Affectionate Antipathy

As Shaka stepped back and flicked his wrist, expertly flipping a pancake within the pan he was holding, a smile split his muzzle. It was a beautiful morning, the latest in a string of many, and he was looking forward to what would surely be a wondrous day. With the sound of songbirds in his ears, memories of the past week came flooding back to him.

While he’d anticipated a rebuttal or counteroffensive from Sahira, she’d done nothing to even try and reap vengeance against him after he’d double-knotted her and taken her for a stroll. When last he’d seen her, she’d been a heaped mass of limbs just outside the front door of her hut. Positively shellacked with hellhound seed, as well as dripping the stuff from every conceivable orifice, she hadn’t said a thing to him when he’d departed.

Shaking the frying pan, he snickered. She wasn’t dead, he was certain of that, although her mind had likely suffered dearly after being ravaged by himself and his canine compatriots. It may have been presumptuous on his part, and he’d hate to jinx himself, but he was starting to believe he’d well and thoroughly defeated her ~ what other option was there?

She’d been absent from his life for the better part of a week, his routine from prior to meeting her had returned, and he had nothing to complain about - nevertheless, he could feel a creeping sense of ennui lurking within the periphery. Following his misadventures with her, not knowing when she’d strike or what to expect from her, everything just felt - well, somewhat boring.

He shook his head and slid the flapjack onto an awaiting plate while he dislodged her from his thoughts. She’d been a bane on his existence, putting him through things that nopony with an ounce of pride should endure, and he was not going to miss her. The utter dearth of her sharp tongue, creativity, and sadism was something to cherish, even if he’d been unable to keep her as a well-trained, obedient pet.

Knock Knock Knock-Knock Knock

Turning, he quirked a brow in the direction of his foyer. “One moment.”

Marvelous, a visitor - just the thing he needed to brighten his mood and prevent any potential doldrums at bay. Was there a potential customer waiting outside? Had some fan of his come to lavish him with praise and affection? Did the mailmare simply need him to sign for a package? No matter whom or what had come to see him, he was grateful for the small distraction.

Knock Knock Knock

“I said I’m coming,” he called out as he removed his apron and dusted his hands.

Sauntering through his home and to the entryway, adorned in not but a pair of silken boxers, he paused by the mirror beside his coat rack. He was as flawless as he’d ever been, his build adonic and muscles well-defined, and his body was on full display. Though he toyed with the thought of removing his underwear to greet his guest au naturel, letting it all hang out, he abstained and opened the door.

“Yes, how might I…”

He trailed off and stepped back while he craned his neck. The figure lurking just outside was unmistakably a zebra, yet they were so profound that he couldn’t see all of them - no, her. Above a set of detailed abs rested a pair of large, supple-looking breasts at the very top of his door frame. Lowering his gaze, unable to see her face, he spied the plump, hairless, succulent mound of her marehood - a very wet marehood.

Had somepony told him he’d be entertaining a giantess that morning, he wouldn’t have believed them - all the same, it appeared as though that’s precisely what he’d be doing. Grinning from ear to ear, he stepped back and flexed his groin. Whether his guest was seeking some gratification or not was a mystery, although he’d happily do what he could to satisfy her.

“Please, come in,” he cheerfully intoned, baying her to enter.

He’d bedded mares of all sorts, ages, and species, yet he couldn’t recall ever welcoming one so large and heavily built into his home. Musing on who she was and why she’d sought him out, he eyed her meaty, glistening pussy. Whoever she was, and for whatever reason she’d come, she was obviously worked up - possibly even in heat.

“Thanks,” she rumbled, her voice rich and lilting. Having to stoop down and turn to the side to enter, she awkwardly sidled through the door, rose to her full height again, and peered down at him. “Such a polite host…”

His smile faltered as he turned his attention away from her loins and up to her face. Golden, goat-like eyes leered down at him from beneath an ebony bone of mask. Dismay and apprehension seized him, lancing through his denial and doubt like a spear. Just when he’d started to believe he’d been rid of her, Sahira had reappeared.

Folding her brawny arms beneath her bosoms, she regarded him. “Been a little while, Shaka. I trust you’ve been well?”

“I - Ahem,” he coughed, clearing his throat and preventing his voice from cracking. “I have, yes. And you?”

“I’ve been fantastic, thank you for asking,” she snickered. Hardly moving, looming over him like a monolith, she cocked her head. “I assume you found homes for all those hellhounds you summoned?”

He licked his lips and fought the urge to shy away. “They were returned to the abyss. Pray tell, what brings you to -”

“Place looks a lot smaller now,” she casually remarked while she surveyed the interior of his foyer. Gesturing over to his coffee table, she grunted. “Is that new?”

Looking over to the piece of furniture, he nodded. “As a matter of fact, it is. My time as a feral stallion saw me replace a number of items throughout my household.”

She swung her focus back to him, smirked, and stepped forward. “It looks nice. My compliments to the carpenter who crafted it.”

“Considering that the carpenter was none other than myself, I’m flattered,” he warily laughed.

To say that he was at a disadvantage was an understatement. Hexes took some small amount of time to prepare, requiring both focus and precision to enact, and he would be hard pressed to best her in physical combat. Keeping his distance, he measured her up and drank her in.

She was taller than him, her rack being at almost perfect eye level, and her physique, so beefy as to make him look petite, was astounding. It would be difficult to get exact measurements on her without a scale, some measuring tape, and some gym equipment to test her strength, although she certainly appeared that she could take on an entire troupe of burly yaks single-handedly. While he was sure that her gargantuan metamorphosis had something to do with him, her congeniality allowed him to do something he sorely needed - stall her.

He backed away slowly as he extended an arm toward his kitchen. “Would you like breakfast? I was just preparing some pancakes for myself.”

“Shaka, as always, you are too kind,” she clucked. As her eyes drifted down his chest, past his midsection, and to his nethers, her tongue glided over her lips. “However, I’m more of a meat girl.”

“Ah - but I can accommodate that as well,” he tutted. Lowering a hand, he wrapped his fingers around the base of his steadily hardening stallionhood. “Should you like, I’d gladly give you a feast in my bedroom.”

Tapping a finger to her chin, she thoughtfully squinted up at the ceiling hanging mere inches from her snout. “Hmmmm - no, I believe I’ll have to decline that offer…”

“If you have something else in mind, I’m all ears,” he mused.

With the few seconds of cordiality afforded to him, he devised a plan. Shooting in and throwing himself at her feet, he would grab her ankles and set her off balance - after that, he could get her onto her back, mount her from behind, and deep-dick her while locking arms with her. Wrestling wasn’t his specialty, and he most certainly hadn’t thought he’d ever had to grapple with somepony in his foyer, but potentially desperate times called for equally desperate measures.

He tensed and struck like lightning, darting at her with the speed of a serpent - unfortunately, his hastily laid scheme fell to pieces instantaneously. As thick digits closed around his throat, choking him from air and lifting him from the ground, his eyes bulged in their sockets. She’d caught him like a gnat, snatching him up like he weighed nothing, and smirked over at him.

“Perhaps my praise was undue,” she sighed. “That was very, very rude of you, Shaka.”

Caught in her steely, unyielding grip, he kicked his legs and pawed at her arm. This was worse than he could have imagined. With perilously little effort, she’d rendered him helpless and starved of oxygen. While she carried him through the entry hall and into his den, his fingernails glided harmlessly over her striped coat.

She stopped before his couch, gingerly sat him down, and released him. “I’ll permit that small faux pas, if you promise to behave for a moment ~ do I make myself clear?”

“C…crystal,” he croaked, giving her the ok hand sign.

Sahira straightened up without taking her eyes off him. His attempt to attack her came as no shock, and it had given her the perfect excuse to prove a point. She had the strength and reflexes to counter anything he could possibly throw at her, surpassing him physically in every appreciable way, although she couldn’t fully credit herself for it.

The days following her experience at the kennel had been miserable. Aside from the exorbitant amount of time she’d spent in the bathroom, purging herself of what felt like gallons of canine cum, simple things had been a trial. Her ass had been wrecked, forcing her to use a padded donut if she wished to sit down, and she was fairly sure she’d nearly dislocated a hip.

She could deal with the bodily afflictions, having tolerated worse over the years, but the mental anguish had been excruciating. Despite her best efforts, meticulously plotting and using every ounce of her guile against him, he refused to submit to her - worse still, like some unholy rash, he kept coming back to haunt her. At her wits end one evening, meditating on how to deal with him in a more impactful way, she’d been given divine inspiration.

Since Shaka was a relatively simple creature, preferring the use of brute force over cunning, a simple solution was warranted - as such, she’d dramatically changed tactics. While it was disheartening that he was too slow-witted to appreciate a more cunning approach, his reaction to tasting his own medicine would surely make up for it.

Balancing on one leg, she placed a bare foot on his chest. “I’m open to suggestions, little one…”

He gave no response, opting to mutely glared up at her, yet the contempt in his eyes thrilled her to no end. She knew precisely what she was going to do with him and to him, but she was in no rush. Having taken nearly an entire week to calculate what he may or may not do to derail her grand designs, factoring in every variable that she could consider, she was going to savor her visit.

“You know, I’m a bit surprised that you haven’t boorishly told you to fuck myself,” she noted, caressing his neck with her big toe.

“And what good would that do me?” he countered. “We both know that would serve no purpose - furthermore, with as drenched as you are, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn you did that before you’d come knocking at my door.”

Lowering her foot back to the ground, she shifted one arm and rubbed her cunt. “Indeed, I did. It’s been so long since I’ve known your touch that I got a bit worked up ~ see.”

Stepping in and leaning back, she spread her legs and thrust her hips forward. Besides her towering stature, the thick slabs of muscle covering her frame, and her heightened sense, she’d bestowed herself with a slightly modified marehood. Far juicier and fatter than normal, so plump that it sent rivulets of nectar down her inner thighs, her sex was capable of handling the most well-hung lovers imaginable.

“By the way,” she continued, slamming one foot next to his shoulder, “that wasn’t a request.”

Shaka rolled his eyes. “And if I refuse?”

As her snout twisted in a toothy smile, her eyes narrowed. “I was hoping you’d say that…”

Gripping him by the throat, she heaved him from the sofa, slammed him against the wall, and brought her free hand to his hip. The list of things she had in store for him left her spoiled for choice, although opening with a bit of vigorous foreplay would benefit them both. She licked her chops as she leaned to one side and brought herself face to face with his rigid, twitching stallionhood.

Even for somepony of her current size, his endowment would be totally adequate to fill her amorous needs. Opening her muzzle, she moaned as she inhaled his cock. Though she was loath to admit it, in part because she viewed him and his haughtiness with disdain, she’d developed a particular taste for him.

His natural scent and flavor were as electrifying as ever. She could tell he hadn’t showered that morning or possibly even the night prior, with the bouquet of his loins being particularly potent, she was looking forward to sampling the essence he’d almost assuredly been saving for her. Squeezing down and strangling him, she bobbed her head and mopped his length with her lips and tongue.

Shaka’s eyes rolled while his strength gradually fled from him. It was difficult for him to picture how the circumstances could be more dire. The vast majority of his otherworldly abilities required him to draw breath, something she’d yet to permit, and all of his struggles were in vain - if those weren’t unsettling enough, the pleasure from receiving such a spirited blowjob at such an early hour put him in a precarious situation.

The corners of his vision darkened, his heart hammered in his bosom, his lungs spasmed, and his balls drew taut to his crotch while he hurtled toward release. There was no point in trying to hold himself back, putting all of his effort into not passing out, yet the climax which hit him made him disgusted with himself. Noiselessly flapping his jaw, he spontaneously disgorged a load of jizz down her gullet.

Sucking the cum from his dick as though it was an oversized straw, she only withdrew once she’d swallowed every drop of his spunk. “As refreshing as ever…”

He crashed the ground when she leased him and drew back. “I - Cough!”

Holding up a finger, he caught his breath. He’d like to say that she was done with him, although he was painfully aware that wasn’t the case. She had him right where she wanted him, sputtering and doing his damnedest to prop himself up on one arm, and she wouldn’t spare him the ignominy of such a brief visit.

She shifted and touched a toe to his semi-rigid shaft. “This must be an off day for you.”

Turning his head from side to side, he sneered. “Forgive me. If you give me a moment to recuperate, I’ll be happy to plow a bastard or two into you.”

“No need,” she whispered. Sinking into a splay-legged squat, she hunched down, brushed the dreadlocks from her face, and brought her muzzle to his groin. “Kosemi…”

Defying all common sense, blood surged into his stallionhood. What would ordinarily take a few minutes at best, with his refractory period subsiding and letting him go a second round, was to seconds. Staring down at his treacherous tool, and understanding that she’d used a hex on him, he frowned.

“Much better,” she tittered. “Now about that bastard you promised me.”

“And how long will this last,” he huffed.

Lightly kicking him onto his back, she turned and straddled his head. “Until I’m so weary that it dissipates. Not to fret, I won’t be too rough with you.”

The sight of her marehood overhead, slavering excitedly over his face, was a compelling one, though it gave him little comfort. With her uncouth manners and the vulgar way she’d just manhandled him, a part of him was inclined to chide her - mercifully, that small, admittedly petty temptation contended his better judgment. Saying or doing anything to needle her would only make matters worse for him, but…

“Oh good,” he muttered. “And here I was worried that all of your additional heft had dulled your supposedly keen intelle-Mmmmph!”

“As scathing as always,” she tutted while muzzling him with her cunt. “Do put that wagging tongue of yours to better use.”

He could barely hear her, her words muffled by the thick, powerful thighs pressed to either side of his head, though he’d gotten the gist of what she’d said. Even under the most appalling conditions, one should strive to humble their rivals - in cases such as his, when all he could do was metaphorically spit in her eye, it was all the more prudent. Smothered by her marehood, with his arms trapped under her shins, he lavished her depths.

The way he saw it, he had two options - to lie there and do as little as possible, essentially becoming her plaything, or to fight back and give her what she wanted. A wiser stallion would have afforded her no pleasure, yet his hubris and ego demanded he take an active part in the unfair contest. While he dragged his tongue over her velvety walls, he took solace that he’d filled his lungs before she’d began suffocating him.

It was hard to imagine that she’d stoop to such a low, subduing him with raw power, yet her strategy had worked alarmingly well. Lifting his legs and planting his feet, he wavered when her hands ran over his legs and to his ankles. She wasn’t to let him get away so easily, he realized that much, and his chances of escaping or exacting retribution were growing fainter and fainter with every moment that passed.

“I know I don’t have to warm you up, but…” she purred as he sensed her kiss his cock-head.

Shuddering, he unconsciously thrust his stallionhood up at her snout. He’d heard that there were those who found it particularly rousing to be asphyxiated while masturbating or having sex, although he’d never given any credence to the idea. Why anypony would want to do something so hazardous throughout an enjoyable affair was beyond him - all the same, like what had happened minutes prior, he found his normally admirable endurance lacking.

Pulling up and clearing her maw, she dipped her head and nuzzled her snout to the base of his shaft. “Ah ah - don’t get too hasty. I have a full night of sinful delights ready for you…”

A whole night? She was bluffing - she had to be. Irrespective of her love of tormenting him, and that he apparently wouldn’t be going soft anytime soon, what did she have to gain from brutishly having her way with him for such an extended period? He drew a deep breath and swiftly gathered himself as she lifted her waist and freed his face from her cavernous snatch.

“A…a full night ~ eh?” he feebly inquired, injecting a small modicum of smugness into his voice.

“Indeed,” she smoothly replied. “Since you’re back there, be so kind as to polish the ass you took joy in breaking in.”

His eyes shot to the pulsing pucker above him. Her metamorphosis hadn’t changed all that much about her, excluding her proportions, mass, and extraordinarily engorged marehood, yet her backdoor wasn’t what it once had been. In place of the tight, nearly virginal crater that had been nestled between her buns, a bloated, clearly well-used donut of flesh winked down at him.

Swaying her hips, she flagged her tail. “Having your fat, knotted dog-cock locked in my bowels was an eye-opening experience - so much so that I fear I have a budding a fondness for anal.”

“Well, that’s…” He hesitated, genuinely unsure of how to feel or what to say about the revelation. “I’m happy to have been of service.”

She lowered herself with glacial speed and allowed him to relish his approaching, musky doom. “If you truly mean that, you should get reacquainted. Here, I’ll help…”

All her weight was thrown downward in the blink of an eye, giving him no opportunity to stop her or move his head. One moment, he’s just been ogling her asshole - the next, his face was buried in it. While he took no umbrage with eating out a mare of any persuasion, he drew a line at having his snout entombed with somepony’s tush.

Never before had he been in such dire straits. Sahira was basically edging him, teasing his dick with her lips and tongue, while simultaneously killing him with her big, staggeringly buff booty. While she may come short of actually murdering him, taking more glee from keeping him alive than from snuffing out his existence, the possibility that she could end him was unnerving.

His stallionhood slowly flared, throbbing and twitching violently as his animalistic impulses somehow overtook his need to survive. Outside of offering some fascinating and disconcerting insight on his psychological state under pressure, she’d somehow found a way to embarrass him, emasculate him, and push his buttons in tandem. Twisting and leaning his head back, growing increasingly desperate for air, he was granted some reprieve when she got up.

She clenched as she stood, pulling his head off the ground before relaxing and letting it fall back to the floor with a dull thud. “You’d mentioned going to the bedroom?”

“Guh…w…wha…” he incoherently groaned.

Scoop up and held in a princess carry, he wearily looked around in confusion. She’d mentioned something about his bedroom, that much was clear, though she’d neglected to tell him what they’d be doing there. Trundled down the hall and into his chamber, he feebly helped as he flung onto his mattress.

“I truly am sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” she pouted as she crossed to the foot of the bed. “A majestic stallion shouldn’t be treated so disgracefully, so I’ll give you a second chance,” she added. Pulling at his legs and stretching him lengthwise over the mattress, she crawled over him. “Prove you’re a stud who’s worthy of taking me, and I may spare your dignity.”

He peered down his chest and spotted her kneeling over his waist. She was in the perfect position to ride him, gracing the tip of his length with her snatch, and she’d expressly told him what he had to do. Mustering his strength, he lifted his arms, took hold of her waist, and forced her down while bucking his hips with all his might.

While her cunt was far less snug than it used to be, his violent plunge was rewarded by a guttural, whorish noise escaping her lips. Having the know-how and equipment to bring any creature to their knees in rapture, he could still win - if not, he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Bracing his legs, motivated by the burning desire to conquer her, he jackhammered into her from below.

Sahira leaned back and fiercely twisted her nipples as her g-spot was pummeled. The sweet little thing was trying his heart out - hells, he probably thought he was doing a fine job of showing her a good time! His ministrations were acceptable enough, just intense enough to eventually drive her to a climax, yet it was the notion that she would snatch victory from his clutches that pushed her to her limit.

“R…right there,” she stammered.

Reclining against his bent legs, she brought a hand to her crotch and furiously kneaded her clit. An orgasm or two from her would hardly hamper her machinations - if anything, they’d be beneficial. The harder she came, the more convinced he’d be that he was beating her - the more convinced he was that he’d best her, the sweeter her inevitable triumph would be.

It was often said that fate is a cruel mistress - never was that more true than when Sahaka howled and quaked beneath her. For a transient moment, she presumed he was putting on an act, merely pretending to cross the threshold, but then she felt a warmth blossom within her. He’d just bred her, painting her interior with his essence, and his substandard performance couldn’t have been more poorly timed.

Stopping dead, she glowered at him. “Seriously…”

“J…just a second…” he rasped.

His mind was willing, yet his flesh, abused and mistreated by her superior form, was lacking. Though it was amusing to see him in such a sorry state, wheezing and shivering like a leaf, she was anything but entertained. In a grand, ironic twist, she’d been robbed of her first climax of the day by his inadequacies - seriously, she’d gotten more enjoyment from him when she’d turned him into a colt!

Smiling to herself, she saw a silver lining. Only the best of the best could turn a negative into a positive, and she counted herself among them. She tweaked her right nipple and clit, keeping herself on edge, and cleared her throat. Though he’d disappointed her, she wasn’t so callous as to punish him for his shortcomings.

“I’ll give you five minutes to make me cum,” she growled as she nodded to a clock on his nightstand. “Beseech whatever deity you hold dear that you don’t fail me again…”

Her small bit of encouragement did the trick, although in an unexpectedly delightful way. On every other occasion when he’d rutted her, regardless of his form, he’d been energetic and skillful - now, overpowered and with a vague threat dangling over his head, the rutting he delivered was pathetic. His soft whines and heavy breaths were accompanied by arrhythmic, weak thrusts, and his ordinarily peerless technique had disappeared entirely. While she would have had an easier and quicker time getting off by herself, witnessing him in such a pitiful state was just what she’d yearned for.

She came just shy of the fifth minute, holding herself back for long enough to ensure his dread flooded his system with adrenaline. Constricting her vice-like depths around him, using the pelvic control she’d trained since she was a mere filly, she whisked him to the gates of nirvana along with her. There’d been no need to see him cum again, especially since it was his third orgasm over such a short period of time, yet the sensation of a stallion’s seed bathing her canal and cervix was always a welcome accoutrement to a climax.

Leaning back further, she bore down and baptized him with a cocktail of their carnal juices. Her display was more than some paltry show, assuredly convincing him that he’d be spared the worst of what she had to offer, and it worked magnificently. As she cracked an eye and peeked down at him, seeing a silly little grin on his muzzle, her spirits soared.

“W…with time to s…spare,” he croaked.

She ignored his bravado as she straightened and touched a fingertip to the root of his sheathed length. “Would you like a small break?”

Glancing from her face to his groin and back again, he gulped. He had to be hypersensitive at this point, having expended two loads into her cunt and one down her throat, although he chose not to answer her. Listing over and slipping a hand under his left leg, she gave him as much time as he’d like to reply - not because she cared about what he might say, but because any response he had didn’t matter.

A look of horror flitted over his face when she shuffled back and placed his knees over his thighs. “W…what are you -”

“Sssssssssh,” she hissed as she rose and took a step forward. “With as exhausted as you seem to be, allow me to take the lead and do all the heavy lifting.”

The position she took, staying impaled on him while holding him up and keeping him balanced on his shoulders, was the ultimate expression of feminine dominance. Bestride his thighs, she drove his legs to his chest and started fucking herself on him. She’d known of the amazoness press for years, well over a decade, although the lengths she’d have to go through to use it on somepony other than a dwarf or a colt had made it impractical for a diminutive mare like herself - that was, until now.

Shaka’s back bowed with her plunges, the air was driven from his lungs, and the line between pleasure and pain blurred. For any stallion to be subjected to such treatment from a mare was shameful, but a tiny sliver of him, the smallest little piece, was enthralled. She was a vile creature, the sort of mare mothers warned their colts about, and she had levied the full, wicked force of her ire against the one stud he presumed was immune to such lecherous beasts - him.

Setting his jaw, he shut his eyes. His one hope of salvation was his mind, arguably his greatest asset, and it was the one tool he had left to rely on. The good news was that his faculties were intact - the bad news was he was hardly in any position to think clearly. Beset with torturous ecstasy, folded like a pretzel, and with a visit to a chiropractor in his future, should he be lucky enough to weather her onslaught, all he could do was hope - pray his tale wouldn’t end in such a deplorable way.

She moved like a fiend, bearing a rictus grin while using him like cheap marital aid, and was merciless to a fault. His fifth orgasm didn’t stop her, nor did his sixth or seventh, while his seed gushed and lewdly flowed from her marehood, over his crotch, and seeped into his once immaculate coat. Had she wished to make a mockery of him, she’d accomplished her goal - even so, she didn’t relent.

As his consciousness waned, his grip of reality grew tenuous. The sounds he made, dull grunts that were occasionally punctuated by hushed whimpers, sounded so odd that he could hardly recognize his own voice, yet he’d moved past putting any effort into stifling himself. Feeling cool, soothing air against his aching cock, a veritable balm compared to the hellish rapture of her infernal sex, he blinked.

It was over, she was done with him. He couldn’t say how many climaxes she’d had herself, neither caring nor counting the instances where her shrill wails rang in his ear, though the satisfied look on her sweat-streaked face told him everything he needed to know. Clinging to the tattered remnants of his pride, he smiled.

Wiping her brow, she turned her head toward his nightstand. “All things considered, not bad…”

He followed her gaze and did a double take. She’d appeared at his door shortly after eight in the morning, and now his clock read just after noon. Approximately four hours - she’d been fucking herself on him for over four hours, and she only looked the slightest bit tired. As he peered up at her, the gravitas of everything sank in.

Having coaxing every bit of seed from his sore, throbbing balls, she’d milked him like a cow. In a way, he was honored - then again, in light of how terrible he felt, and that she hadn’t left, he would save the celebrations for later. Kicked to the side and off the bed, he winced when he fell ingloriously to the floor.

“Up,” she instructed from atop the mattress. “Get up this instant.”

What she would do if he disobeyed was anypony’s guess, although he wasn’t about to refuse her. Gritting his teeth, he got onto all fours and dragged himself back onto the bed. She’d made herself at home, resting her head on his pillows while splaying her legs and massaging her enormous cunt, and took no leap of logic to comprehend what she expected of him.

Spreading herself open with both hands, she revealed her rosy, glazed depths. “About that breakfast…”

On any other day, with any other mare, he would have gladly eaten pussy to start his day - in spite of that, he pulled himself over to her. To disobey her would be tantamount to suicide, prolonging his ordeal while bolstering her savagery, so he took the only reasonable course of action - he yielded. Though she’d quite handily won the battle, emasculating him in ways that belied belief, the war was far from over.

Sahira remained motionless and stared down at him. What she would have given to see inside his head. How angry was he truly? Had he enjoyed himself in the slightest? Would this be the final nail in his coffin, or would he persevere and eventually retaliate against her. Not a single word passed his lips as he licked at her cunt, yet the defiance in his eyes spoke volumes.

Hooking a leg around the back of his head, she held his face to her loins. “Such an obliging stallion - you know, if you had been this respectful when you’d first come to my hut, I wouldn’t have to resort to such uncouth methods to tame you.”

“Nnnph,” he grunted into her.

She paused, lifted her leg, and waved a hand. “Come again? As your mother surely taught you, it’s rude to speak with one’s mouth full.”

Lifting his head, he grimly locked eyes with her. “First of all, I never had a mother - secondly, I - Nnnf!”

“Oh you poor, sweet little thing,” she lamented, double-leg locking his head. “That explains so much about you! Come the morrow, once we’ve had our fun and you’ve earned some rest, I’ll permit you to relive your childhood with me - who knows, if you’re a good colt who listens to mommy, you may get rewarded!”

He trembled as he went back to lapping his jizz from her marehood. It may take her weeks, months, or even years, but there’d come a time when she would unravel him at a fundamental level and make him anew - when that day came, she would have a stallion deserving of her love and affection. While she groped her chest and pinched her nipples, her eyes never strayed from his handsome, disheveled face.

She’d won this round, and she could have her way with him until exhaustion took her, though he’d earned the smallest bit of respite. Once the night had passed and a new dawn was upon him, she would tend to his wounds to ensure he was in fine health - if only to provoke him with her sympathy. Sighing, she extended an arm and stroked the top of his head.

While he assuredly despised her, hating her with every fiber of his being, she couldn’t say she felt the same way about him - at least, not anymore. He was nigh indomitable, adamantine in nearly every way, and she’d be lying if she claimed not to admire him in a way - true, he’d earned her scorn, but respect didn’t always go hand in hand with camaraderie. As her heart raced, her imagination went wild with all the possible ways he’d strike back against her.

Shaka needed no mirror to comprehend how appalling he must have looked. His mane was a matted mess, his charming visage was smeared with nectar, his cum, and her nectar, and there was a pain in his side that smacked of a bruised or cracked rib, but his resolve, while battered and bruised, had not left him. Bringing his lips to her clit, he delicately nibbled on the sensitive bud of flesh.

He’d had this coming, he wouldn’t deny that, and he had to applaud her for her efforts. Not since he’d first wrangled with a dragoness, a colossal, lusty she-beast who’d been nearly quadruple his age and triple his size, had he been so thoroughly put through the wringer. Swallowing down a salty, bitter mouthful of spunk, he snorted in amusement and silently conspired against her…