The Great and Powerful Trixie vs. the Hairless, Flat-Faced Abomination

by TacticalRainboom

Rating: mature
Tags: Random, Human, Trixie, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Sex
Length: 3218

Wrists chained to the ground. Bridle on your head. Unicorn pony brandishing a riding crop. Well, it could be worse. Female human 2nd person, bondage, exhibitionism, trigger warning.

There are worse things than waking up naked, bound, and gagged, with an insane unicorn pony devouring you with her eyes and brandishing a riding crop.

Well, there probably are. Somehow.

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Female human, 2nd person, bondage, exhibitionism, surprise penis. Trigger warning. This thing really is rather extreme.

Merry Christmas, Tanya.

Published 2012-12-25 18:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-12-25 18:40:01 UTC

Showtime

The shackles linking your wrists to the tent's stakes make a jingling sound every time you move. The purple-walled tent you’re in has a musty smell, the ground is cold under your folded legs, and you can’t help but shiver whenever a breeze wafts across your completely bare skin. Then, of course, there’s the fact that there’s a fucking bridle on your head, with the bit wedged between your teeth like a hugely oversized ball-gag. All in all, you've still woken up in worse circumstances. At least you actually made it to Equestria, right?

"Oh ye-sss. You'll do. You'll do perfectly. Just wait until Manehattan sees the Great and Powerful Trixie's miraculous discovery! Such a bizzare, grotesque creature, alive and in captivity!"

Of course, you didn’t count on showing up unconscious, nude, and directly in the path of somepony whose idea of playing Good Samareitan was to chain you up and show you off as a circus act.

"The only question is how I should use you...?" She scans your nude body with all the subtlety and affection of a changeling siphoning away beauty and devouring it for sustenance. "Maybe I'll pull you out of a hat, or transform a rabbit into you. Or I could pull a rabbit out of the hat and then turn it into you!"

Trixie’s narrowed eyes smolder from beneath her silvery blue mane. And what eyes they are--reflective pupils ringed by a gradient from maroon to almost pink. She takes you in so greedily that she almost seems to be getting off on fantasizing about the cheers of her next adoring audience. Her gaze flicks continuously over your chest, your hips, and the space between your clenched-shut thighs.

You glance around for an escape route. It takes you very little time to understand that there is none. Even if you could somehow fetch the keys from the cot across the room, or loose the stakes from the ground, there's the small matter of your captor pacing back and forth right in front of you. She's only four feet tall, but thanks to your kneeling position, she meets you at eye level with her hungry stare.

"Oh, don't worry," she croons, disturbingly sweetly. "I’ll take good care of you. It’ll be a small expense to feed you well, considering how much money you'll make me." Her voice is decidedly less sexy than her eyes. It's nasal, abrasive, boyish.

The vicious pleasure on her face only grows as an idea progresses in her scheming pony brain. "And I'll only pretend to whip you for the sake of the show. I bet you'd make a fine beast-taming act. I can see it now! Trixie versus the hairless, flat-faced abomination!"

She abruptly cuts from wicked grinning to furrowed-brow scheming as, for the first time, her eyes break away from your body and stare into the distance instead while she paces. "Well, I'll come up with a suitable name for you--one befitting the magnificence of my show, of course."

She rounds on you, leaning in until your faces nearly touch. You recoil instinctively, which only makes her smile wider. “A name that makes use of your... unique... features.” Before you can stop her--not that you could anyway, what with your wrists being bound--she raises a hoof and prods your left breast. “... And this little indent where they ought to be. Hm.” She prods your belly button, and then her gaze drops lower.

When you try to protest through your bit and bridle, Trixie’s tone regains its acidic edge. “Aren’t you listening? I’m not going to hurt you, you stupid creature.” Her horn shimmers and you feel something roughly knock you from kneeling to sprawled on your rear, with a bizzare, almost ticklish tingling sensation gripping your knees. Oh no no no. You squeeze your thighs together as hard as you can, but the telekinetic force easily overpowers you.

“You should count yourself fortunate,” your new owner gloats. “Who knows what fate you might have come to out there in the woods if the Great and Powerful Trixie hadn’t found you first?” Her words are made even less reassuring by the fact that she’s still forcibly spreading your legs with her magic. And apparently even that isn’t enough for her--the sound of magic rings a bit louder as she pulls your legs towards her, putting your human “marehood” on full display. Your chains rattle loudly as you suddenly develop an intense interest in opening the distance between yourself and this insane blue unicorn slaver. Getting magically molested was not high on your list of things to do in Equestria.

Upon getting a good look at your “personal space,” Trixie stops talking for a few moments. You'd be thankful for the silence if it weren't for that look on her face. Her expression gradually shifts away from "mocking," through "wolfish," and all the way down to "creepy."

Her next words introduce you to an entirely new definition of “creepy.”

“Mmm... I can think of a few ponies who would pay very well to watch me tame you.”

You hear the distinctive hum of magic again, an instant before a sharp snap as something small and flat slaps against where your left cutie mark would be. Did she just hit you with a riding crop?

An answer comes in the form of another quick tap, this time at your inner thigh. Before you can finish wincing, the crop strikes again, bouncing back after tapping the inside of your other thigh. “Very nice,” Trixie hums, gently resting the black leather (wait, is that real leather?) tip on your collarbone. “She’s responsive as well as exotic.”

Responsive. The ice behind that one word makes the message very clear: I’ve got your number. You’re mine now.

Because she’s not talking about the way you squirm when she hits you--which she does, again, closer to your knee this time. She’s pleased with how responsive you are because even if she didn’t have a horse’s sense of smell, she would be be able to see plainly enough that you’re getting wet.

Shit. You always did worry that someone would find out that you’re a brony (pegasister, whatever) with a thing for bondage and submission, but this is ridiculous.

“It looks like training won’t take any time at all. You already love being part of the show!”

There’s a sharp snap as she hits you again, this time on your left breast, and not a light tap either. Experience tells you that she’s holding back just enough to keep from leaving red marks.

“DON’T you?” She hits on your groin again, hard enough to drag a gasp from your throat. You let that gasp out with a vocal shudder. And she grins.

You have no idea where she got them from or how she moved them here, but Trixie has set up a cage of thick metal bars for you, just behind the curtain. You assume that this is so that you can be revealed to the audience with a simple pull of a rope. You also figure that this means you’re going to be part of the show today. Great.

Trixie wears a light sneer as she attaches a pair of false eyelashes to her face with the help of a mirror nailed to the wall. When she speaks, it’s with an almost bored tone of condescension.

“You’ve forgotten one of the basics, creature. Stand properly when in my presence.” Without waiting for you to obey, pale blue magic coalesces around your hair and yanks it toward the floor. You fall to all fours with a gasp of pain.

“Good girl.” She releases your hair, and you feel the familiar dragging sensation of the crop tracing up your back, then curling under your chin. You look up into the eyes of the most fearsome predator who ever ate grass.

She looses the straps on your bridle as she floats the crop into a kind of holster at her side. “And when I reveal you to the audience, what will you do?”

You pull your feet up beneath you and “rear” to your full height, raising your fists and roaring like King Kong. You’re still not convinced that anypony is going to find you terrifying, but Trixie is pleased by your performance, and that is what matters.

“And what will you do when I signal that you have been defeated?”

You drop back to all fours and tilt your head back, bending your back slightly in the process. You’ve been assured that this is a pony gesture of submission and humility.

Her tone turns to that honeyed-sweet croon again: Sensuous, caring, and undeniably worrisome. “Perfect. Oh yes.”

She draws the crop in a flash and deals you a quick slap on the left haunch--er, left buttock--then puts the little implement away again in one smooth motion. “Remember--you’re here to give them a show. So let’s make your debut performance a good one, hm?”

She pats you on the cheek with her forehoof, then strides through the curtain and onto the stage, leaving you to wait until the time comes for your part of the act.

Unlike other magicians that you’ve seen, who like to play dramatic music and communicate via dramatic hand-motions, Trixie won’t shut the hell up about Her Next Amazing Feat. After the light show and Trixie laboriously introducing herself as the most powerful unicorn in Equestria comes the rabbit from the hat, the rope escape, the volunteer from the audience...

Finally, it’s time for the moment you’ve been dreading. The lights dim, and Trixie’s voice blares out what sounds like a prepared speech:

“And now, dear audience, the moment you’ve all been waiting for!”

She pauses, and there’s a brief silence in which you notice a familiar feeling somewhere behind your belly button. It takes you a minute to remember where you know it from, but once you do, it’s all too clear. This is what it felt like when your mother forced you to sing in front of your extended family at Christmas parties when you were little.

“You have all heard the terrible stories of the beasts who live in the heart of the Everfree Forest. The Timber Wolf, the Chimera, even the mighty Hydra--”

You’re so not ready for this.

“But the Great and Powerful Trixie has captured, for your viewing pleasure, a monster never before seen by ponykind!”

Somehow, you feel like you’re going to have trouble being terrifying enough to top chimeras and hydras.

“Fillies and gentlecolts, stay well back from the edge of the stage and watch your foals closely, for Trixie is here to show you, for the first time ever, the Chest-Breasted--”

The curtain is thrown open, along with the gate of your cage. You cringe and scowl in annoyance as you’re attacked by daylight... and by the gaze of a pretty decent-sized crowd.

“Dear Celestia!” Trixie gasps melodramatically. Her crop is still holstered, but she’s levitating a huge bullwhip. “IT’S GOTTEN LOOSE!” She’s just convincing enough to evoke a chorus of shocked gasps from the gathered crowd.

Despite the theatrical panic in her voice, the glint in her eyes is all too familiar. You “rear” like you were taught, tossing your hair for good measure as you howl like a crazed chimpanzee.

The throng of ponies watches in stunned silence, either caught up in the magic of theatre or just fascinated by how strange you and your breasts must look to them. Trixie seizes the moment with perfect form.

“So! Think you can play on the level of the Great and Powerful Trixie, creature?” She flicks the whip, and your ears ring from the sound. Holy shit--you’ve heard softer gunshots.

You wince as you dodge sideways, like you were taught. Seeing your weakness, Trixie’s wolf grin comes to its full-fanged snarl. The two of you circle the perimeter of the stage as if knife-fighting, except that you just have your hands raised in a stupid-looking T-rex stance, and she’s levitating that terrifying-looking whip.

She lunges forward, cracking the whip so close to you that you feel it passing inches from your face. You reel, and the crowd cheers. You don’t even regain your balance before you hear the whip again, seemingly even closer than before. The audience is whooping and thumping their hooves on the ground by the fourth crack of the whip.

You realize that your eyes are closed. When you open them, Trixie’s right in front of you, so close that you can smell pony sweat. She’s just a magician, sure, but the fire, the intensity in her... this is real power. She drops her whip and pulls out the crop, but she doesn’t need it. Her eyes alone pack enough of a punch.

“Are you ready to submit, creature?” More than just angry or boastful, her words are sultry. She’s basking in the crowd’s reaction, but also in dominion over her “creature.” This was no choreographed routine. For all your supposed status as a thinking creature, she can exploit how “responsive” you are in ways that you have no defense against. She has your number.

You are hers.

You actually tremble as you drop to all fours and throw your head back, as before. The audience’s enthusiasm grows to a roaring fanfare as Trixie roughly shoves your bit into your mouth and fits the bridle over your head. Then comes the collar, the blinders... And for good measure, she even cuffs your wrists behind your back, leaving you with your forehead and shoulders resting on the surface of the stage, and your rear propped up by your knees.

You expect her to leash you and lead you away on the leash at this point, but instead you feel something different. Something cold traces its way up the back of your thigh until it rests on your nonexistent cutie mark again. You hear a distant “Yeah! Show that monster!” from the audience, followed by a wolf whistle.

“And now,” Trixie announces loudly, stroking your “haunch” with the crop, “the part of the show you’ve really been waiting for!”

You feel a warm weight on your back. You feel a pair of furred forelegs close around your sides.

You feel something else, too. Something prodding you between your hind legs.

No way.

Well, that explains the voice.

Trixie leans away from you again, still resting “her” hooves on your hips, and resting the tip of a fucking blunt-headed horsecock against your opening. Sure she’s only four feet tall, but the concept alone is intimidating.

The crop lands sharply on your ass again. This time, instead of a gasp or a silent cringe, the sound you make is a vocal shudder, which comes out as dumb sputtering thanks to the metal bar wedged in your mouth.

You hear the crowd laugh, but right now there is very little room for anything but Trixie in your brain. “Remember what I said,” Trixie hums in that annoying lilt, leaning close enough so that her breath tickles the inside of your ear. “You’re here to give them a show.”

You feel the tingle of magic against flesh again, and this time it’s invading you from behind, massaging and probing shamelessly. You squirm, nearly knocking the mare mounting you off-balance. She retaliates by lunging forward to clamp her teeth down on your hair and yank. Your hair is long enough so that she has no trouble falling back nearly to the same position as before, pulling your hair as if holding your head on a leash.

The vibrating, tickling magic playing at your sex only increases its enthusiasm, until Trixie is essentially pinning you down in your helpless stance while magically exploring the human vag that she has perched on the end of her dick.

She releases your hair to yell one last line the audience.

“See? Even the beasts of the Everfree cannot resist the Trixie! Now, who wants to see the Chest-Breasted Killer impaled on the Great and Powerful Trixie’s Great and Powerful--!”

The bit does nothing to contain your openmouthed wail of pain and utterly undeniable arousal when Trixie plunges your lower depths without warning. With no further ceremony, she clutches you between her forehooves and starts to fuck you pony style.

It goes without saying that you have never taken a cock anything like this. It feels like having a warm, fleshy Coke can wedged in there. Every time she draws back, you feel the flared head dragging through your insides, and when she thrusts, it’s with enough force to drive your face down onto the stage.

The audience’s shouts mix with your own as Trixie gradually picks up the pace, steadily pumping harder and faster. It hurts, she's huge by human standards, easily big enough to stretch you even if she weren't unabashedly humping away, but god the way that flare rubs you from the inside, the impossible power and intensity behind this little unicorn as she slams you from behind...

Trixie hisses with focused pleasure as the first throb, powerful and sudden, reduces you to a quivering fuck-pot. You groan in pleasure despite your cheek being pressed into the wooden surface beneath. Trixie has already pulled halfway out by the time she lets out a second squirt, and the third lands in a clumsy spatter on your back.

Before your fuck-drunk mind can reflect upon Trixie’s lack of sexual endurance, the smug shemare dismounts and trots over towards the audience, her flagging erection dripping a thin trail of human and pony sexual fluids between your abused plot and the edge of the stage.

“What do you think, dames and gentlecolts? Was Trixie’s show worth the price of admission?”

The crowd goes wild.

“Well, how would you like a chance to tame this creature for yourself? Just twenty bits and--!”

The crowd goes wild.

You’ve been given a cot instead of a pile of hay, for your good behavior. Watches and clocks are hard to come by in Equestria, so you have to guess at the passage of time based on the position of the sun, the direction of the breeze, and the relative soreness of your vaginal walls. You’re inside a tent, so you only have the latter to go by. You estimate, based on this method, that you spent around two continuous weeks being pounded onstage that afternoon.

She sits next to you, legs folded, sipping juice through a straw. “I think this is the beginning of a very profitable relationship, creature.”

The sound you make in response to that--a grumbling murmur of exhaustion, muffled by a bit and bridle--would probably be best interpreted as a whinny.

Author's Note

Whatever criticism you are about to level at this POS, I probably already know it. I joke about this all the time, but for once I actually do feel bad about writing this.

Oh, and the fact that I’ve never had a vagina of my own probably shows. I am sorry if this gaping hole no pun intended in my human experience makes the fic uncloppable.

I thought about making it so that the bridle was magic, and it gave a dick to whoever was fucking the wearer. But that just would’ve been silly.