to buck up into her.

“But then again, you’ve been a good slave.” Sabre sank down a bit further, letting the lips of her marehood press against the head of his cock. “Loyal. Trustworthy. Maybe you’re worth draining tonight after all.”

Parcel opened his mouth to beg again. He’d intended to appeal to her pride, to affirm that he was her property, that she was the most gorgeous mare he’d ever known and he’d do anything to have her, but he never got the chance. She pushed herself down on him in one quick, hard motion, and all that escaped his lips was a lewd groan as her slick folds devoured his cock.

Her batlike wings flared wide behind her as she engulfed him; her legs twitched and her eyes fluttered closed as she threw her head back and moaned, but Parcel was too deep in his own pleasure to notice her loss of composure. Her marehood clenched and squeezed around him and he snorted and writhed in turn, his cock twitching inside her. It had been a while since she’d last used him in this manner, and he’d forgotten how sweet it was to be joined with her, to have her take him and claim him as her stallion.

He reached for her hips with his forehooves, wanting to feel her, to hold her close, but Sabre batted his hooves away and pushed down on him again: even now, he was not to touch her without permission. Instead he had to lie there panting and squirming in ecstasy while she took him up to his medial ring; and then that too slipped inside her and he let out a whinny as she gasped in delight. Soon the lips of her pussy were flush against his pelvis, wet with arousal and burning with want, and she began to grind.

“Mmf, you savages are so big!” Sabre groaned, rocking her hips against him. “It’s like you were made for this. What would you - aah - what would you even do without me?”

Parcel didn’t know. He couldn’t imagine himself with any other mare. Sabre had given him affection when he’d had none, hope when he’d had nothing but despair, and he needed her like he needed oxygen. Her weight on top of him, the searing heat of her body, her mocking voice in his ears and her fangs on his soft, vulnerable flesh: that was his whole world, the only thing that mattered, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Not even freedom.

Sabre was riding him now, her hips rolling back and forth as she used him like a toy. Her engorged clit rubbed hard against his body and she gagged, her eyes rolling in satisfaction; her inner walls squeezed him again and his yearning was too much and he bucked, grunting as he rutted into her, his balls slapping lewdly against her rear. The exquisite friction made him gasp, and then Sabre’s teeth were on his ear and he bleated at the pain.

“Hold still!” she snarled, slamming herself down on him and pinning him to the mattress. “Good slaves don’t-”

He drove into her again, and her words descended into a hedonistic cry as her cunt yielded further, her belly bulging slightly from his girth. All reason had left him - if she was to punish him, she could go ahead: break him, humiliate him, whip him raw, he would savor every moment. He wanted her with every molecule in his body, wanted to worship every inch of her, wanted her kindness and her cruelty and everything in between and would settle for nothing less. He would be her mate, her lover, her slave: anything, anything at all, if she would only let him have her.

She bit down harder and he reveled in it, not caring if she drew blood, the thought of her marking his flesh only spurring him on. Her hips humped wildly against him, meeting him halfway, and the room was filled with the wet smacking of flesh-on-flesh as they coupled. He pawed and squeezed at her cutie marks and she responded by stomping the air from his chest and breaking her grip on his ear and kissing him, pressing his head down on the mattress and taking what she wanted. By the time her lips parted from his he was dizzy and weak, too weak to fight back, and she sat on top of him and ground her clit against him and giggled.

“You’ve been a naughty heathen,” Sabre teased. “Disobeying your mistress like that. You must be feeling so desperate.” She bounced a little on his cock, drawing a groan from him. “You want to breed me that badly? You want to make foals with a daughter of the Nightmare? Fine.” Her hips rose up until just his head was inside, and then slammed back down to his base.

“Sabre…” he gasped.

“Go ahead, you filthy stud. Just know that you’ll be my stallion, my slave, forever.”

That was all he needed to hear. As he bucked into her, silent exaltations on his lips, he mused that he had made the right choice. Sabre was good to him. Sabre would take care of him. He had only to give himself to her.

She rode him with a feverish abandon, her marehood milking his length for all it was worth. Each thrust made her body convulse, each meeting of their hips made her breath hitch. Her eyes were wide in the darkness, her fur was matted with sweat, her mane was loose and frazzled, and Parcel had never thought her more beautiful. His cock twitched as he neared his peak but he held out, prolonging the moment as long as he could, trying to burn the image of her into his mind.

“Savage!” she cried. “H-heathen!” Her face grew flushed and her wings fluttered as her own climax approached. “Give it to me, slave! Fill me with your heathen cum!”

The order was too much for him and he lurched, and bucked, and howled her name as he slammed into her. Pure, white hot bliss overtook him, drowned his senses and roared in his ears and shot through his veins like lightning. His balls clenched and his cock pulsed deep inside her and his body shook as he shot load after load of hot cum into her womb, and he had been set ablaze and could no longer think or do anything but repeat her name over and over, begging and pleading for her mercy, her love.

As it receded he became aware of her grinding on him, of her joyous cries as she thrusted her hips and pushed herself to her own orgasm, her wings flapping wildly while she panted and drooled, her inner muscles clamping down and squeezing out the last drops of his seed.

And as they laid there, still joined, still riding out the aftershocks of pleasure, Parcel found it didn’t feel as wrong as he’d expected.

Sabre sank down onto his chest as she finished, her fur tickling him while she nuzzled against his cheek. A satisfied coo let him know she’d been sated, and served as his signal to wrap his hooves around her the way she liked; as he gently massaged her withers she rewarded him with a light kiss. “That’s my stallion,” she sighed, hugging him back and nestling herself against his form.

He supposed this was what happiness felt like: somepony holding him, reassuring him, reminding him of his worth. He supposed he should’ve been elated to know that she trusted him as much as he trusted her, that she wanted him by her side for the rest of their days. It should’ve been everything he ever wanted; it was everything he’d ever wanted, and yet.

His breath caught in his throat, and he opened his mouth to speak. “Sabre, I-”

“Shh,” she said. “Just enjoy the moment.”

She squeezed him a little, and that was that.

Parcel knew his place. He knew Sabre’s too. He knew that some conversations were not meant to be had between master and slave. The lunar faithful had no need to recognize their lowly servants, even the most loyal among them.

Sabre wanted him. She wanted to keep him to herself. She wanted to bear his foals. He supposed it was selfish to ask for anything else.

She shifted so that his flaccid cock slid out of her, and a thin trail of fluids dribbled from her snatch as she folded her wings and curled up on top of him. He could not move without disturbing her, and so he laid still and let her cuddle him.

When he gave himself to her, he expected nothing in return. She could cage him, beat him, work him to the bone, and he would still find her irresistible, would still be her willing plaything, all for the barest hint of her attention. To be hers: that was all he needed, and she had given him so much more.

And yet here he was, coveting what he could not have. At the end of the day, no matter what Sabre used him for, he was still a serial number in a ledger, and that was all he would ever be. He could prove himself a million times over - to her, to the legions, to the monster they called a goddess - and it would never purge the taint from his blood. While his children might be born free he would still die a heathen; he would never be one of them, and while he might be her stallion she would never be his mare.

She didn’t seem to mind, laying there on his stolen body on a stolen bed in a stolen country, and in spite of himself he wondered if she cared.

He decided it didn’t matter. It never had. It didn’t matter that they would never be equals. It didn’t matter that she was a legionnaire. It didn’t matter that she would never marry him. She still deserved to be happy, and if he could give her that he would.

She rolled off him, still hugging him tightly with her lips curled in a smile. It was hard to imagine her as a Chiropterran that way, or even a thestral: she was the mare he’d devoted himself to, and he was her mate. Nothing - not birth, not rank, not even the Nightmare herself - could get in the way of that.