Affectionate Antipathy

Sahira narrowed her eyes as she kept her head turned upward. “You can’t be serious…”

“Oh but I am,” Shaka insisted. Stepping back from her entryway, he clasped a hand to his chest and bowed. “I’ll freely confess that you are…” He paused and scrunched his snout. “You’re an irritation - yes, that captures it nicely, but that hardly means I’m not capable of respecting you as both a mare and a fellow shaman.”

Peering down at the single rose in his outstretched hand, she grimaced. Vexing - it was the only word she could think of to describe Shaka. While it was true that his good looks, adonic face, and godly stallionhood tickled her fancy, the soul attached to his endearing features was less than appealing. He was a hardheaded, womanizing lout with some understanding of the arcane arts, from what she’d gathered, and having him appear at her doorstep was the last thing she’d expected.

On one hand, having the opportunity to assert herself and put him in his place was tempting - on the other, the indignity of their last exchange was still fresh. It had only been two days since their spirited competition, and she’d thought the last she’d seen of him was his bare ass stumbling out of her hut - alas, he wasn’t done with her. Showing up dressed in a suit and with a lone flower, he apparently thought he could make amends or win her over.

“If you think this will settle things between us, you’re sorely mistaken,” she grumbled. Taking the rose from his grasp, she pinched the bridge of her snout. “Might I ask, what really brings you here wearing that?”

Rising to his full height, he peeked down at himself. “Since our initial meeting was so uncouth, I thought to show you a more civilized thought of myself.”

“And that?” she added, nodding to a folded bag resting by his feet. “Don’t tell me that’s some paltry gift to atone for your actions…”

“Fine, I won’t tell you that then,” he grunted. “I simply wished to end things peacefully between us. No tricks, no impassioned battle of wills - just a courteous final adieu.”

She held her ground and glared at him. “I’m sorry, but no. If this is the last time we see one another, you can live out the rest of your pathetic little life knowing that I’ll wrench your soul from the abyss and shackle it to a fetish.”

Courtesy be damned. Even if he’d been polite and respectful from the onset, before he’d made the poor decision to talk down to her, she wasn’t beholden to any stallion under any circumstances. She did what she wanted or who she wanted when she wanted, and there wasn’t a force on this plane or any other that could win her over with mere words or paltry offerings.

“I do think I’ll keep this though,” she continued, noticing a drop of blood on the thorny stem of the flower. “This will be quite useful…”

Either from ignorance or oversight, the stupid bastard had just given the key to his destruction. Blood magic was incomprehensibly potent, so powerful that it was viewed as taboo even among her ilk, and she would be happy to teach that lesson to Shaka. Lifting the rose to her face, she inhaled, smiled, then sighed.

“So be it,” he resignedly muttered. “It’s a shame, really…”

“What is?” she quipped. “That you…”

Listing to one side, seized by a wave of vertigo, she caught herself on her door frame. The ground heaved under her feet, her knees buckled, and she gasped for air. Clawing her way up, she held herself steady and bared her teeth at him.

Shaka leaned forward and gently brought a hand under her jaw. “Is something the matter?”

“Kifo chu-” She was silenced as he closed his hand around her muzzle.

“We can’t be having any of that,” he chuckled, “not before I give you this…”

She tried - by the abyss, she tried to resist him, to push him away and utter the words of death and ruination that would render him a corpse, but it took everything she had just to keep herself from falling to the ground. Bringing his snout to her face, mere inches from her nose, he opened his mouth. As the outline of his skeleton shone through his coat, a miasma of thick smoke billowed from his maw.

The fumes invaded her nostrils and swept down her airway, filling her lungs in an instant. He withdrew slowly, leaving the curse to invade her body, and grinned. She’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book, falling for his subterfuge with the damn flower and opening herself up to an attack, and she only had herself to blame.

Coughing up the noxious substance, she winced. “It…It’ll take -”

“Come now,” he cut her off and motioned for her to stand. “A proper mare isn’t so unruly. Straighten up and put your shoulders back for me - like that, yes. I’d like to see how you turn out.”

She moved involuntarily, her body obeying his command, while he snickered above her. Unwillingly following his orders would have been unsettling enough in and of itself, yet that was the least of her concerns. Her skin tingled and form contorted, various portions of her expanding or contracting under the malign influence of whatever hex had been cast on her, as her consciousness became detached from her mortal coil.

Positively beaming, he knelt down and picked up the bag. “Now then, since we have that little affair settled, let’s go inside so we can have a better look at you ~ Hmmm?”

“Y…yes, Daddy,” she spontaneously chirped.

The voice coming from her was barely recognizable, far too chipper and in too high of a tone, and she’d had no control over it whatsoever - furthermore, to add insult to injury, she wheeled around and skipped back into her hut. The indignity of being robbed of her autonomy was maddening, although it was eclipsed in its entirety when she meandered before her vanity and saw herself. While she’d been privy to many deplorable things in her time, namely those she’d enacted on others, the sight before her left her at a loss for words.

She was a parody of her normal self, some whorish, wholly slatternly mare that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a street corner or as an exotic dancer. Her bosom had more than quintupled in size, her waist was whipcord thin, and her ordinarily taut, toned tush was so massive that she could see it peeking out from behind herself - as if those weren’t egregious enough, and to complete her new look, her lips were were comically large. Shifting and turning to face Shaka, she tittered excitedly.

“Fitting, no?” he inquired. “I could have gone a bit less heavy-handed with the tits, but -”

“You don’t like them?” she interrupted while pawing at her mountainous udders. “I…I’m sorry, Daddy. I…is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

Her jaw metaphorically hit the floor. What was she saying? What in all the hells was she doing?! It was like a switch had been flipped, turning her into some submissive harlot - no, it was worse than that. Twisting and peering back at her reflection, gazing at her bountiful backside, thick thighs, and pillowy lips, she had a revelation.

“It’s fine,” Shaka laughed. “The exaggerated features are actually quite fitting for you. Here - take these and make yourself presentable for our little date.”

She took the proffered bag and opened it. “Date?”

“Just so,” he affirmed while strolling to and seating himself on the foot of her bed. “After spending no small amount of time researching and preparing that enchantment you’re enjoying, I’m going to show you off. No sense in keeping all this to myself ~ right?”

Shaking her head, she bounced in place. “Of course not, Daddy! I’ll be super-duper fast ~ mkay?”

“Take your time,” he noted.

Reclining and propping himself on one arm, he watched her from across the room. Though he wasn’t one to sing his own praises, the notion of transforming her into a busty, bubbly, brain-dead bimbo was a stroke of pure genius. As she bent over and stepped into one piece of her attire, his eyes settled on her fat, exquisitely fuckable ass.

Frankly, he had no particular fondness for what he’d made of her - that being said, knowing she was a prisoner in her own mind outweighed his preferences for body types. For all intents and purposes, the sharp-tongued and ill-humored mare that was Sahira was gone - in her place was a compliant doll that would gleefully do anything and everything he said. He sat patiently, amused by her struggling to wriggle into the outfit he’d bought for her, until she finished and began with her makeup.

The charm upon her was shockingly complex - so much so that he’d had to genuinely test his skill with crafting it. Her look was more than skin deep, coming with a personality to match, and he’d toiled long and hard to put it all together. Shaken from his thoughts and the memories of two failed test subjects he’d volunteered for his pet project, he blinked when she turned and blew him a kiss.

“How’s it look, Daddy?” purred while fondling her immense rack.

Getting up, he looked her over from top to bottom. The past few days, ever since he’d trudged home, had been a trial. Her hex had taken more time than he would have liked to create, and her ensemble hadn’t come cheap. Her ensemble, consisting of heels, fishnet leggings, a micro skirt, and a tube top that was several sizes too small, along with her makeup, was worth every bit.

With her breasts spilling out of her top, her ass all but uncovered by her skirt, and her lips painted a vibrant turquoise that matched her outfit, she could and would turn heads anywhere he brought her. She said nothing, simply smiling expectantly at him, yet he’d wager everything he had that she was fuming on the inside - luckily for him, and much to her impotent dismay, he wouldn’t have to deal with any chiding remarks or curses from her. Until he said otherwise, or when the enchantment eventually deteriorated, he could do as he pleased with her.

Crossing to her, he extended a hand. “You look phenomenal, darling.”

“T…thank you, Daddy,” she whispered, blushing and grinding her thighs together. “And we’re going on a date - like a real date?!”

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed. Trotting to the exit, he wrapped an arm over her shoulders. “Close your eyes for me, sweetheart.”

He slipped a hand into his pocket and closed his fingers around an amulet. For as powerful as he was, there were limits to what his magic could do - thankfully, he had long since compensated for his shortcomings. Holding the talisman in his fist, he closed his eyes and dwelled their destination.

The trip was instantaneous, lasting a fraction of a second, and he could tell they’d arrived exactly where he’d intended. Hard concrete rested under his feet, the sound of passers by and banter crept to his ears, and a warm breeze washed over his hide. Lifting a hand to shield his eyes, he gazed out upon a sprawling mall.

“Daddy!” Sahira bleated while tugging on his arm and pointing to the enormous complex. “Daddy, are we gonna go shopping? Please - please tell me we’re going to go shopping!”

Her elation was infectious, regardless of its somewhat disingenuous nature, and it brought a smile to his muzzle. “That we are, but you must behave yourself ~ understood?”

Nodding emphatically, she pressed herself to his side. “I’ll be right here, Daddy, pinkie promise!”

“Good filly,” he rumbled.

Running a hand down her back, he clutched her ass and started to walk. He’d meant what he’d said about showing her off, and there was no better place to do it than the Canterlot Plaza. Given her appearance, looking like a prostitute who’d modified her body to the extreme, and that zebras were a rarity in Equestria, parading her in front of a bunch of ponies was the only reasonable thing to do with her.

They hadn’t made it ten steps, still having several dozen yards to go before reaching the entrance, before making a spectacle of themselves. A handful of families covered their childrens’ eyes or altered course to give them a wide berth, mares sneered in envy or disgust, and every stallion in sight openly gawked at them. While he largely ignored the attention, only acknowledging the few that were bold enough to look him in the eyes, it was just what he’d been hoping for.

As they passed into the structure, she scampered away and to a kiosk. “What happened to behaving yourself?”

She came to a halt before the stand, brimming with excitement, and paid him little mind. “Where are we gonna go first, Daddy? It looks like they’ve got everything!”

He came up beside her and quirked a brow. For as dumb as she’d become, her functional brain power reduced exponentially, he had to give credit where credit was due. She’d found a map display and was currently looking over the layout of shops that the mall had to offer. Giving her an encouraging pat on the head, stunned that she’d retained as much common sense as she did, he glanced over the litany of stores.

“Oh oh!” she exclaimed as she pointed at a location on the far side of the plaza. “Can we go there?”

Squinting at the store, he cocked his head. “Carousel Boutique?”

“They sell all sorts of stuff!” she explained. Running a hand down his side and to his hip, she set her heavily-lidded eyes on his face. “And they sell sexy stuff, Daddy…”

The caress, her provocative expression, and the lechery dripping from her words were astonishing, though not as bewildering as her clarity of thought. She knew what she wanted, presumably something erotic, and she was doing her best to seduce him into buying it for her. Considering he wasn’t an unreasonable stallion, and that he had told her they were going shopping, he saw no harm in obliging her.

Waving an arm, he nodded. “By all means, lead the way.”

Traipsing ahead of him, with her heels clicking on the polished flooring, she took an unhurried pace. The way she moved was mesmerizing and all but hypnotic, her ample bust swaying and rear wobbling obscenely, and he could see why stallions were enamored with such mares. Something about having a bombastic, garish, and sensual idiot just didn’t appeal to him, although the novelty of it, paired with whom his fat-titted bimbo was, pleased him immeasurably.

Between the crowd that formed around her, the fact that she got distracted every ten seconds, and her slow speed, following her was easy enough. She’d flit from one shop to the next, stopping to browse wares through windows, while mindlessly babbling on about this or that. The only drawback, as he was quick to discover, was that not everypony was content to spectate.

Nearly running into a group of stallions, she stopped in her tracks. “Hello!”

“Hey there, cutie,” one of the ponies mused. “You new in town?”

“Manehattan?” she inquired while tapping a finger to her chin. “No, I’ve been here before.”

The small gang of teenage stallions laughed, though only the one spoke. “This is Canterlot, babe.”

“That explains the name!” she snickered.

“It sure does,” the young stud, ostensibly their leader, softly replied. Brushing a dreadlock from her face, he grinned. “Don’t tell me you’re here all by yourself?”

Shaka’s lips twisted in a snark and he knit his brow. There was no reason for him to be offended by the teens hitting on her, yet he was incensed. Sahira was his plaything, whether she was moronic and drawing lustful stares or not, and he wasn’t about to let some would-be playcolt interfere with her.

“She’s not,” he rumbled, coming up and looming behind her. “Is there a problem, darling?”

Throwing her head from side to side, she peeked up and over her shoulder at him. “No, Daddy, these nice stallions were just saying hi!”

He nodded, though his eyes didn’t stray from the unnamed stallion’s face. “In that case, good morning…”

A reasonable stallion would have ended things there, carrying on with his date while putting the encounter behind himself, although there was a point to be made. Sliding a hand down from Sahira’s collar and under her top, he openly fondled her breast. Actions spoke louder than words, and brazenly groping her was a superb way for him to assert his authority over her.

“Daddy, stop,” she whined, writhing and pressing her back to his chest. “You know how much I like it when you - Gah!”

“Sssssssh,” he hissed. “Daddy’s having fun right now.”

Adjusting his arm, he smoothly pulled her top down while twisting her nipple. Imbecilic and servile though she was, her reaction was far from feigned - he’d made sure of that. In addition to draining her intellect, the enchantment amplified her sense of touch and assuring that she was somewhat entertained throughout their excursion.

Sahira was going to kill him, drag his soul back from the depths, then repeat the process over and over until she’d grown so tired of murdering him that it became a chore. Being flaunted about would have easily been enough to sign Shaka death warrant, ensuring a slow, painful demise for him, but the pleasure that tormented her had guaranteed that his suffering would be unimaginable. As a bead of nectar crept down her inner thigh, her marehood seized upon itself.

Physically speaking, she felt absolutely incredible. Just having her teat squeezed had pushed her to the brink of a climax, and she shuddered to think how amazing it would be if or when Shaka took things further than that. He had her on the ropes, stripping her of her abilities and her willpower to resist him, though it’s what may do with her that truly put her on edge.

Despite herself, she rocked back and ground her ass against his upper thighs. “Daddy…”

It was by the grace of some higher power that he stopped, pulling his hand away from her chest but leaving her bosoms to heave in the open air. A part of her breathed a sigh of relief, being grateful that her trial was over, but she was keenly aware that the respite was fleeting. It wouldn’t be long until he continued his little game, and likely in some unbearable way, and she would have to endure it.

“You colts run along now,” Shaka instructed. “My marefriend and I have more important things to do.”

“Marefriend?” she quietly parroted.

Smiling faintly, he pulled her top over her breasts and restored what little modesty she had left. “Need I repeat myself?”

She was speechless - truly speechless. Her first assumption was that he was putting up an act, pretending they were an item in front of the little gang that had had neatly put themselves on her ever-expanding list of ponies to slaughter some day, yet he’d leapt to her defense and arguably spared her from what was in all likelihood an indecent gang-bang. Tentatively shaking her head, she squeezed his hand as he laced his fingers with hers.

“Come along now, dear,” he tutted, guiding her onward. “There was something you wanted to show me ~ remember?”

“Oh right!” she squealed, her dense and depraved alter ego forgetting about the teens as quickly as they’d appeared.

The depths of the abyss, communing with forces that could tear her to pieces with a thought, all the follies of her youth - none could compare to the agony of being Shaka’s thrall. No matter what she did, how hard she raged or demanded her body heed her, she could do nothing to keep herself from prancing along and smiling like a buffoon. The one small, infinitesimal silver lining to her plight was that she was surrounded by strangers who hadn’t the slightest idea of who she was or where she hailed from.

She bounded by a storefront, slammed a foot against the floor, and pinwheeled her arms to prevent herself from falling. Something had subconsciously caught her eye, though she couldn’t say what it was or why it was so important that she’d stopped. As she turned and ogled at the the gaudiest, most unbecoming pair of shoes she’d ever laid eyes on, a pair of stilettos with heels that would have somepony walking on their tiptoes, her outrage grew.

The most annoying thing about her state, other than her complete absence of control, was the intrusive thoughts that refused to give her any peace. Implanted or otherwise, the happy-go-lucky, lascivious which had taken the wheel and was controlling her actions wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Every little notion that flitted through her head revolved around looking sexy, pleasing Shaka, or some combination of the two, and she couldn’t stand it.

It would be a small mercy for her to lose her footing and hit her head, preferably on something hard and sharp enough to give her a concussion, so she could be done with this affair. It wasn’t that she wanted to expire as some nameless hussy in a mall surrounded by ponies, but that would be a better fate than bouncing around while having most of her body mass relegated to her behind and bosoms! If she was being honest, and she had no reason not to be, she was disappointed that Shaka hadn’t pushed the hex’s boundaries so far her udders starved her brain of enough blood to live.

“Daddy, can I have those?” she cried.

Glancing at the shoes, he shrugged. “I don’t know can you?”

Bastard - worthless piece of dung! How dare he condescend and make jokes at her expense! She’d been wrong, death would be a kindness for him. Damned if she could fathom what she would do to him, a punishment befitting his arrogance, but she swore on everything she had or ever would hold dear that he would rue the day he crossed her.

“I suppose you could,” he whispered while opening his wallet and retrieving a fistful of bits, “but only if you do me one tiny favor.”

Clasping her hands together in supplication, she smashed her tits against his abdomen. “Anything, Daddy!”

“Along with those stilettos, I want you to procure the most revealing, trampiest lingerie they have available,” he stated. Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her toward the store’s entrance. “Oh and be sure to wear everything out for me. Everypony deserves to see my sexy little marefriend looking her best.”

Contempt, wrath, hated, and pure rage coalesced into vitriol that pushed the boundaries of sanity, yet she took the bits and sashayed into the outlet with a smile on her muzzle. It wasn’t until she was inside and heading towards the pair of heels she’d spotted, virtually frothing at the mouth with impotent indignation, that she became aware of her surroundings. The shop she was in only sold shoes and their related accessories, meaning the latter part of Shaka’s order couldn’t be fulfilled - or so she thought.

Much to her horror, after procuring a pair of the stilettos in her size, she began to strip. With pieces of her attire drifting to the floor around her feet, completely uncaring for the employees and customers marveling at her, her body was laid bare. Great - fucking fantastic. If anypony had any question of her vulgarity, that was erased when she flung her head back, felt herself up, and shivered as the cool air played over the hairless flesh of her nipples and drooling marehood.

“They didn’t have anything in my size,” she giggled while strutting out to greet him.

Having seated himself on a bench to wait for her, Shaka smirked. “Silly filly, what were you thinking? I swear, it’s like that adorable little head of yours is completely empty!”

His jolly demeanor and carefree tone lie in sharp contrast to the cruel menace in his eyes. He may not have planned for this specifically, but he was relishing every perverted second of it. The faintest sliver of her could appreciate how twisted he was, mostly because she would have done similar things herself, but it was surpassed by her bloodthirst and loathing.

Shaka folded his arms over his chest and snorted. “While I certainly don’t mind seeing you like this, I’m afraid that we’ll have to return home…”

With a cold pit forming in her stomach, she pitifully stuck out her lower lip. “B…but why? Why do -”

“Ah ah - none of that,” he groused. “You’ve disappointed me, Sahira, and I fear you’ll have to earn something to wear now…”

She peered down at his crotch as he uncrossed his legs. As she eyed the bulge of his stallionhood, her marehood winked in anticipation. He’d made himself clear enough, expressing his displeasure with her flagrant and unasked for nudity, and she - rather the sleazy version of herself that controlled her actions, knew just what to do to atone for upsetting him.

Falling to her knees, she snuffled between his legs and reached for his groin. It was at that moment, unbuttoning his pants and pulling at his fly, that she lost the will to fight - not permanently, but for as long as his curse would last. She couldn’t speak her mind, her movements were not her own, and there was nothing she could do - with that in mind, and understanding what was about to happen, she figuratively waved the white flag.

Fuck it - if she was going to blow him and ultimately get railed out, quite possibly in front of an audience, she may as well savor it was best she could. While she pulled his hardening endowment free and wrapped her lips around its tip, he ran his fingers through her mane. She would never say it, and she despised the mere thought of it, but he really - really had a wonderful package.

The shape of his length, having the slightest upward curve, and its remarkable girth were simply divine. Having made out with his cock-head for only a moment, just long enough to properly introduce herself to his dick for a second time, she inched forward and entombed most of his shaft between her breasts. She’d always wondered what it was like to give somepony a tit-job, and experiencing it was a bit of a mixed bag.

With her senses heightened, blowing him was far more enjoyable than it should have been. Using her upper arms to clamp her bosoms around him, she bobbed her head and nursed on the first few inches of his tool. She’d get her vengeance eventually, if he didn’t end up killing her when they were through, but that would have to wait.

Sahira’s gargantuan tits and soft, pouting lips were so heavenly that Shaka made a mental note to experiment with her bimbofied-self more extensively in the future. He’d had his reservations about how things were going to play out in the mall, initially intending to humiliate her and potentially let some random stallions have their way with her, but he was pleasantly surprised that things had turned out the way they had. He was getting a blowjob while Sahira was probably dying of embarrassment or having a conniption fit inside her head - as far as he was concerned, it was a win/win.

“Allow me,” he breathed.

Lowering his hands, he toyed with her nipples and earned himself a choked whimper from her. Maybe he’d been wrong, perhaps he hadn’t gone far enough with her disgracing her. With things going as swimmingly as they were, visiting a tattoo parlor for some piercings or ink could be a fine option - better yet, both. Though the hex wasn’t permanent by any means, giving her a lasting reminder of the way was a splendid idea.

As he pondered on other ways to demean her, his libido rapidly waxed in strength. Leading her around by a collar, placing her in a bathroom stall to serve anypony and everypony who wanted some relief, transforming her in ways that were even more degenerate and obscene - she was a lump of clay, formless and filled with possibilities, and he was the sculptor who would make her into a masterpiece of sin. Turning his eyes from her, he smiled all the broader.

Their little performance hadn’t gone unnoticed. Multiple ponies, a few changelings, and a lone griffon had gathered around to bear witness to the shameless display. It wasn’t the first time he’d engaged in an exhibitionistic soirée, and he could guarantee it wouldn’t be the last, but this time was special - this time he was fooling around with an amorous adversary. As he looked into her eyes and imagined the animosity lurking just beneath her skin, his spirits soared.

The vividly colored lipstick smeared along his shaft sharply contrasted his obsidian flesh, yet his focus lay elsewhere. Her eyes were bewitching, and if they truly were windows to the soul, he’d love to learn how twisted she was on the inside. Gazing up, locked on his face, her goat-like pupils contracted into thin, horizontal slits.

Sahira, for all her lamentable and exasperating shortcomings, was remarkably skilled when it came to pleasing him. How she swayed her torso forward and back, working his stallionhood with her bust while sucking and tonguing its tip, left little to be desired - little, but not nothing. Withdrawing with a wet pop, she cleared her muzzle and licked her lips clean.

“That eager, are we?” he gently inquired.

She nodded and got to her feet. “Y…yes, Daddy…”

He’d anticipated her taking advantage of his laissez-faire approach to her debasement, quite possibly by mounting and fucking herself on him, although that wasn’t quite the case. Coolly getting up, she sauntered to a nearby wall, bent over, and wiggled her ass at him. How delightful - instead of seizing the initiative and having some control over the situation, she was practically begging him to rut her into a stupor.

Standing, he marched over to her and rubbed her tush. “It can’t be helped. Be a dear and let all these fine ponies know how much you love your Daddy.”

“I…I will,” she stammered as she snaked a hand down her abdomen to spread herself open for him. “P…please fuck me, Daddy.”

Hearing her ask him to rail her was nothing short of exhilarating. “How can I say no to that?”

Clutching the base of his length, he guided the tip of his shaft to her entrance, steadied himself, and plunged into her depths. She shuddered and gave a deep, guttural groan as she winked around him. He languidly drove his hips forward until his balls came to rest against her engorged clit, then gave her ass a sound, hard smack.

She immediately came, her shrill wail reverberating off the floor and through the cavernous causeway all around them, while torrents of nectar gushed from her spasming cunt. He would have taken his time and forced her to literally beg him, had he known she was as close as she was to her limit, although he could always save such a humbling act for next time. Taking a firm hold of her hips, he set to plowing her.

Each thrust was delivered masterfully, smashing his cock-head against her womb while pulverizing her g-spot with his thick medial ring, and she made it abundantly clear that she, at least in part, loved every second of it. She body in reverse to meet each plunge with unbridled vehemence while her a symphony of her wails pierced the air. Her rapturous serenade was swiftly joined by hushed murmurs and envious or disgusted remarks by the spectators surrounding them, prompting him to gradually pick up his pace.

He held no particular fondness for theatrics, though he couldn’t pass on the opportunity to show off just a touch. Zebras were naturally larger and more aggressive than their pony cousins - additionally, there were several mares in attendance. His kind had a well-earned reputation as unparalleled lovers, to the point where crossing the interspecies line had become a risque taboo, and he was going to prove that the tales of striped studs were very much true.

Bending at the waist, he took Sahira’s wrists in his hands and pulled her arms back. Her face impacted against the wall, slickening it with saliva and her makeup, while her grunting and mewling grew louder and louder. With only one way to find out how long she could withstand his carnal onslaught, or if she would withstand it at all before she broke, he unleashed himself upon her.

Pushed beyond the threshold of a second climax, Sahira grappled with a singular question ~ why did this feel so fucking good. Her antipathy was pushed back and slowly consumed by a never-ending tsunami of bliss. Try as she might, there was no stopping the ecstasy that threatened to crush her outright.

Her third climax hit faster and markedly harder than the second, and the fourth was no less brutal. Bit by bit, layer by layer, her defenses and indignation were stripped away from her. He was pulling her apart, systematically dismantling her with pleasure, and the mass of onlookers could all see her ruination.

She lost track of how many times she’d cum after her sixth or seventh orgasm - truthfully, she couldn’t tell. As her eyes rolled wildly, jumbled, incomprehensible words spilled from her maw. What she said or asked of him was a blur, an unintelligible mixture of pleas and promises, and she considered herself lucky that it was lost on her.

The moment he released her, her legs folded and she collapsed to the ground. Ropes of hot foal-battered spattered over her rump, back, and up to her face while Shaka growled and painted her with his seed. She’d done it, she’d managed to stave off oblivion with her wits partially intact, though the toll had been heavy.

She could barely move, her limbs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds, and each breath she took was a labor. Inglorious though it was, and having made a fool of herself, her torture was at an end. Weakly smiling up at him, she braced one arm and laughed.

“T…thanks, Daddy,” she croaked.

Of fucking course she’d thank him for such miserable treatment. She had to look awful, veritably glazed with thick jizz and buck naked with no fewer than three dozen bystanders looking on in awe, yet the victory of denying him was sweet. As he stepped back, turned his head, and gestured at him with an open hand, her mouth went dry.

“She’s all yours,” he flippantly remarked, “just don’t be too rough with her. The poor thing can’t even stand at this point.”

Most of the crowd dispersed, unwilling to do more than observe, though a small number of stallions, pony or otherwise, stepped closer. Like a well-trained and lust-stricken hooker, she rolled to her back, took one knee in each hand, and spread her legs for them. She’d celebrated too early; her misery wasn’t over - it had only just begun.

Retaking his seat on the bench, Shaka apathetically stroked himself while Sahira was ravaged. A duo of ponies, possibly brothers, opened with spit-roasting her, but a queue was slowly forming. It would be impossible for her to enjoy her suitors more than him, what with their inferior endowments and the incompetent way they humped away at her, and he was indebted to them for that. He would conquer her in one way or another, though it may take some time - time with which he could concoct ways to break her in body, mind, and spirit. Seeing her glance in his direction, he blew her a kiss and dreamed of what their next date would entail…