The Piggery, part One


                                            1.
                                            
                                                Ice Pebble stood in the shadowed antechamber of the Canterlot branch, her hooves clicking softly against the polished obsidian tile that gleamed like frozen night. The air carried the faint metallic tang of old magic, laced with rose attar and something muskier—sweat, leather, anticipation. She hated it. Not the scent itself, but what it represented in that section.

                                            2.

                                            3.
                                            
                                                A heavy sigh escaped her, fogging briefly in the cool air. Beyond the arched doorway lay the place she refused to dignify with a name. Not "VIP." To her, it was the piggery. A den that would repulse even the most hardened hedonist, twisted into a mockery of desire.

                                            4.

                                            5.
                                            
                                                She watched them file in: a cluster of unicorn mares from Canterlot's elite, coats polished to mirror sheen, manes styled in elaborate curls, horns glittering with jewels. Opulent in their opulence, tails swishing with the grace of courtly habit. Five, six, seven tonight—laughing low, voices carrying just enough to reach her without invitation. One tossed her head back, sapphire mane catching candlelight, and murmured something that drew giggles from the others.

                                            6.

                                            7.
                                            
                                                They paused at the threshold, shedding their finery like snakeskin. Jewels clattered into warded lockers—rings, necklaces, enchanted brooches. Adornments stripped away until they stood bare, vulnerable in the dim light. Then came the suits: slick vinyl or latex, pulled on with deliberate slowness. Tight, gleaming material that hugged every curve, enchanted to obscure tails and horns completely. No cutie marks visible. No individuality. Just uniform, anonymous forms.

                                            8.

                                            9.
                                            
                                                Masks next—full-face coverings molded to resemble porcine snouts, complete with upturned noses and blank, glassy eyes. Crines hidden beneath, features erased. And on their hooves: false pig trotters, cloven and clumsy, clicking awkwardly as they adjusted.

                                            10.

                                            11.
                                            
                                                Once suited, they transformed. No more elegant unicorns. They became pigs. They didn't speak; they snorted, squealed, grunted in guttural imitation. Waddling into the alcoves on all fours, tails—false ones now—curling in mock delight. Ready to wallow.

                                            12.

                                            13.
                                            
                                                Ice Pebble's lip curled in disdain.

                                            14.

                                            15.
                                            
                                                >Tch. What a waste.

                                            16.

                                            17.
                                            
                                                She knew what followed inside those rune-lit chambers. Dim alcoves with oversized cushions in loose circles. Humans—her humans, screened with surgical care for monogamy and heart—assigned not by fair rotation but by choice. Claimed weeks ago by these mares, marked with subtle collars or enchanted bands pulsing in time with their "owners'" hearts. Grouped like prized boars in a private pen, attending to the herd: slow, deliberate degradation. Bodies pressed close, humans commanded to treat them as livestock—slaps, commands, raw use—until the air thickened with squeals and the wet sounds of surrender. No quick releases. No strangers. Just them, night after night, building a pseudo-harem of obsession without the weight of real bonds.

                                            18.

                                            19.
                                            
                                                These mares sought submission precisely because they wielded power outside—courtly intrigue, wealth, magic that bent the world to their will. Here, they craved the inverse: to be reduced, humiliated, animalized. To squeal and beg without words, reveling in the filth of it all.

                                            20.

                                            21.
                                            
                                                But to Ice Pebble? It was sickening. These pigs didn't want partners, families, foals—hybrid or otherwise. They acaparated the best prospects, hoarding them for their twisted games, denying the quiet revolution Celestia had endorsed: stability, births, balance.

                                            22.

                                            23.
                                            
                                                >My little ones deserve better

                                            24.

                                            25.
                                            
                                                She murmured under her breath, ears flattening as the first muffled squeal echoed from beyond the curtain. They could be building homes, not servicing this... this sty.

                                            26.

                                            27.
                                            
                                                Photo Finish wouldn't let her close it, of course.

                                            28.

                                            29.
                                            
                                                >"Darling, it is art," the earth pony had purred in their last argument, camera slung like a talisman. "The beauty of contrast! Power inverted into play! You cannot ledger away desire."

                                            30.

                                            31.
                                            
                                                Ice Pebble had bitten back that the ledgers told the truth: humans burning out faster here, mares cycling through fixation to ennui, the delicate demographic balance tipping toward indulgence over salvation.

                                            32.

                                            33.
                                            
                                                But Photo Finish held veto as founder. Her "artistic" reports—photos framed like masterpieces, shadows and squeals captured in composition—kept the section alive.

                                            34.

                                            35.
                                            
                                                Another sigh, deeper this time. Ice Pebble pressed a hoof to her temple, feeling the throb behind her eyes.

                                            36.

                                            37.
                                            
                                                She understood the split in the Stables. Some mares came to be used as objects—raw, detached pleasure, no ties.

                                            38.

                                            39.
                                            
                                                Others built cages of devotion, twisted in their intensity.

                                            40.

                                            41.
                                            
                                                And this damned piggery fed the worst of both: submission without soul, hoarding without heart.

                                            42.

                                            43.
                                            
                                                From behind the curtain came another sound: a throaty grunt, then laughter—human voices murmuring something commanding, reverent amid the degradation.

                                            44.

                                            45.
                                            
                                                Ice Pebble turned on her hoof and walked away down the corridor, ledger tucked under one wing, the click of her steps echoing like quiet fury.

                                            46.

                                            47.
                                            
                                                The sty would stay open tonight.

                                            48.

                                            49.
                                            
                                                As always.

                                            50.

                                            51.
                                            
                                                But one day—perhaps—she would find a way to end it.

                                            52.

                                            53.
                                            
                                                Related:

                                            54.
                                            
                                                [Fluttershy Initiation](https://ponepaste.org/11459)

                                            55.
                                            
                                                [Rarity Punishment](https://ponepaste.org/11647)

                                            56.
                                            
                                                [The Sun's Shadow – Celestia's Solitude](https://ponepaste.org/11623)