GREEN
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1551 8.82 KB 68
1551 8.82 KB 68
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Be Octavia, Ponyville’s elegant cellist, your heart a storm of suppressed longing and raw, aching need, now a trembling, sweat-soaked wreck in the heart of the stable, the basement’s air a suffocating haze of musky heat, alive with the moans and panting of mares lost in ecstasy with their human partners
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The cavernous space thrums with desperate cries, the scent of sweat and desire crashing over you like a wave, unraveling the last threads of your composure, stirring a deep, unspoken wound—the loneliness of nights spent yearning for a touch you’ve been denied too long
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Your leather stockings cling to your hind legs like a possessive promise, the glossy corset squeezing your barrel so tightly each breath is a desperate, shuddering gasp, the leather collar around your neck a heavy anchor that tugs at your soul, reminding you of the emptiness you’ve carried, now on the verge of being filled
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The lilac-scented oil on your torso and neck blends with your own musky heat, a seductive haze that clouds your mind, your body trembling on the precipice of total surrender, tears pricking your eyes as the weight of your isolation collides with this forbidden thrill
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In a blur, the human lifts you into his arms, his strength effortless as he settles onto the floor, legs crossed in a way that feels both foreign and commanding, positioning you so your hind legs splay wide, your intimacy exposed, dripping with liquid heat that betrays the depth of your longing
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His smile—bold, predatory—sends a shiver through you, and you realize his earlier touches, his teasing grazes, were deliberate torture, designed to leave you aching, begging for release, cracking open the walls you've built around your heart
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Without warning, he moves, a sharp, relentless motion that fills you with a searing, pulsing ache, a delicious torment that overwhelms your senses, forcing you to ride him in a frenzy of circular thrusts, each one ripping through the barriers of your restraint
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You try to brace yourself, hooves scrabbling for purchase, but his strength overpowers you, each movement a rapid, unyielding rhythm that drives you to the edge of madness, sating your hunger yet leaving you ravenous for more, tears streaming as the years of rejection flood back
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It’s a glorious torture—fast, constant, unrelenting—your body a wreck of need, your tongue lolling, hooves dangling uselessly at your sides, your once-pristine mane now a sweat-soaked tangle, his scent and yours blending in a primal haze that drowns the pain of past loneliness
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Your eyes burn with a desperate, insatiable hunger, yet a bitter happiness twists your lips into a smile—an acknowledgment that this man, not a pony stallion, is giving you what you crave, a truth that both stings your pride and heals your wounded soul, the emotion crashing through you like a symphony's crescendo
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Suddenly, he pulls you close, his arms wrapping around your torso in a possessive grip, his lips finding your neck, teeth sinking in with just enough force to make you gasp, a sharp bite that claims you as his, piercing the last of your defenses and unleashing a wave of cathartic release
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The warmth of his release floods you, a fire that finally quenches your voracious need, and you wrap all four hooves around him, clinging fiercely, your body moving on instinct, milking every drop, refusing to let him go until you've claimed all he offers, sobs mingling with your gasps as joy and relief wash over you
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He releases your neck, leaving a mark—a brand of his claim—and you know it'll linger, a badge of this moment, this man who's not a stallion but something fiercer, something yours, the realization cracking open your heart to a love you never thought possible
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His lips find yours again, a kiss dripping with possessive lust, directed solely at you, consuming you as you melt into it, your body still trembling, unwilling to let him go, the emotion of being truly seen and claimed overwhelming you
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He shifts, settling atop you, his arms cradling your neck with a tenderness that contrasts the ferocity of moments before, grounding you in a warmth that feels like home, like the end of your long, lonely symphony
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Be Cheerie Star, matron of the Ponyville stable, a pink-coated earth pony with a fiery red mane and sapphire eyes that have seen too much, striding through the sprawling basement with the weight of a queen who carries both pride and sorrow in every step
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Your heart aches with a mother’s love for this place, a haven you’ve built from nothing—a labyrinth of stalls modeled after human-world horse barns, each a private sanctuary for VIP mares, adorned with velvet, dim lanterns, and tools of surrender where they lose themselves to their chosen human stallions
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Each door you pass hums with raw emotion—cries of ecstasy, whispered pleas of don’t stop, desperate moans that pierce your soul, each one a reminder of the mares who come here, starved for touch, for love, in a world where stallions are a fading dream
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Those sounds, that symphony of need, fill you with a fierce, maternal joy—you’ve given them this, a place to be seen, to be claimed, to heal—but beneath it lies a grief that claws at your heart, the children you’ll never have, the family you’ve poured into these walls instead
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You pause at one stall, your authority unshaken despite the ache, and push the door open with a bold, almost defiant swagger—VIP or not, this is your domain, and these humans, your “boys,” are your surrogate sons, disciplined with a firm hoof and loved with a ferocity you can’t voice
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Inside, Vinyl Scratch, the white-coated unicorn with crimson eyes and electric-blue mane, trembles at the peak of her climax, her heat staining the waist of her red-haired human partner, his flushed face a mirror of devotion and vulnerability that tugs at your soul
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You step closer, a flicker of protective malice in your eyes, and plant yourself before her. “Vinyl, you heartless mare, letting Octavia drown in her heat alone? You brought her here, and left her to burn!”
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She freezes, clinging to her human with a desperate, possessive grip, her ears pinning back as he meets your gaze, his face flushed with shame, his arms wrapping around her in a shield of instinctual care
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You don’t blame him—humans, raised in monogamous worlds, rarely embrace this life, and those who do forge bonds deeper than flesh, especially in the VIP stalls where 90% of mares claim their human as a lifelong mate, their love a knife that cuts both ways
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Each departure rips at your heart—your boys leaving with their mares, some returning with foals, tiny hooves pattering as they visit, their joy a bittersweet reminder of the family you’ve built and lost, a wound that never heals
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You shake off the pain, fixing Vinyl with a stare that could shatter stone, your sapphire eyes boring into her as she lowers her gaze, ears drooping in submission. “I love Tavi,” she chokes out, voice breaking with guilt and fear. “I didn’t want to drag her into this, but she was breaking. There’s no going back now.”
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She lunges at her human, kissing him with a reckless, possessive fervor, each press of her lips a vow—“He’s mine, my stallion, my future foals’ father, and any mare who tries to take him can rot!”—tears streaming down her cheeks, her voice cracking as she clings to him, her heart laid bare
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You know this fire, this desperate need to form a herd, to pull Octavia into this love, to build a family in a world that starves mares of connection—Vinyl’s love for her roommate and her human is a raw, aching wound, and it mirrors the one in your own chest
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Your resolve wavers, the urge to discipline her fading under the weight of her tears. “No punishment this time,” you say softly, and Vinyl’s grip tightens, her human stroking her mane with a tenderness that makes your throat tighten, his touch calming her trembling form
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“When she wakes,” you add, nodding toward Octavia’s stall, “you’ll explain what’s expected. Don’t break her heart, Vinyl.” With a heavy nod, you turn and leave, the door clicking shut, sealing their moment away
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Outside, the stable’s symphony resumes—moans, gasps, cries of surrender—designed to drive mares wild, stoking their instincts in the open stalls, yet each VIP chamber seals sound when passion turns to connection, letting mares and their stallions share quiet vows of trust
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With a heavy heart, you climb back to the main floor, passing the public stalls where dozens of mares, unbothered by exposure, pay for their chance at passion, embracing submission to win the hearts of humans who, bit by bit, become their forever loves
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You reach your office, a sanctuary above the chaos, your chest tight with pride and loss—every moan is your creation, every bond a piece of your soul given away, a family you’ll never hold but will always protect
by AT_123
by AT_123
by AT_123
by AT_123
by AT_123