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Broken Incentives - Chapter 8: The Last Struggle

By AT_123
Created: 2026-03-20 02:51:58
Expiry: Never
anondarknsfwgrimdark/spg/simtrixie lulamoonauslave ponybondageexplicitcollarconditioning

  1. 1.
    Broken Incentives - Chapter 8: The Last Struggle
  2. 2.
     
  3. 3.
    The penthouse is quiet except for the sharp crack of leather on flesh.
  4. 4.
     
  5. 5.
    “Tsck-tsck! You can’t rush perfection!” Coco Pommel snaps, voice high and furious. “Do it again. Slower. Straighter. Or do you want another ten across those ugly flanks?”
  6. 6.
     
  7. 7.
    The incentive pony—identical to her in every detail: soft cream coat, curly two-tone mane, wide blue eyes—trembles on her knees. Collar tight. Tail tied high. Flanks already glowing red from earlier corrections. She tries to steady the tray balanced on her back: crystal glasses filled with chilled champagne. They wobble. One tilts dangerously.
  8. 8.
     
  9. 9.
    Coco’s eyes narrow.
  10. 10.
     
  11. 11.
    The irony never stops stinging.
  12. 12.
     
  13. 13.
    This Coco Pommel—the one with the empire, the contracts, the penthouse view—built her fortune on the material that nullifies unicorn magic. Inhibitor fabrics. Collar linings. Restraint weaves. The very tools that let humans chain her species.
  14. 14.
    She rose from the ashes of her reality’s cataclysm—lost family, lost atelier, lost everything—and turned grief into gold.
  15. 15.
     
  16. 16.
    And now she owns… herself.
  17. 17.
     
  18. 18.
    Or a version of herself.
  19. 19.
    Pulled from a guilty reality.
  20. 20.
    Broken. Collared. Assigned as her personal incentive.
  21. 21.
     
  22. 22.
    The irony is so thick she can taste it.
  23. 23.
     
  24. 24.
    The incentive steadies the tray. Takes one careful step forward. The glasses stay level.
  25. 25.
     
  26. 26.
    Coco exhales sharply.
  27. 27.
     
  28. 28.
    “Good. Now serve.”
  29. 29.
     
  30. 30.
    The incentive walks the circle of guests—elite humans in tailored suits, laughing, drinking, treating the pony like furniture. They take glasses without looking at her. One pats her head like a dog. Another slides a hand along her flank—casual, possessive. She flinches but keeps walking.
  31. 31.
     
  32. 32.
    Coco watches from the edge of the room.
  33. 33.
     
  34. 34.
    One man—a young executive she’s been subtly courting for months—leans close to the incentive version of herself.
  35. 35.
    He reaches out.
  36. 36.
    Strokes the soft fur behind her ear.
  37. 37.
     
  38. 38.
    Coco’s teeth grind so hard she tastes blood.
  39. 39.
     
  40. 40.
    Why her?
  41. 41.
    Why the broken one?
  42. 42.
    Why not me?
  43. 43.
     
  44. 44.
    Hours later the party ends.
  45. 45.
    Guests leave.
  46. 46.
    The penthouse falls silent.
  47. 47.
     
  48. 48.
    Coco drags the incentive Coco into the master bedroom by the collar.
  49. 49.
     
  50. 50.
    The door slams.
  51. 51.
     
  52. 52.
    The fusta—custom, braided leather with weighted tip—whistles through the air.
  53. 53.
     
  54. 54.
    Crack.
  55. 55.
     
  56. 56.
    A red line blooms across cream flanks.
  57. 57.
     
  58. 58.
    Crack.
  59. 59.
     
  60. 60.
    Another.
  61. 61.
     
  62. 62.
    The incentive gasps—sharp, pained—but doesn’t beg. Her marehood winks, slick gathering despite the pain. Body trained to turn agony into need.
  63. 63.
     
  64. 64.
    Coco strikes harder.
  65. 65.
     
  66. 66.
    “This is for looking at him.”
  67. 67.
    Crack.
  68. 68.
    “For letting him touch you.”
  69. 69.
    Crack.
  70. 70.
    “For being everything I can’t.”
  71. 71.
     
  72. 72.
    The incentive whimpers—soft, broken.
  73. 73.
    Her hind legs tremble.
  74. 74.
    Marehood drips steadily onto the carpet.
  75. 75.
     
  76. 76.
    Coco stops.
  77. 77.
     
  78. 78.
    Breathing hard.
  79. 79.
     
  80. 80.
    She looks down at the pony who wears her face.
  81. 81.
     
  82. 82.
    The incentive is panting.
  83. 83.
    Flanks striped crimson.
  84. 84.
    Eyes glassy.
  85. 85.
    But not with hate.
  86. 86.
     
  87. 87.
    With need.
  88. 88.
     
  89. 89.
    Coco’s throat tightens.
  90. 90.
     
  91. 91.
    She levitates a silver dildo—thick, cold, unyielding—from the nightstand.
  92. 92.
     
  93. 93.
    “No more excuses,” she hisses. “You’ll stay like this all night. Learn your place.”
  94. 94.
     
  95. 95.
    She presses the tip against the incentive’s entrance.
  96. 96.
     
  97. 97.
    One brutal thrust.
  98. 98.
     
  99. 99.
    The incentive screams—pain and pleasure crashing together.
  100. 100.
    Her body convulses.
  101. 101.
    Walls clamp down hard around the metal.
  102. 102.
     
  103. 103.
    Coco twists it once—slow, cruel.
  104. 104.
     
  105. 105.
    “You don’t get to cum unless I say,” she whispers. “You don’t get to beg. You don’t get to exist outside this room unless I allow it.”
  106. 106.
     
  107. 107.
    She steps back.
  108. 108.
     
  109. 109.
    The incentive is shaking.
  110. 110.
    Marehood stretched around the toy.
  111. 111.
    Dripping.
  112. 112.
    Clenching.
  113. 113.
    Desperate.
  114. 114.
     
  115. 115.
    Coco turns away.
  116. 116.
     
  117. 117.
    Slams the door.
  118. 118.
     
  119. 119.
    Locks it.
  120. 120.
     
  121. 121.
    Silence.
  122. 122.
     
  123. 123.
    Then—through the wood—she hears it.
  124. 124.
     
  125. 125.
    A low, broken moan.
  126. 126.
     
  127. 127.
    Pleasure.
  128. 128.
    Pure, helpless pleasure.
  129. 129.
     
  130. 130.
    Coco leans her forehead against the door.
  131. 131.
     
  132. 132.
    Another day at the top.
  133. 133.
     
  134. 134.
    Another day alone.
  135. 135.
     
  136. 136.
    Unreachable.
  137. 137.
     
  138. 138.
    Again.
  139. 139.
     
  140. 140.
    She closes her eyes.
  141. 141.
     
  142. 142.
    And listens to the pony who used to be her… cumming untouched, over and over, to the thought of being owned.
  143. 143.
     
  144. 144.
    While the real Coco Pommel stands outside the door—rich, powerful, envied—and feels nothing but hollow.
  145. 145.
     
  146. 146.
    She walks away.
  147. 147.
     
  148. 148.
    The moans follow her down the hall.
  149. 149.
     
  150. 150.
    They always do.
  151. 151.
     
  152. 152.
    ---
  153. 153.
     
  154. 154.
    Trixie’s POV
  155. 155.
     
  156. 156.
    Morning light slips through the blinds in thin, pale stripes.
  157. 157.
     
  158. 158.
    I wake slowly—head pillowed on warm skin, cheek pressed to the steady rise and fall of a bare chest.
  159. 159.
     
  160. 160.
    Anon’s heartbeat thumps gently under my ear.
  161. 161.
     
  162. 162.
    Strong. Alive. Human.
  163. 163.
     
  164. 164.
    I don’t move at first.
  165. 165.
     
  166. 166.
    I just breathe him in—slow, deep pulls through my nose. Sweat from yesterday, faint soap, the lingering musk of last night’s release still clinging to his skin. My horn rests against his sternum, the zoning spell I cast before sleep making it tangible, soft, harmless. No sharp edges. Just weight. Just contact.
  167. 167.
     
  168. 168.
    If I could wake up like this every day…
  169. 169.
    No cape. No case of tools. No broken ponies waiting in the next room.
  170. 170.
     
  171. 171.
    Just this. Quiet. Needed.
  172. 172.
     
  173. 173.
    The thought stings more than it should.
  174. 174.
     
  175. 175.
    The door creaks open—soft, careful.
  176. 176.
     
  177. 177.
    Quartz Cup peeks inside, ears perked, eyes wide. She freezes when she sees me awake.
  178. 178.
     
  179. 179.
    I smile—slow, lazy, dangerous.
  180. 180.
     
  181. 181.
    Before she can bolt, I flick my horn.
  182. 182.
    Azure magic wraps around her barrel, lifts her gently off the floor. Legs kick once in surprise—silent, helpless. I float her inside and ease the door shut behind her without a sound.
  183. 183.
     
  184. 184.
    Anon stirs faintly but doesn’t wake.
  185. 185.
     
  186. 186.
    Good.
  187. 187.
     
  188. 188.
    I turn Quartz to face me—still suspended, tail flagged instinctively, marehood already glistening at the proximity to her owner’s scent.
  189. 189.
     
  190. 190.
    I tilt my head.
  191. 191.
     
  192. 192.
    “Morning, little pet,” I whisper. “Spying on your betters?”
  193. 193.
     
  194. 194.
    She whimpers—soft, panicked. Tries to speak. My magic seals her lips shut.
  195. 195.
     
  196. 196.
    I float her closer.
  197. 197.
     
  198. 198.
    Closer.
  199. 199.
     
  200. 200.
    Until her dripping entrance hovers inches from my muzzle.
  201. 201.
     
  202. 202.
    I inhale—long, deliberate.
  203. 203.
    Sweet. Musky. Devoted. The scent of a pony who has already surrendered completely.
  204. 204.
     
  205. 205.
    My mouth waters.
  206. 206.
     
  207. 207.
    I lean in.
  208. 208.
     
  209. 209.
    Tongue flicks out—slow, flat—dragging from her clit all the way up her slit.
  210. 210.
    She jerks in mid-air. Eyes squeeze shut. A muffled keen vibrates against my silencing spell.
  211. 211.
     
  212. 212.
    I lap again—deeper this time—circling her swollen clit, dipping inside just enough to taste how soaked she is.
  213. 213.
     
  214. 214.
    She’s trembling. Hips twitching forward despite herself. Marehood winking frantically against my tongue.
  215. 215.
     
  216. 216.
    I hum—low, pleased—and take her clit between my lips.
  217. 217.
     
  218. 218.
    Suck gently.
  219. 219.
    Then harder.
  220. 220.
     
  221. 221.
    Her whole body convulses—silent scream trapped behind the spell. Slick floods my mouth. I swallow it greedily, tongue never stopping.
  222. 222.
     
  223. 223.
    I glance sideways at Anon—still asleep, chest rising and falling peacefully.
  224. 224.
     
  225. 225.
    Then back at Quartz Cup—eyes glassy, tongue lolling past sealed lips, body shuddering in helpless pleasure.
  226. 226.
     
  227. 227.
    I pull back just enough to speak—breath hot against her folds.
  228. 228.
     
  229. 229.
    “You’re lucky,” I murmur. “You get this every day. His scent. His touch. His seed.
  230. 230.
    And you never had to fight for it.”
  231. 231.
     
  232. 232.
    Another long, slow lick—base to clit.
  233. 233.
     
  234. 234.
    She bucks again—tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.
  235. 235.
     
  236. 236.
    I smile against her.
  237. 237.
     
  238. 238.
    “Be grateful, pet.
  239. 239.
    Some of us… still have to earn it.”
  240. 240.
     
  241. 241.
    I dive back in—tongue relentless, magic keeping her perfectly still and perfectly silent.
  242. 242.
     
  243. 243.
    She cums almost immediately—hard, helpless spasms rippling through her suspended body.
  244. 244.
    No sound escapes.
  245. 245.
     
  246. 246.
    Just the wet sound of my mouth on her.
  247. 247.
     
  248. 248.
    And the quiet, even breathing of the man sleeping beside us.
  249. 249.
     
  250. 250.
    I let her down gently—legs folding under her, body limp and trembling.
  251. 251.
     
  252. 252.
    She collapses against the carpet, panting, eyes glazed with devotion and shame.
  253. 253.
     
  254. 254.
    I lick my lips once—slow, savoring.
  255. 255.
     
  256. 256.
    Then I turn back to Anon.
  257. 257.
     
  258. 258.
    Still asleep.
  259. 259.
     
  260. 260.
    Still peaceful.
  261. 261.
     
  262. 262.
    I crawl up the bed—quiet as shadow—and settle beside him again.
  263. 263.
     
  264. 264.
    Head back on his chest.
  265. 265.
     
  266. 266.
    Horn resting softly against his skin.
  267. 267.
     
  268. 268.
    I close my eyes.
  269. 269.
     
  270. 270.
    And pretend—just for a few more minutes—that this could be every morning.
  271. 271.
     
  272. 272.
    That I don’t have to break anything else to feel this.
  273. 273.
     
  274. 274.
    That I’m not already too late.
  275. 275.
     
  276. 276.
    The Great and Powerful Trixie…
  277. 277.
    is starting to feel very small.
  278. 278.
     
  279. 279.
    ---
  280. 280.
     
  281. 281.
    Later that morning the kitchen smells of hot oil, ham, and fresh toast.
  282. 282.
     
  283. 283.
    I finish plating: fried eggs sunny-side up with crispy ham slices for me, scrambled eggs mixed with refried beans and buttered toast for Trixie. Nothing fancy. Just food. The kind of meal that feels almost normal until you remember there are two chained ponies in the house and a third one slowly being dismantled in the guest room.
  284. 284.
     
  285. 285.
    Quartz Cup trots in first—mane still damp from the shower, coat gleaming, tail swishing happily. She doesn’t hesitate: walks straight to Trixie’s chair, presses her muzzle to the unicorn’s foreleg in a small, trusting nuzzle, then sits beside her like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
  286. 286.
     
  287. 287.
    I freeze mid-step with the plates.
  288. 288.
     
  289. 289.
    Trixie pauses too—fork halfway to her mouth.
  290. 290.
     
  291. 291.
    Then she smiles.
  292. 292.
    Soft. Almost fond.
  293. 293.
     
  294. 294.
    She reaches down and scratches behind Quartz Cup’s ear. The gray mare leans into it immediately, eyes half-lidded in bliss.
  295. 295.
     
  296. 296.
    I set the plates down harder than I mean to.
  297. 297.
     
  298. 298.
    Trixie glances up at me. Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
  299. 299.
     
  300. 300.
    “Worried, handler?” she asks lightly. “Afraid your perfectly broken pet might start preferring Trixie’s company?”
  301. 301.
     
  302. 302.
    I swallow.
  303. 303.
     
  304. 304.
    “I’m worried she’s not afraid of you anymore.”
  305. 305.
     
  306. 306.
    Trixie laughs—short, sharp.
  307. 307.
     
  308. 308.
    “That’s progress, darling. Fear is only useful at the beginning. Once they stop fearing you… they start needing you.” She strokes Quartz Cup’s mane once more. “Isn’t that right, little one?”
  309. 309.
     
  310. 310.
    Quartz Cup hums happily, pressing closer.
  311. 311.
     
  312. 312.
    I sit. Stare at my eggs.
  313. 313.
     
  314. 314.
    Trixie takes a bite of toast. Chews slowly.
  315. 315.
     
  316. 316.
    “I’m going to increase the intensity with Limestone this afternoon,” she says casually. “Methods will escalate. If you don’t have the guest room soundproofed—”
  317. 317.
     
  318. 318.
    I pale.
  319. 319.
     
  320. 320.
    She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t need to.
  321. 321.
     
  322. 322.
    I nod once. Resigned.
  323. 323.
     
  324. 324.
    “Understood.”
  325. 325.
     
  326. 326.
    Breakfast passes in near silence.
  327. 327.
     
  328. 328.
    Afterward I head to the bathroom. Quartz Cup follows without being told—trotting behind me like a shadow.
  329. 329.
     
  330. 330.
    I turn on the shower. Hot water fills the room with steam.
  331. 331.
     
  332. 332.
    She steps under the spray with me—docile, trusting. I wash her carefully. No teasing. No wandering hands. Just soap, sponge, rinse. The pheromones that usually thicken the air stay dormant under the heat and water. For once, it’s just… clean.
  333. 333.
     
  334. 334.
    I grab the brush from the kit that came with her crate—the one with soft bristles and a handle shaped for human hands. I work it through her mane first—long, slow strokes. White strands fall smooth and glossy under my fingers. Then her tail—careful around the dock. She sighs—content, leaning into every pass.
  335. 335.
     
  336. 336.
    I catch my reflection in the fogged mirror.
  337. 337.
     
  338. 338.
    My face is softer than it should be.
  339. 339.
     
  340. 340.
    I’m grooming her like she matters.
  341. 341.
     
  342. 342.
    Like she’s mine.
  343. 343.
     
  344. 344.
    Like I’m hers.
  345. 345.
     
  346. 346.
    I hate how right it feels.
  347. 347.
     
  348. 348.
    The government designed this.
  349. 349.
    They knew exactly what they were doing.
  350. 350.
     
  351. 351.
    I finish. Dry her with a towel. She nuzzles my hand once—grateful, adoring.
  352. 352.
     
  353. 353.
    We step out of the bathroom together.
  354. 354.
     
  355. 355.
    I don’t notice Trixie watching from the hallway.
  356. 356.
     
  357. 357.
    Her face is a mask of calm.
  358. 358.
     
  359. 359.
    But her eyes are burning.
  360. 360.
     
  361. 361.
    Fury.
  362. 362.
    Envy.
  363. 363.
    Hunger.
  364. 364.
     
  365. 365.
    She turns away before I see.
  366. 366.
     
  367. 367.
    The day continues.
  368. 368.
     
  369. 369.
    Lunch is quiet.
  370. 370.
     
  371. 371.
    Quartz Cup curls at my feet while I work on the laptop.
  372. 372.
     
  373. 373.
    Trixie disappears into the guest room.
  374. 374.
     
  375. 375.
    Soon the sounds start—muffled at first.
  376. 376.
     
  377. 377.
    Whimpers.
  378. 378.
    Gasps.
  379. 379.
     
  380. 380.
    The soft, rhythmic slap of magic against flesh.
  381. 381.
     
  382. 382.
    I don’t go in.
  383. 383.
     
  384. 384.
    I don’t need to.
  385. 385.
     
  386. 386.
    I know what’s happening.
  387. 387.
     
  388. 388.
    And I know Trixie is taking out on Limestone everything she feels when she looks at me and Quartz Cup.
  389. 389.
     
  390. 390.
    Another day in this broken house.
  391. 391.
     
  392. 392.
    Another step closer to the edge.
  393. 393.
     
  394. 394.
    And Trixie—smiling, theatrical, unstoppable—is dragging us all toward it.
  395. 395.
     
  396. 396.
    ---
  397. 397.
     
  398. 398.
    Limestone Pie’s POV
  399. 399.
     
  400. 400.
    I scream.
  401. 401.
     
  402. 402.
    The fusta whistles again—sharp, vicious—and lands across my already burning flanks with a crack that echoes off the walls. Pain explodes, white-hot and immediate. Another red stripe joins the map of welts covering my rear.
  403. 403.
     
  404. 404.
    “Pathetic!” Trixie snarls, voice dripping venom. Another strike. “Your owner barely looks at you and you’re already dripping like a cheap whore!”
  405. 405.
     
  406. 406.
    Crack.
  407. 407.
     
  408. 408.
    “Why doesn’t he touch you the way he touches Quartz Cup, hmm? Why doesn’t he breed you like the eager little broodmare you’re supposed to be?”
  409. 409.
     
  410. 410.
    Every lash comes with a new insult, a new accusation. My body jerks against the restraints, but the muscle relaxant keeps me limp, helpless, forced to feel every single impact. My marehood clenches uselessly, traitorously wet. The pain is twisting into something filthy and hot and I hate myself for it.
  411. 411.
     
  412. 412.
    A small, vicious part of me whispers: Just give in. Surrender completely. Let him use you. Let him fuck you raw every night. Maybe then that smug unicorn bitch will finally choke on her own envy.
  413. 413.
     
  414. 414.
    The thought makes me sick.
  415. 415.
     
  416. 416.
    The whipping stops.
  417. 417.
     
  418. 418.
    I’m panting—sweat stinging my eyes, flanks throbbing like they’re on fire.
  419. 419.
     
  420. 420.
    Then something cold presses against my burning skin.
  421. 421.
     
  422. 422.
    Ice.
  423. 423.
     
  424. 424.
    Trixie drags the frozen cube in slow, deliberate circles over my welts. The contrast is agonizing—freezing against raw heat. My body spasms. A choked moan slips out before I can stop it.
  425. 425.
     
  426. 426.
    She laughs softly.
  427. 427.
     
  428. 428.
    “Feel that, little rock? Your body doesn’t know what it wants anymore. Pain… pleasure… it’s all the same now, isn’t it?”
  429. 429.
     
  430. 430.
    The ice moves lower—teasing the sensitive skin just above my tailhole. I shudder violently.
  431. 431.
     
  432. 432.
    She stops.
  433. 433.
     
  434. 434.
    I hate the whimper that escapes me—disappointment or relief, I can’t tell.
  435. 435.
     
  436. 436.
    Then I hear the soft pop of a cork.
  437. 437.
     
  438. 438.
    Trixie levitates a clear glass jar into view. Inside: thick, viscous fluid, faintly glowing.
  439. 439.
     
  440. 440.
    “Your first time will be with your owner,” she says sweetly, almost tenderly. “That pretty little vagina and that fertile womb belong to him and him alone. But Trixie is going to start training this other hole right now.”
  441. 441.
     
  442. 442.
    My eyes widen.
  443. 443.
     
  444. 444.
    She uncorks the jar. Magic lifts a massive syringe—no needle, just a thick, blunt tip. She fills it slowly, deliberately, letting me watch every drop.
  445. 445.
     
  446. 446.
    I try to clench. Try to fight.
  447. 447.
     
  448. 448.
    Useless.
  449. 449.
     
  450. 450.
    She yanks my tail aside with magic, exposing everything. The blunt head of the syringe presses cold and insistent against my tailhole.
  451. 451.
     
  452. 452.
    I scream as she pushes it in—slow, relentless, stretching me open. Once it’s deep enough she depresses the plunger.
  453. 453.
     
  454. 454.
    Thick, warm fluid floods me.
  455. 455.
     
  456. 456.
    I feel it coat everything inside—viscous, clinging, impossible to push out. It burns slightly, then soothes, then leaves me horribly, slickly full. Like my body is being claimed from the inside.
  457. 457.
     
  458. 458.
    Trixie’s voice is syrupy with malice.
  459. 459.
     
  460. 460.
    “This solution will clean you out completely… and lubricate you perfectly. No mess. No resistance. Just a nice, slick, ready hole for your owner whenever he wants it.”
  461. 461.
     
  462. 462.
    She pulls the syringe free with a wet pop. A trickle of the fluid leaks out—then stops, as if the solution is already sealing itself inside me.
  463. 463.
     
  464. 464.
    I’m panting. Shaking. My tailhole twitches, full and slippery and wrong.
  465. 465.
     
  466. 466.
    Trixie steps back.
  467. 467.
     
  468. 468.
    I hear the clink of buckles, the rustle of leather.
  469. 469.
     
  470. 470.
    She’s putting on the double strap-on.
  471. 471.
     
  472. 472.
    The smaller end slides into her with a soft, wet sound. She tightens the leather harness around her waist, the thick, ridged shaft bobbing obscenely between her legs.
  473. 473.
     
  474. 474.
    She smiles down at me—cruel, gleeful, eyes shining with something darker than simple sadism.
  475. 475.
     
  476. 476.
    “Ready for your first real lesson, little rock?”
  477. 477.
     
  478. 478.
    I want to scream at her.
  479. 479.
     
  480. 480.
    I want to bite her throat.
  481. 481.
     
  482. 482.
    Instead my body betrays me again—marehood winking, tailhole clenching around the invading fluid, a fresh wave of unwanted heat flooding through me.
  483. 483.
     
  484. 484.
    Trixie steps closer.
  485. 485.
     
  486. 486.
    The thick head of the strap-on nudges against my entrance.
  487. 487.
     
  488. 488.
    And I realize, with dawning horror, that part of me is already waiting for it.
  489. 489.
     
  490. 490.
    Waiting to break.
  491. 491.
     
  492. 492.
    Waiting to feel something—anything—that isn’t this endless, aching need for the human who still hasn’t touched me.
  493. 493.
     
  494. 494.
    Trixie leans down, breath hot against my ear.
  495. 495.
     
  496. 496.
    “Time to make you useful.”
  497. 497.
     
  498. 498.
    She pushes forward.
  499. 499.
     
  500. 500.
    ---
  501. 501.
     
  502. 502.
    Limestone Pie’s POV
  503. 503.
     
  504. 504.
    The strap-on breaches me in one brutal, unrelenting push.
  505. 505.
     
  506. 506.
    My tailhole stretches—wide, burning, impossibly full. For a heartbeat my mind blanks: white noise, no thought, just the obscene pressure of something thick forcing its way inside where nothing has ever been. My body locks. Muscles that should fight are slack from the relaxant. I can’t even clench properly.
  507. 507.
     
  508. 508.
    Then Trixie moans—low, greedy, satisfied—and the sound snaps me back.
  509. 509.
     
  510. 510.
    She tries to pull out.
  511. 511.
     
  512. 512.
    The viscous fluid she pumped into me clings, grips, makes every inch drag like it’s glued. She grunts in frustration, hips jerking, until only the flared head remains lodged inside.
  513. 513.
     
  514. 514.
    Then she slams forward again.
  515. 515.
     
  516. 516.
    The wet, filthy slap of her hips against my flanks echoes in the room.
  517. 517.
     
  518. 518.
    Again.
  519. 519.
    And again.
  520. 520.
     
  521. 521.
    No real pain—just overwhelming, slick fullness. The solution she injected turned my insides into a hot, slippery tunnel that sucks greedily at the toy every time she withdraws. Every thrust forces a choked gasp from my throat. My marehood clenches on nothing—winking frantically, dripping steadily onto the carpet in long strings.
  522. 522.
     
  523. 523.
    I hate this.
  524. 524.
    I hate her.
  525. 525.
    I hate my body for betraying me.
  526. 526.
     
  527. 527.
    But gods… it feels good.
  528. 528.
     
  529. 529.
    Each deep plunge hits something inside that makes my vision spark. My clit throbs untouched. My tailhole flutters around the invading shaft like it’s trying to pull her deeper. I can feel every ridge, every vein molded into the silicone. My mind screams no—but my hips twitch back anyway, small, helpless little rocks toward her.
  530. 530.
     
  531. 531.
    Trixie finds her rhythm—fast, punishing, chasing her own release. Her breathing turns ragged. Her magic flickers around us—small sparks dancing across my flanks, teasing my clit without mercy.
  532. 532.
     
  533. 533.
    She leans over me suddenly.
  534. 534.
     
  535. 535.
    Forelegs wrap around my neck in a mockery of an embrace.
  536. 536.
     
  537. 537.
    Her chest presses to my back.
  538. 538.
    Hot breath against my ear.
  539. 539.
     
  540. 540.
    And then she bites—sharp, possessive—right at the base of my ear.
  541. 541.
     
  542. 542.
    I shatter.
  543. 543.
     
  544. 544.
    The orgasm rips through me like lightning—brutal, blinding. My marehood spasms violently, squirting in forceful arcs that splatter the floor. My tailhole clamps down hard around the strap-on, milking it like it’s real. My vision whites out. A strangled scream tears from my throat—raw, animal, broken.
  545. 545.
     
  546. 546.
    Trixie cums a second later—body jerking against mine, low moan vibrating against my neck as her own release floods through the double harness.
  547. 547.
     
  548. 548.
    She tries to pull out.
  549. 549.
     
  550. 550.
    The toy doesn’t move.
  551. 551.
     
  552. 552.
    My tailhole has clamped down so hard it’s locked inside me—greedy, possessive, refusing to let go.
  553. 553.
     
  554. 554.
    Trixie laughs—breathless, delighted, cruel.
  555. 555.
     
  556. 556.
    “Well… look at that.” She bucks her hips once—teasing. “Seems we have some work to do on your control, little rock. That kind of grip could damage your owner’s cock if you’re not careful.”
  557. 557.
     
  558. 558.
    She reaches back with magic. Unbuckles the harness with a soft click.
  559. 559.
     
  560. 560.
    The strap-on stays buried inside me.
  561. 561.
    She slides free of her end—leaving the smaller dildo still lodged in her own marehood.
  562. 562.
     
  563. 563.
    The moment the pressure changes, the solution she injected begins to liquefy.
  564. 564.
    Thick, clear gel oozes out around the toy—slow, obscene—dripping in long strands onto the carpet. My insides feel strangely empty and slick all at once.
  565. 565.
     
  566. 566.
    Trixie levitates the strap-on free with a wet pop.
  567. 567.
     
  568. 568.
    I shudder violently—aftershocks rippling through me. Another weak squirt escapes my marehood. My mind is fogged, fuzzy, drowning in obscene pleasure.
  569. 569.
     
  570. 570.
    She crouches beside me.
  571. 571.
     
  572. 572.
    Strokes my sweat-damp mane once—almost gentle.
  573. 573.
     
  574. 574.
    “For your first time?” she murmurs. “You pass with flying colors.”
  575. 575.
     
  576. 576.
    I can’t speak.
  577. 577.
    I can barely breathe.
  578. 578.
     
  579. 579.
    She stands.
  580. 580.
     
  581. 581.
    Magic flares around the room—cleaning spells whisking away the mess, the fluids, the evidence.
  582. 582.
     
  583. 583.
    “Don’t worry,” she says sweetly. “We have the whole day.
  584. 584.
    Trixie will train you properly.”
  585. 585.
     
  586. 586.
    She walks to the door.
  587. 587.
     
  588. 588.
    Pauses.
  589. 589.
     
  590. 590.
    Looks back at me—still trembling, still leaking, still chained.
  591. 591.
     
  592. 592.
    “And when your owner finally takes you…
  593. 593.
    you’ll thank me.”
  594. 594.
     
  595. 595.
    The door closes.
  596. 596.
     
  597. 597.
    I’m left alone.
  598. 598.
     
  599. 599.
    Body humming.
  600. 600.
    Mind fractured.
  601. 601.
     
  602. 602.
    And deep inside—where I hate admitting it—the smallest, most treacherous part of me… is already waiting for the next lesson.
  603. 603.
     
  604. 604.
    ---

Cheerilee’s Quiet Surrender

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