[FLUTTERRAPE] (S)lay the Moon


                                            >Two years of planning undone in seconds.

                                            >Memories of friends whirl in your mind, their smiles and quips urging you on, but you don't have an answer for them.

                                            >Face down in the mud, your confidence has abandoned you.

                                            >You were an idiot to think you could stop her.

                                            >The U-shaped trench you've resorted to must once have been a channel to drain water.

                                            >Its depth would come to your knee were you not flattening yourself prone against the dry, mud-flecked base with the sides of the channel unyielding against your shoulders.

                                            >It hurts, but discomfort is meaningless. What matters is that you remain unseen.

                                            >Somewhere above, echoing around the courtyard: hoofsteps.

                                            >Clear and metallic, each one spaced evenly. A casual stroll, each chime the tick of a countdown.

                                            >The voice calls again. You can picture her grin.

                                            >"Celestia has hardly sent her finest, has she?"

                                            >The words are crisp and delivered with regal affectation. They ring out across the empty, dilapidated courtyard.

                                            >You are the only other person out here in the forest, and she knows that.

                                            >You worm your way along the channel, the beckoning hole at the end looks large enough for you to squeeze through.

                                            >It may lead to a sewer. It may be a sheer drop. It's your only means of escape.

                                            >Your left leg is still numb, the nerves from the socket down deaf to all but the hardest knocks and practically incapable of supporting weight. Whatever spell she hit you with refuses to fade.

                                            >It drags along after you a dead weight, your right leg doing the work of pushing you along.

                                            >Your clawing hands haul you forward, gripping the eroded gaps between the flat channel stones like you were scaling a climbing wall.

                                            >"Or perhaps she sent you as a distraction? A means to delay me?"

                                            >The hole is closer. A few more arm-spans and you'll be there, just a little farther.

                                            >The chiming of metal on stone is louder. She's circling around to the channel. To you.

                                            >"But I cannot be delayed, assassin. Should you escape this place, you will tell her that. You will crawl back to your coward-queen and tell her that I will arrive whether she wishes it or not. She has had a thousand years to prepare for my arrival, and if the best she can manage is to send a clothed ape to stop me, then..."

                                            >Your hand is reaching for the rim of the circular hole leading to salvation.

                                            >Fingers graze the water-worn stone of the rim, but pause. Goosebumps rise on your arms and reach out to envelop your entire back.

                                            >The hoofsteps have stopped.

                                            >For seconds you can only stare at the hole with ice gripping your heart.

                                            >"Then she's already lost," the voice says, softly now, an almost pleasant edge to it, like she's watching a fumbling puppy.

                                            >The voice, directly above.

                                            >Your eyes shut, face wrinkling in a prolonged wince. Caught at last.

                                            >You were so close.

                                            >The Mare in the Moon - Nightmare Moon - stands superior, her wings half-unfurled, the mare's silhouette backlit by her pale namesake.

                                            >She grins and runs a sharp tongue over sharper fangs.

                                            >"I ought to have checked the channels first. I suppose a muck-ridden gutter would be the natural habitat for your kind, wouldn't it?"

                                            >You are lifted from the channel by her indomitable magic.

                                            >Your left leg hangs uselessly, though the rest of you struggles to no avail.

                                            >Nightmare Moon tilts her head and surveys you askance, her predacious eyes running over your mud-caked front and the assorted blades and vials hanging from your belt.

                                            >She's not sure what to make of you, evidenced by a small hum in the back of her throat.

                                            >"Tell me, assassin, how -is- dear sister? Does she talk much about me?"

                                            "Cel..." you swallow the bile in your throat. "Celestia didn't send me."

                                            >"Oh? Then how else were you to know that I would return at the exact spot I was banished? How else were you to know to come armed, and to attack from the shadows? Did you just so happen to stumble on this place? Has this all been an unfortunate coincidence?"

                                            >She rolls one of her shoulders. A clean cut where your arrow scored her marks the otherwise immaculate, glossy coat. The pink inner flesh barely seen against the black coat and dim moonlight.

                                            >"Little assassin, I see right through you. You are Celestia's weapon. Her first strike against the returning, -rightful- ruler of Equestria."

                                            >Her horn thrums with a pale corona. Along the cut, flickers of bright pops like spot-welding.

                                            >They run the length of the split, cauterising the flesh back together. The smell of burnt skin passes your nostrils.

                                            >She winces a little with each micro-flash, but neither looks away from you nor allows the obvious pain to reduce her posture.

                                            >"You are to be congratulated for having the audacity to strike at your queen. There are few so suicidally reckless."

                                            >Her nostrils flare for a split second, then again. Nightmare Moon hums again, a deep, unsure sound.

                                            >The mare brings you closer, levitating you nearer to the ground.

                                            >There's a curious look in her eye, and she regards you critically, as if judging your weight, or worth.

                                            >She suddenly sniffs along your collarbone and you tense.

                                            >Her tongue flicks over her lips and fangs again.

                                            >"Quite an aroma," she remarks off-handedly, and pushes her snout into the crook of your neck.

                                            >Her tongue brushes against your skin suddenly, hesitates, then reaches out for a longer lick.

                                            >Your body is held firm. You couldn't twist away from her if you'd tried, and whenever you attempt to struggle her magic intensifies and you feel as though you're trapped in a vice that's slowly closing.

                                            >"Yes," she drags the word out over a long, thoughtful syllable, "salt. I thought I could smell it on you. An odd creature, aren't you? I imagine Celestia kept you as a pet? Did she string you along, assassin? Did she promise you treats and kindness, then deny you? That is her way, she is a manipulator, and she hated me for my honesty. My greatest crime was refusing to hide my intentions, did you know that? I'll wager she didn't tell you before she sent you to your death."

                                            >Nightmare Moon pulls away, her expression is more even now, lacking the same murderous intent they had when you'd fired the first shot.

                                            "I-I'm not with her, I came alone--"

                                            >Your jaw is clamped shut with such force your teeth ache. You're lucky you managed to pull your tongue back in time or she'd have sheared the tip of it off.

                                            >A pang of something like anger fills you. The pendant around your neck is meant to negate magic, yet when it matters most it does nothing. Who was responsible for retrieving it? For securing you against magical attacks? Was it Horn?

                                            >Guilt overrides the anger almost immediately. He couldn't have known the power the pendant would be up against. You can't blame him.

                                            >"I am not Celestia, assassin. I am greater. That is why she will not face me herself. That is why she sent you to kill me.  She hides behind her agents. Hides in her tower. Kindness indeed..."

                                            >The mare casts her gaze back at the abandoned, ruined keep looming over the courtyard.

                                            >The two of you are all alone in the former seat of power, save for the nocturnal fauna, the inheritors of the desolation, watching from the shadows.

                                            >"Wherever her tower may be after all these centuries, that is. Somewhere high up, I should think. She always had a need to seem taller than everything around her. Not I. See how I hold you above me, assassin? See how I offer you the chance to look down upon me? Why would I do that? Is it because I wish to seem vulnerable? Small?"

                                            >She brings you closer, your body carried by her magic like a child waving a ragdoll.

                                            >"It is to break your illusions. Whether you look down on me from a balcony, or a tower, or from the height of the sun itself, matters not. The tallest flower loses its head first."

                                            >She buries her muzzle into the crook of your neck again and samples your sweat. A great shudder passes through her.

                                            >"But you -are- intoxicating. Perhaps this is your special talent? Do you seduce mares, then kill them? Has Celestia been where I am now? Has she tasted your salt?"

                                            >You can't respond, and your jaw aches from the magical strain.

                                            >Nightmare Moon furls her wings and ruffles them. Her tail flicks the air and for a moment a look of annoyance flits across her sharp features.

                                            >"Celestia has choice taste in assassins."

                                            >Her eyes dance over you again.

                                            >"Would you serve me? You are but a weapon to be wielded by the firmest authority. That -is- your trade, after all. When I tear down Celestia's tower, bury her beneath the ruins of her kingdom, would you kiss my hoof and swear fealty?"

                                            >She presses her muzzle to you once more. Breathes deeply. Powerful huffs of hot air blast your Adams apple.

                                            >Her tail flicks, a powerful lash that snaps the air with her spectral mane.

                                            >"You will serve, I think," she mutters against your skin. "You will be made to."

                                            >Your feet are planted on the floor, and her magic relinquishes you. Your left leg wobbles, but you lean on your right one and do your best to stay balanced.

                                            >You stand taller than her, your eyes on level with the top of her helmet.

                                            >If the brief, laughably one-sided struggle earlier taught you anything, it was that size is meaningless.

                                            >Nightmare Moon considers you. She circles you once, taking her time, enjoying your clear discomfort and the pain your leg is giving you.

                                            >"Celestia's assassin, brought low by me."

                                            "I'm not hers. I came here on my own."

                                            >Nightmare quirks an eyebrow but says nothing.

                                            >As she comes back around to your front, you study her too.

                                            >Her form is lithe, but there's clear strength to her. It's in her movements, the precision of her steps and bodily adjustments.

                                            >She carries herself with the confidence of someone who has lived in violence. Grown up around it. Blended it into her personality.

                                            >It's in her smug, self-assured smile. It's in her eyes, and the way they light up whenever your pain draws a flinch from you.

                                            >Perhaps you could physically overpower her. You've trained for this fight for a long time, but any fight with Nightmare Moon would have to be one where she doesn't use her magic.

                                            >Given how she appears up close, with refined muscles like taut cables under her midnight coat, you're not sure you could win even if you snapped her horn off.

                                            >"Then you are -my- subject," she says at last. "As the rightful queen of this realm, all must bow. You are no pony, but that doesn't relieve you of my command."

                                            >Her fanged sneer glints in the moonlight.

                                            >"Bow," she orders. She tilts her chin up as she says it, the word both taunt and instruction.

                                            >You stretch your arms at your sides and loosen the muscles. One of your elbows pops. Nightmare Moon's eyes glint with that expectation of violence.

                                            >Good for her. You came here to do a job.

                                            >A hidden dagger drops down your sleeve and into your palm with a flick of your wrist.

                                            >Her smile vanishes and she wrenches back and to the side, narrowly avoiding the blade aiming for her neck, it nicks her instead.

                                            >She snarls, lips pulled back over her fangs, and her horn ignites.

                                            >There are no other ways out, you must commit. You put all your weight onto your good leg and lunge for her.

                                            >Your blade punches straight for her throat, and you feel it make contact, your heart leaps and a thrill of excitement surges through you.

                                            >But, that's as far as it goes.

                                            >Your body is wreathed in ghostly blue light, locked in a spectral prison, and Nightmare Moon's eyes are wide with shock. At least you can claim to have wiped the smirk from her face before you died.

                                            >For a lingering few seconds, you are each frozen in place.

                                            >Nothing moves, not the wind nor your faunal spectators.

                                            >The very tip of your dagger, no more than a centimetre, has punctured the skin of her throat, just beneath her chin.

                                            >She pulls back imperceptibly and leaves the blade with thin dot of blood on it, the drop glinting mockingly under the moonlight.

                                            >Nightmare Moon comes to your side, her eyes still widened and utterly focused on you.

                                            >A feeling like pride wells in you, something hopeful to relieve the overwhelming sense that this is the end. For the briefest moment, you were the centre of her universe.

                                            >Her breathing is deep, and there's a lightness to her step like a boxer in a fight, still expecting some trick from you.

                                            >But there's nothing more for you to do. That was your last shot, and you missed.

                                            >She puts her mouth close to your ear.

                                            >"I will not kill you, assassin."

                                            >You glance sidelong at her, confused. Her expression doesn't shift.

                                            >"You are bold and your skills are keen. You will be of use to your queen. But know this."

                                            >She breathes you in, her eyes fluttering shut. She remains still for a beat, savouring your scent.

                                            >"You are -mine-. And you -will- serve."

                                            >Magic rushes in your ears. You are flipped, spun backwards, and forced onto your back against the courtyard, arms pinned at your sides like you were bound to the executioner's table.

                                            >Nightmare Moon looks down on you like only an incensed royal can, with detached contempt, but something more, too.

                                            >Her tail whips and she walks over you, her legs on either side of your prone body, held still with her magic.

                                            >Then she turns, and settles down.

                                            >Her body lies atop yours, her weight pressing you to the stone, your ribs and spine protesting under her heft.

                                            >Your pain fades in the face of what you see before you, and a new dread takes hold.

                                            >Between the midnight thighs of the mare who would be queen, glistening folds twitch and secrete their juices onto your chest.

                                            >Nightmare slides her body back, pushing the folds nearer until her thighs, warm beating blood against your face, are on either side of your cheeks.

                                            >Her marehood is close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from it, and as if to punctuate your position, her clitoris emerges in a long wink, brushing your lower lip and leaving a spot of musky residue.

                                            >"Service your queen," Nightmare Moon announces. She sits up slightly so that her thighs sandwich more of your head and all you can see, all you can smell, is the honeypot before you.

                                            >When you don't move, magic grips your left leg. It begins to bend forward against your kneecap and your stomach lurches, the tension on your knee sending a shockwave of nausea straight through you.

                                            >"Do not keep me waiting," she says.

                                            >The tension vanishes and you let out a gasp. The hot air must tickle her, as the mare atop you shudders and winks again.

                                            >This time, her clitoris touches your waiting tongue.

                                            >With that explosion of rich flavour against your tastebuds, the idea that you could come here and kill her, to prevent the doom that the old prophecy foretold, now seems farcical.

                                            >Those long days and longer nights discussing everything with Treacle, Glowcap, Horn, and Heckle in the lower Canterlot taverns seem distant, though it's been barely two days since you last saw them.

                                            >There was an excitement then. A sense that you were all doing something great for the realm, and that Celestia would shower you all in gifts and gold for dealing with a threat she hadn't given any sign of even knowing was coming.

                                            >But as you put your lips to the seeping folds of your mark, you feel only a sense of embarrassment and failure.

                                            >Nightmare Moon sighs as your tongue slips into her. A deep, throaty moan.

                                            >How long had it been for her, you wonder. A thousand years is a long time to go without intimacy.

                                            >Will she kill you when this is done? She claimed you had use, but it could be a lie.

                                            >Though, why would a mare with such power bother?

                                            >You're nothing to her. You knew that the moment your arrow clipped her shoulder and the limestone pillar you'd hidden behind became gravel. Stone four-feet thick, gone in a bellow of pale lightning.

                                            >"You're stalling. Deeper now, as deep as you can," her voice is firm, but it's catching in her throat. It -has- been a long time.

                                            >Your tongue pushes farther. Her walls are softer than you might expect, more like cushions, though when your tongue passes over the flesh it tightens around you, every inch reacting to your presence.

                                            >Her entire passage clenches with each adjustment, telescoping around your muscle and dousing your tongue in her earthy, oddly sweet taste. Your nose enters after your tongue, nostrils sandwiched between her tightening lips and breathing in the moist, cloying scent.

                                            >Your arms shift, and you almost don't notice until you move them some more. They're free. Did she intend it?

                                            >Your head, too, can move, in fact your whole upper body can move unrestricted.

                                            >Though with what must be a hundred kilos of horse spread out over your body, you're not going anywhere.

                                            >Said horse shuffles herself atop you, emphasising how difficult it is to take each breath.

                                            >"Continue," she pants.

                                            >The sooner she is sated, the sooner you can work out a means of escape.

                                            >She favours longer licks, so that's what you focus on.

                                            >Pulling your tongue back out, you drag them up and across her outer lips, and a shudder informs your success.

                                            >You keep at it, straightening your tongue to reach her peak then flattening it at her clit and beginning the journey again.

                                            >Your repetitions start mechanically, feeling for her weak spots, noting the softer notes in her tone when you probe certain areas.

                                            >There should be hesitation, that instinct to rebel, but you find after a time that you've gotten quite into it.

                                            >A moral discomfort nags at you, but what else can you do?

                                            >If you are to be pinned beneath an oppressor and forced to serve, you can at least indulge as you try to figure out a way to flee.

                                            >The thought takes far less time to entrench itself than you think, and this too is unsettling, but you push it from your mind and reach for Nightmare Moon's flanks with your hands.

                                            >You grasp her crescent-moon cutie marks with clawed grips, and the mare flinches.

                                            >Her head snaps back, eyes narrowed, and her horn flares to life instinctively.

                                            >You drag your fingers back, going against the grain of her fur, and she shivers.

                                            >For a moment, the pony opens her mouth as if to speak, tenses her legs and lifts her weight ever so slightly as if to rise, but she holds her position.

                                            >You continue to grip her, and perhaps she's uncertain. Some unknown wire in her brain having been tripped. There's trepidation there, but also a sort of morbid curiosity. She remains where she is, trapped between a desire to get away from the assassin gripping her back-end, and a need to let whatever rising tide she's feeling sweep her away.

                                            >You decide to push your luck. Squeezing each flank, you push your head farther between her cheeks. Your tongue forces past her winking lips once more and drags slowly along the bottom of the canal, and with that motion she moans unbidden.

                                            >She becomes rigid, the muscles in her flanks like steel, so hard it hurts to grip, and her passage locks in around your tongue.

                                            >Between deep nasal snorts her eyes flutter, she purses her lips, and all at once sags as a great tremor seizes her.

                                            >A hot rush pushes your slick tongue from her wet folds and your face is rewarded with a spray of fluid that smells powerfully of mare - earthen musk and clipped lawns. And like a crashing wave, guilt washes over you as you realise you enjoyed it.

                                            >Her taste, her smell, the sound of the domineering mare panting because of your efforts. It thrills you.

                                            >Whether by your own actions, her pheromones, or a greater sense of heretical perversion at having serviced a tyrant, your shaft aches in response.

                                            >Would the others be ashamed of you? Would they have done the same? Would Glowcap have sooner died than served, as she said?

                                            >Nightmare Moon rises from you, legs shaking.

                                            >Another flush of perverted pride fills you. -You- did that to her. You couldn't bring her down, but you could bring her to orgasm. Make her gasp and moan like a desperate slut. What other man can claim that?

                                            >She staggers forward and doesn't look at you for a moment, her back exposed. Wide open to attack.

                                            >Heavy pants rock her lithe, sweat-laden form. Her pussy continues to grasp and wink in the moonlight, trying to milk something no longer there and drooling a steady string of viscous, odorous cum onto the stonework.

                                            >You reach for your belt, hand grasping for a blade of any kind.

                                            >As your fingers grip the handle of one, she turns her head.

                                            >You freeze, dagger half-drawn, your eyes locked onto hers.

                                            >The smile stretched across her lips guts your swelling bravado.

                                            >Those great fangs glint, and her the serpentine pupils narrow.

                                            >You move to attack, to take another shot, but her horn ignites.

                                            >Your belt and its meagre equipment is torn from your waist and cast aside with such force that the leather sunders and most of the vials and lesser blades fly off into the night.

                                            >The dagger in your hand is twisted from your fingers and you feel your pinky snap with the force.

                                            >An agonising shock shoots from your broken finger and down your entire arm, but before you can even yell Nightmare Moon takes your body and slams you back against the ground once more.

                                            >She stands over you again, her malevolent grin speaking volumes of her intent.

                                            >"I have already told you, assassin," her voice speaks of a battle to regain control. Wavering with each word, authority undermined by lust.

                                            >"I will not kill you. And you," in an instant her magic shreds every inch of clothing on your body. You lie with sparse scraps of material on your skin and the night's chill rushes to take you.

                                            >"Are," she plants her toned flanks down over your crotch, steel-shod front hooves on either side of your chest and the mare gazing unblinkingly into you.

                                            >A single look stripping back your walls and laying bare your soul as your heart skips a beat and you feel weightless like you were falling from a ladder.

                                            >Staring up into her cyan eyes is to behold a leviathan of myth. You are not a man. You are a feeble mortal creature. A curiosity to be played with until you break and she needs a new toy.

                                            >Her magic finds your pulsing cock, lines it up at her entrance. Your glans grazes her temperate lips, a drizzle of thick fluid enveloping the head like warm honey.

                                            >"Mine." The word is condemnatory, and her expression only becomes more triumphant as she impales herself.

                                            >Her entrance slides effortlessly past and over your length to hilt at your crotch, her outer lips kissing the skin of your lap and her inner walls clenching like a vice around your throbbing cock.

                                            >It's enough to punch the air from your lungs, the heat and the wetness, a sensation like many mouths suckling and worshipping you.

                                            >For a moment, the dominant sneer slips and she mumbles something to herself.

                                            >Entire eras have passed since the last time she'll have been with anyone, and even then that's implying she used to get any when she was still ruling Equestria. Is your queen lonely? Is she so desperate for a good fucking she'll sleep with the first man she sees?

                                            >Walls smother your cock in desperate clenches, every inch groped by a tightness you'd never thought was possible.

                                            >Nightmare pistons herself up and forward, then back down to your base in firm, methodical pumps, each one punctuated by a moist squelch as a bit of air escapes the otherwise water-tight seal her pussy has around you and forming the musical rhythm of sex.

                                            >Slower than the frenzied humping typical of humans, she's taking her time, stretching out each pump until the your glans emerges just enough to greet the frigid night before she drowns it once more between her folds.

                                            >Her core is hot and close, each inch of slick flesh sliding across your shaft smoothed by Nightmare's juices.

                                            >Your laps meet with a wet slap, each meeting leaving behind a growing patch of sticky residue.

                                            >Strings of juice reach out in vain to stay attached before her flanks rise out of reach and they snap, only to rejoin when she collapses back against you with another heavy smack.

                                            >Each fall crushes your body against the unyielding stone, but the pain is only a dream compared to the euphoria of seeing Nightmare's almost drunken expression.

                                            >Her upper body sags, front legs shaking like tent poles under strain as her head drops down.

                                            >"Are you... close," she pants, her breath is haggard.

                                            >In truth, you're getting there, but there's a way to go yet.

                                            >Once more you find your arms free, and in your mind's eye you see your friends urging you to finish the job.

                                            >Their faces are turned to you, a mix of grim smiles and stoicism.

                                            >The afternoon you left. Treacle had slipped a mini-sunflower from her minute garden into one of your front pockets, "For luck."

                                            >It's lying somewhere in the dark now, forgotten with the rest of your clothes and equipment.

                                            >Would they be ashamed of you?

                                            >Their faces fade as Nightmare increases her tempo, breath catching in her throat to become laboured, her tail thrashes, batting your legs on occasion.

                                            >Her coat shines with sweat, and for a moment your eyes meet again.

                                            >The glare is faltering. She's trying to maintain it but the conjoined fire between you has it wilting.

                                            >Your hands reach up to grip her flanks once more.

                                            >Again, she tenses, sitting up and slowing her strokes with an uneasy look about her.

                                            >You watch this curiously. Your fingers form claws and your drag them over her flanks. A tremble besides the sexual shakes her.

                                            >You do it again, she tenses and her cunt clenches even harder. You grip her flanks as hard as you can and she yelps. Her tail thrashes, her clit drags itself along the underside of your shaft to emerge, and you rock your hips up to meet her.

                                            >Nightmare drops against you, chest to chest, and her hooves find your shoulders.

                                            >You grip her cutie marks and hammer into her, the courtyard echoing with the meaty slaps of flesh hitting fur and the throaty, needy moans of the tyrant.

                                            >"Am-- am I better than her," she groans haltingly into your ear. "Tell me I'm better, tell me I'm better than Celestia."

                                            >You growl and deepen your thrusts, moving from rapid, shallow movements to the deeper, more powerful impalements Nightmare favours.

                                            >Her wings hang loose at her sides. From time to time they'll try to rise and flap, but then give up to lie limp against the ground, feathers splayed across the stone.

                                            >"I-I can't take anymore, please, are you done?" her ego has vanished, you can feel her heart through her chest, punching against the inside of her ribs like it's trying to break out.

                                            >"Please," she whispers, "please," you don't slow.

                                            >Her body vibrates and her back arches away from you, her head leaving your shoulder and crying out in a voice that rings your ears and bounces off the ruins.

                                            >A violent spasm attempts to grip your cock, but you keep going. Her pussy tries again to contain you but you don't let it. There's too much lubricant, too much precum saturating both of you.

                                            >There's a pressure building. Something volcanic that rises and rises with each pump, each time your cock kisses the end of her passage she whimpers and a flood of energy vivifies you, urging you to fuck her deeper, fuck her harder. To make the mare who would be queen pant and scream like the simpering maids she holds herself above.

                                            >But her actions belie her standing. Under the armour and posture, the speeches and arrogance, she's just as desperate as anyone else to have someone grab her and stretch her out.

                                            >Her cry becomes a tremulous moan and you ram her hips against you, rising your own to meet her as the volcano erupts and you finally climax.

                                            >You reach your arms around her back in a vice and crush her against you.

                                            >Her hooves flail feebly, but you keep her held.

                                            >Her horn sparks, but does only that; whatever magic she intends to summon shorting out before she can muster the mental energy to see it through.

                                            >Her body quivers and muscles alternate between steel and jelly. Her clenching folds at last find purchase on your stationary member and hold it there, locking it in place and milking it for every drop of cum you fire into her depths.

                                            >You hold each other in place as you ride it out.

                                            >A gentle breeze graces your skin, sodden in sweat. The frigid air doing nothing to cool the boiling blood of either one of you.

                                            >Nightmare Moon is still. Her chest rises in shuddering breaths, then deflates against you. Slick fur sticks to your chest, your loins firmly pressed together.

                                            >The joining is snug, like pressing a fist into your palm. A solid seal, letting nothing in, and nothing out. Your seed planted deep and safe from leaking.

                                            >Catching her breath, she sits up a bit but not entirely, her belly still resting against yours.

                                            >"Will you serve me?" she says softly.

                                            >A hundred retorts line up on your tongue, every flavour of denouncement and derision waiting to cast her out. To slap her in the face one final time before the rage you know is there resurfaces and she slaughters you.

                                            >Your lips part, and the faces of your friends vanish from your mind and conscience.

                                            "Yes."


                                            ---


                                            "I would love a follow up when Anon talks to his friends in the aftermath of her defeat. Dude not only lost badly he got raped for his attempt."

                                            - Anonymous


                                            ---


                                            >A rowdy table at the other end of the room makes the atmosphere slightly less awkward.

                                            >Raucous laughter and hooves banging on beer-soaked wood is underlined by the regular buzz of conversation that normally makes the Rising Sun Tavern a comfortable place to drink.

                                            >But not tonight.

                                            >Your friends haven't said a word since you stopped speaking.

                                            >Every few seconds Treacle looks away from you to gauge the reaction of the others.

                                            >Horn looks sceptical. Glowcap looks outraged. Heckle just seems confused.

                                            >The latter leans forward, squinting at you.

                                            >"She... you had -sex-?" Hackle says.

                                            >Your already firm grip on your mug of room-temperature beer tightens, and you smile in way you hope doesn't come across as sheepish.

                                            "Yeah. You know, she pinned me down and just sort of... had her way with me."

                                            >"Right, but you were... fighting back, right? I get the impression you weren't giving it your all, is all. Just the way you were describing it just now--"

                                            "I tried to stab her multiple times when I had the chance. Like I said, I nearly got her. Got her in the throat."

                                            >Glowcap nods.

                                            >"We get that," she picks up from Hackle, "but when she 'sat on your face' like you said, you didn't -actually- go through with it, right? Not willingly?"

                                            "Well, she... she had my leg, Glow. I couldn't -not- do it, she'd have snapped my leg off at the knee."

                                            >"So?"

                                            >Glowcap wears the same expression she'd worn when the group decided you'd  be the one to kill Nightmare Moon and not her. Something like a pout mixed with stubborn denial.

                                            >"I wouldn't have done it. Fuck her, she can keep a leg if she wants one."

                                            "But I didn't want to lose my leg."

                                            >"I lost my wing. Didn't stop me from doing what's right."

                                            >"You lost it to a cement mixer, Glow," Heckle offers, and Glow slams her hoof on the table.

                                            >"Irrelevant!"

                                            "I've only got two legs, I can't just go around with one."

                                            >Glow is about to reply when Horn finally speaks. He's been quiet up until now, listening to your story with the occasional nod and wearing a permanent frown, like you're a puzzle that's stumped him.

                                            >"She was threatening to snap your leg at the knee, but she later said you could be of use to her. Surely she'd have repaired your leg if she intended to use you as her pet assassin? Alicorn magic is legendary, healing magic like that wouldn't be beyond her."

                                            "I thought she was more referring to my job of, uh, eating her out."

                                            >Treacle cringes and looks away. Her cheeks have been red since you got to the saucy part of your tale and she won't look you in the eye like the others.

                                            >"I'd like to go back to this pendant business," Horn continues, "because that's what's really bothering me. You say it was of absolutely no use? It didn't counter her in the slightest?"

                                            >"-That's- what's bothering you?!" Glowcap turns her outrage on the wizard, "he got raped by Nightmare Moon! And he -liked- it!"

                                            "Now hold on--"

                                            >"Don't try and talk your way out of this, -Anon-," she snaps. "I can tell when a stallion's into a mare and you aren't any different because you're a human. I can see it in your beady little eyes, you loved every second of it! Celestia's tits, we sent you out there to -slay- the moon, not -lay- the moon!"

                                            >You're thankful for the little corner table you all tend to inhabit, partitioned slightly off from the rest of the tavern where you have a bit of privacy.

                                            >You cover your face with a hand and look away, much like Treacle.

                                            >Heckle scratches his chin and shakes his head.

                                            >"I still don't get it," he says at last.

                                            >"What don't you understand?" says Horn.

                                            >"Well why would she do that to him?"

                                            >The table falls silent. Glowcap huffs and folds her front legs, slumping back against the wall and refusing to look at you.

                                            >Horn hums and stares off into space, as he does whenever mulling over something.

                                            >"Perhaps," he starts slowly, "it was a power play. To assert dominance, but... no, that wouldn't make sense. She's too powerful, there'd be no strategic importance to it. Anonymous isn't a peer to her, he's just a mortal. Far down on the pecking order, little more than something to amuse her."

                                            "Yeah, that's-- that's what I felt. Thought."

                                            >Glowcap shoots you a disgusted look.

                                            >"So," Horn says, "logically, why waste time? If she's back from the moon to destroy Celestia, why waste time doing all... all -that-, to some assassin?"

                                            >His eyes drift to you and narrow.

                                            >"Why are you not dead?"

                                            >Once more, things fall quiet apart from the background conversations, arguments, and drunken singing.

                                            >Heckle is flummoxed, though that's not beyond the norm.

                                            >Horn is glaring at a light fixture like it contains all the answers he wants.

                                            >Glowcap is still fuming. She'll be mad at you for a week before she forgives you and you're back to punching each other in the ribs and bantering.

                                            >It's Treacle who raises her hoof, and holds it there until you all notice she's doing it.

                                            "Yeah, Treacle?"

                                            >"Um. Anon's salty."

                                            >That gets everyone's attention. Even Glowcap loses some of her steam and frowns.

                                            >"What?" she says flatly.

                                            >Treacle smiles and focuses on rolling a coin under her hoof rather than looking at you all, speaking more to it than the group.

                                            >"Anon has salty skin. He smells, uh," she gulps, "he smells really nice. I'm surprised you've not noticed, Glow."

                                            >"Why would I? I don't have a sense of smell."

                                            >You all look at Glowcap with raised eyebrows. She shrugs as if it was obvious.

                                            >"What? I got in a barfight a few years ago and the broad punched me in the snout so hard I lost my smell. I've told you all, don't tell me I haven't."

                                            >"You have not," Horn says.

                                            >"Well... there you are, then. I can't smell. Now what's that got to do with Anon getting fucked by a goddess?"

                                            >Treacle lets out a nervous laugh and tilts her head at you.

                                            >"If you -could- smell, you'd understand. Anon smells really... really nice. And when he's worked out he smells even better. And his skin is salty, too, especially after he's sweated a lot, and the sweat is even saltier. So maybe she just... really liked what she smelled and tasted."

                                            >The others watch her warily, uncertain about what forbidden knowledge she's going to come out with next.

                                            >You look at her askance.

                                            "How do you know what my sweat tastes like?" you say finally.

                                            >The coin rolling under Treacle's hoof stops dead. Her eyes bulge. She goes sheet white. She doesn't speak again.

                                            >Glowcap wets her lips and decides to look at you again.

                                            >"Fine, so she wanted to fuck you from the get-go, I can believe that, we all knew she was a basket case when we signed up to this. But I wanna talk about -you-, Anon. What happened after?"

                                            "What do you mean?" you say, shifting in your seat.

                                            >"I mean, after you got done ramming your pole in her watering hole, what did you do? How did you get back to Canterlot? Why do we now have a second Princess sharing the throne, and how do we know she's not going to start another coup? Most importantly, who the -fuck- is Twilight Sparkle?"

                                            >"She's Celestia's--" Horn begins before you talk over him.

                                            "Nightmare Moon repaired my clothes and sent me on my way. Said she'd be in touch when she needed my services but that she needed to see about killing her sister."

                                            >"At which point you went for her again and -finished the job we sent you to do-," Glowcap glowers.

                                            >You swallow and smile.

                                            "N... not exactly."

                                            >"Why. Not."

                                            "Funny thing, actually, you know how when you get wrapped up in a moment and you say stupid things you don't mean? I said something a bit out-of-character..."

                                            >There's a change in the tavern's mood as you're speaking. You don't notice at first, but at some point the conversations die. An eerie silence permeates the building. Amidst the quiet: the heavy, dull sound of armoured hooves on floorboards.

                                            >Horn sees it first. He rises from his seat with a grim expression, nudging Heckle.

                                            >Heckle joins his friend in standing and Treacle glances over her shoulder, flinches, then does the same, but staring rigidly at the floor.

                                            >Glowcap notices, but remains sat, turning her ire on the interloper and making damn sure that whoever's just arrived knows she won't play ball.

                                            >Lastly, you turn.

                                            >The drifting cosmic mane is all you need to see to know who you're looking at.

                                            >She's smaller than Nightmare Moon, but you'd have to be stupid to not know who she is.

                                            "Night..." the name wilts before you finish.

                                            >She's flanked by two guards. Batponies that glare at the now meek denizens of the tavern, daring them to try something. None move from their seats.

                                            >The Princess meets Glowcap's milk-curdling expression, but isn't fazed. Instead, she nods at the group's pegasus with something like respect before turning her gaze to you.

                                            >"Good evening," she says with that royal affectation.

                                            >You're sat and on eye-level with her, but she still manages to look down on you.

                                            >Something stirs in your pants. You curse your primate brain.

                                            "H... hi," your voice broke. Glowcap clenches her jaw.

                                            >"I see you are in one piece. I am pleased you made it back to Canterlot safely."

                                            "Thank you for... not killing me."

                                            >She smiles slyly.

                                            >"I was certainly tempted to return your initial efforts. Lucky for both of us I was able to judge your talents as suitable."

                                            "As an assassin," you say perhaps too quickly.

                                            >The Princess looks over your friend group, then back to you, her head cocked with a look like a teacher correcting a schoolboy.

                                            >"No. I was referring to the impromptu, vigorous sex we had in the courtyard. Where you thrust into me such that I climaxed thrice and almost passed out. You are a fine assassin, despite your failure to actually kill me, and I will certainly keep your skills in mind should I require anyone to be murdered. But you are also an excellent lay. I have not climaxed so powerfully in a very long time, perhaps ever. I look forward to indulging in your talents again soon."

                                            >She gives you letter sealed with blue wax.

                                            >"This will grant you and you alone permission to enter the castle whenever you see fit. My chamber door is always open. Wear your assassin's garb. Knives are something of a turn-on."

                                            >With that, she gives another respectful nod to Glowcap, and leaves.

                                            >The tavern's solid door slams shut, and every single person in the room slowly twists their heads to look straight at your corner.

                                            >You slouch in your seat, hoping that the table might eat you starting with your legs, and shield your eyes with a hand.

                                            >Treacle is trembling and seems to have a nosebleed.

                                            >Glowcap is back to her regularly scheduled fury.

                                            >Horn nods pensively, as if he's finally figured it all out.

                                            >Only Heckle is grinning. He bumps your shoulder and bounces his eyebrows.

                                            >"Hey, she was hot! Think she's related to Celestia?"