x by Anon and !sKAfVnup4Y


                                            x by Anon and !sKAfVnup4Y


                                            https://desuarchive.org/mlp/thread/23642090/#q23738440


                                            ---


                                            > Deathly silence fills the room, but for the gentle clinking of chains as your splayed limbs shift.

                                            > The last candles had long since guttered out, leaving a tide of darkness to surge in.

                                            > In the shadowed remnants of the room, your gaze darted about.

                                            > Half-seen shapes leap into your vision for a second, before retreating to the masking gloom.

                                            > Each apparition transformed by your imagination to an even more terrifying glimpse.

                                            > What was that one - a rack of lashes, ready to scourge your flanks and back?

                                            > A line of weights, to be hung from the clamps that had been fixed to your teats and turn each swing from a gentle tugging to a fiery, agonizing yank?

                                            > So, too, do your ears swing back and forth - desperately seeking any hint of his movement.

                                            > For he was here, you were sure - always lurking just out of sight, never where you could be certain of his presence.

                                            > But he was somewhere, waiting.

                                            > He always was.

                                            > The human's mind was devilishly inventive with your punishments, always coming to make use of them himself.

                                            > Even now, you could feel the tug of the chain fixed to a ring about your horn; turning your head more than a fraction of a degree in either direction was impossible, anchored to the wall as it was.

                                            > And so you could never truly look about and know where he was.

                                            > But you could guess.

                                            > No, more than guess.

                                            > Each of your hind legs had been stretched to full extension and suspended from a manacle about the ankle, stretching the muscles within achingly taught and forcing your rump up in to the air.

                                            > Presenting yourself for all the world to see.

                                            > No doubt he would be somewhere back there - his hand on his penis, you imagined.

                                            > Unable to resist touching himself at the sight of your sex exposed and undefended, the two little clamps and their hooks swinging from the teats to which they had been affixed.


                                            > Any attempt to push yourself upright, to even stand proud, denied; the chains binding your shackled forelimbs to your barrel ensured that.

                                            > Even your tail - your flowing, majestic tail - had been tied back, ensuring nothing was guarding your most vulnerable spot.

                                            > Soon enough he would claim you, but it always pleased him to let your fearful anticipation simmer properly first.

                                            > ...fear...

                                            > You should not have feared.

                                            > You should never have been in a place to fear.

                                            > You should have erased him the moment he was brought before you, when the sun's might was still yours.

                                            > When he had first described the terrible, conquering might of his species, that should have been sufficient warning.

                                            > When you first discovered you could not touch him with your magic either - yes, you should have ended him then.

                                            > You should have ended him then, before he had claimed Equestria as his dominion and you as his prize.

                                            > Murder it would have been, yes, but each time he used you it was another death inside.

                                            > But how many years had you ruled with kindness and justice?

                                            > How many 'second chances' had you given others before him?

                                            > You'd listened to the voice in your heart arguing for reserve, and it had cost you everything.

                                            > Your little sister, your kingdom... your dignity.

                                            > A princess, an alicorn - to be defiled in this way?

                                            > It was the deepest debasement you had ever imagined.

                                            > How long had he even been using you - a month, a week, a decade?

                                            > Without any knowledge of the outside but for the scraps he bragged about while using you, it was impossible to know, and-

                                            > Wait.

                                            > Was that?

                                            > A tap in the darkness - had it been?

                                            > Your breath quickens, heart thudding against the bedding.

                                            > If he was moving, then he'd evidently decided you'd had enough time to stew.

                                            > What would it be today, you wonder?


                                            > Would he take you rough and fast - his shaft raking your passages, leaving your sore and tear-streaked and shuddering as he spent himself?

                                            > Or perhaps this time he'd let things linger, using the toys to deliver pain and pleasure in equal volumes until the rafters shook with your gagged, unintelligible cries.

                                            > Maybe this time-

                                            > Something brushes against your sex.

                                            > Only the barest, feathery touch, but to your trip-wired nerves it may as well have been the agonizing kiss of a branding iron.

                                            > You jerk forward in your chains, breath rushing through your nostrils as you do leverage what little, futile motion you have to pull from the contact.

                                            > It is, of course, meaningless.

                                            > Within moments the touch has returned, playing in and about your sex.

                                            > Shudders run through you, muscles rippling beneath your coat as your eyes squeeze shut.

                                            > Inward, focus - away from this, away from it all!

                                            > ...no use.

                                            > The touch - teasing, delicate, as if he didn't know of the lightning jolts it was sending down nerves - cannot be denied.

                                            > Had you use of your mouth, you would be pleading.

                                            > No matter the humiliation brought on by whatever desperate cries you would utter, nothing could be as demeaning as this.

                                            > As being a toy for his pleasure.

                                            > But there was nothing you could do, nothing you could say that would stop this now.

                                            > Even as he slides into you, already well-lubricated and having no trouble driving into your passage, you already knew what would happen.

                                            > He would rape you.

                                            > You would sob.

                                            > He would laugh at your humiliation.

                                            > You would cry heavy, shameful tears.

                                            > He would climax, filling you with his hot seed.

                                            > And so would you, unable to resist the unwilling pleasure he would drive into your body.

                                            > Even if you were free to use your magic - so what?

                                            > He was unaffected by it, immune to whatever spell you would hurl at him.

                                            > Again you would be brought low, and undoubtedly he would punish you even further.

                                            > No, this is it.


                                            > As he begins driving into you, all you can do is accept your place as his fuck-toy.

                                            --------

                                            > "Hi Anon!"

                                            > "GAH!"

                                            > "Aie!"

                                            > "Aaah!"

                                            > "God dammit Pinkie, why did you sneak up on me like that?!"

                                            > "What's a surprise party without some surprises, silly?"

                                            > "The party itself is supposed to be the surprise, Pinkie."

                                            > "But this one wasn't! So I though, aren't surprise parties always more fun? Then I thought, why not make the surprise AT the party instead?"

                                            --------

                                            > He isn't holding back tonight.

                                            > Setting a fast tempo, ravaging you inside and out as his hands grip your haunches for leverage.

                                            > The marks which once told of your purpose, your role - bringer of the sun, diarch of Equestria - used as nothing more than leverage to ensure he got the most out of you.

                                            > At least it would be over soon.

                                            > One saving grace, he rarely stuck around to torment your further after finishing himself.

                                            > If he was going to -

                                            > Wait...

                                            > No!

                                            > No, he can't pull out now!

                                            > If he did that, he was going to - oh, Sun and Moon, he's not going to let himself finish!

                                            > Hot, heavy tears run down your cheeks to mirror the juices flowing down your thighs as you realize his game.

                                            > So that was it, was it?

                                            > He was just going to play you up and down, to the edge and back.

                                            > Never allowing you completion.

                                            > Of course he wouldn't give it to you that easily, and-

                                            > A peal of thunder outside splits your attention.

                                            --------

                                            > "Woah."

                                            > "Yeah."

                                            > "That's a pretty big storm, isn't it?"

                                            > "No pegasus travel for two days, they said."

                                            > "Damn. Good thing it's not far around town, huh?"

                                            > "Uh-huh. Hey, AJ, you did bring the stuff over already, right?"

                                            > "Course I did!"

                                            > "Good girl. Wouldn't want to move a cart in this weather."

                                            > "What is this stuff anyway, Anon?"

                                            > "This, dear Twilight, is Vodka - one of the great inventions of manki-"

                                            > "Hi Anon!"

                                            > "GAH!"

                                            --------

                                            > In the split second your mind is diverted, the fantasy falls apart.


                                            > The lightning had starkly illuminated the room, casting away the gloom like a blanket being pulled away.

                                            > Half-seen visions are erased, replaced by the familiar dressers, writing table, and bed of your royal quarters.

                                            > ...well, familiar but for the chains locking you in place.

                                            > Those were real - very, very real.

                                            > As were the clamps digging into your teats, the bit filling your mouth, the horn-ring fixing your head from turning, the shackles suspending your hind legs in place - even the shaft buried within you.

                                            > It did not belong to any conqueror claiming you, though.

                                            > No, it was fixed in place - forcing you to rock in your restraints against it.

                                            > But that was close enough.

                                            > Your mind could fill in the rest.

                                            > The last of the thunder fades, allowing the darkness to race back in.

                                            > As it does you plunge back down into the depths of the lewd fantasy once more.

                                            --------

                                            > "Awww. I'm sorry, 'non..."

                                            > "It's okay, Pinkie. It was just two bottles, we made plenty more."

                                            > "But it's all over your clothes, and you can't go back home to change without getting soaked!"

                                            > "I know, I know. But look at it the other way - I could step outside and just let it wash me clean!"

                                            > "Hah! You want, I could bring the water right too you."

                                            > "Rainbow, dear, I'm quite sure it's plenty wet outside enough for Anon."

                                            > "Hey Spike, are you alright?"

                                            > "Yeah, I'm fine Anon."

                                            --------

                                            > How long had he kept you like this?

                                            > How many times had he played you up to the edge of climax, only to deny it at the final moment?

                                            > At this point the need for release had become a torture itself - a burning, forceful desire that demanded what you could not give.

                                            > Your snow-white coat would have been long-since stained slick with juices, and you can feel yourself winking for him.

                                            > His laughter at the gesture - instinctual, bestial - makes your cheeks burn with further shame.


                                            > Contrastingly, unintelligible noises filter past the bit in your mouth to fill the darkened room as you struggle for release.

                                            > Noises no princess ought to have been making, but you are not a princess anymore.

                                            > You are less than a pony.

                                            > A plaything, a tool for his amusement.

                                            > A toy... one that needed release.

                                            > How long would it be until he deemed you to have suffered enough?

                                            > Panic floods what is left of your consciousness that hasn't been subsumed beneath the need - what if he never gave you release?

                                            > He might do that, wait to see if you would beg for it the next time.

                                            > Fresh juices spatter your thighs as the idea worms its way through your head.

                                            > No, no - all it would take now is one last push to finish, one more-

                                            --------

                                            > "Are you sure, Spike? You're making a funny face."

                                            > "Yeah, I think some of that stuff got in my nose. Really tickles, I think I'm gonna sn... gonna..."

                                            > "No, wait! Don't sneeze at me, Spike! Vodka is flamma-"

                                            > "WHAAACHOO!"

                                            --------

                                            > Something heavy lands atop you, slamming into your back before rolling off to one side.

                                            > He must have hit you!

                                            > He - he's trying to deny you release again!

                                            > No!

                                            > A hand grips your side, fingers digging into your cutie mark.

                                            > An angry voice, roaring out:

                                            > "Oh, come on!"

                                            > ...cum?

                                            > You don't hesitate a second; any longer, and he might take back the opportunity!

                                            > 'Yes, master!'

                                            "Yepth, mathteeeeeeer!"

                                            > The orgasm strikes you like a boulder.

                                            > Writhing in the chains, every muscle twitching as nerves fire wildly, each contraction seeming to send another wave of pleasure through your clouded mind.

                                            > How long it takes for you to come down, you cannot tell.

                                            > A minute, two...

                                            > "Um... Celestia...?"


                                            > 'Thank you. Thank you, master..."

                                            "Thath 'oo... thath 'oo, mathther."

                                            > "Celestia?!"

                                            > And like another boulder, three things strike you at once.

                                            > One, there is still a hand on you flank - a feature few creatures in Equestria posses.

                                            > Two, you know even fewer of them who have a voice that sounds like that; exactly one, to be precise.

                                            > Three, judging by where his voice is coming from (your ears swiveling back to be sure), you're pretty certain you just soaked him with the results of your orgasm.

                                            > "Um, Princess Celestia?"

                                            > The shame that burns your cheeks is now very, very real.


                                            > Oh, stars, sun, moon, and every other thing you could think of!

                                            > Had you really-

                                            > Briefly you find yourself wondering if it would be an acceptable abuse of your powers to clobber him and then claim he'd struck his head on the way in.

                                            > ...no, you'd promised long ago not to misuse your magic like that.

                                            > A focused surge of magic - far beyond what you'd normally do in play - and the ring about your horn turns to molten metal.

                                            > Catching it before it can damage your bed, you quickly turn to disposing of the other restraints.

                                            > The work lets you momentarily divert your mind away from the fact that the object of your fantasies was still sitting speechless and dripping in your juices less than a few feet away.

                                            > Eventually, however, there is nothing left to busy yourself with.

                                            > Evidently Anonymous sees this as an opportune time to interrupt.

                                            > "Um... Princess Celestia? Your Highness?"

                                            > Cheeks burning so hot with shame that you'd not be surprised if something nearby happened to ignite, you gather a breath and reply.

                                            "Yes, Anonymous?"

                                            > "What... just happened?"

                                            "I presume you were caught in a blast of Spike's magical fire, which treated you as a parcel to be sent and-"

                                            > It's a kind of evasion you'd once have castigated Twilight for.

                                            > "No, um - I knew that. I meant, uh - what happened - I think I might have -"

                                            > It takes more mental force to turn and face him than it draws from you to move the sun.

                                            > Not since you last faced down your mother have you been reluctant to meet a creature's eyes.

                                            > ...thank all the things she was not alive to hear of this.

                                            > But how to respond?

                                            > 'I fear you have interrupted on a most private moment-'

                                            > No, dumping your humiliation right back on to him was not right.

                                            > 'You've suffered a dark magic attack and are hallucinating-'


                                            > No, he's so resistant to magic - and please, please let him not have seen that twitch of your tail as you thought about that!

                                            > 'Well you see, Anonymous, when a mare reaches a certain age they begin to think about-'

                                            > What are you, teaching him his first lesson on sex?

                                            > Best to just say it and get this over with.

                                            "...I was having a fantasy, Anonymous."

                                            > "What, like... masturbating?"

                                            > Ducking your head, you squeeze out the words.

                                            "Yes. Like, masturbating."

                                            > He's silent for a long, long time - the only thing to be heard the distant pitter-pat of rain on the balcony from your room.

                                            > Eventually he puts out a single, stupendous answer.

                                            > "Oh."

                                            > Oh?

                                            > Is that all he has to-

                                            > "So, the rumors about you having a harem of ever-willing stallions who keep themselves aroused so at least three are available at any given moment... I think we can disregard those now?"

                                            > Your head shoots up in shock to meet a grinning face.

                                            > Had he made a joke?

                                            > Yes.

                                            > Yes he had.

                                            > It's the straw that breaks the tension in the room; you break down into laughter and soon he does as well.

                                            > "Oh, man. Of all the times, to get caught up in something like that."

                                            "Indeed, Anonymous."

                                            > You manage to stumble the words out between bouts of laughter - as if the humiliation was flowing out of you in an unceasing torrent.

                                            "Indeed - I had thoroughly warded my room against all entrances, including teleportation. But, I had never thought to block young Spike's magic!"

                                            > "Well, I wasn't exactly planning on that either. But, um..."

                                            > A hand raises to rub at the back of his head; unconsciously, your eyes track to follow it.

                                            > "...your secret's definitely safe to me. As hilarious as it would be to break Twilight's mind by telling her about this - no, you're safe. You've way, way to much for me to sell you out like that."

                                            "I... deeply appreciate, it, Anonymous."

                                            > "Though I have to admit - I hadn't seen you as the submissive type."


                                            > This time, it is Anonymous who flushes bright red - obviously and immediately realizing his mouth had outrun his brain.

                                            > You barely notice, however.

                                            > His comment had struck deeper than he knew; of course he'd assume you were the dominant one.

                                            > So many of your ponies thought of you that way - aloof, distant, commanding.

                                            > The natural following assumption being that so, to, would you take rulership of your bedroom.

                                            > "...oh, shit. I'm sorry, Princess, I-"

                                            "No, Anonymous."

                                            > Raising a hoof to halt him, you shake your head in gentle dismissal.

                                            > Disappointment must have been written more openly on your face than you realized.

                                            > "No, I didn't mean - I'm sorry."

                                            > Taking a seat again, he rubs his forhead.

                                            > "Wasn't right of me to make a comment about something personal like that."

                                            "It is fine, Anonymous."

                                            > Again you give him your best reassuring smile, to which Anonymous folds his arms and gives you a flat look.

                                            > It somehow reminds you of the looks you once gave Twilight so long ago.

                                            "Truly, Anonymous. I'm not insulted. But, I'm sure you wish to... clean up. The least I can do to apologize for this is to offer you use of my bath?"

                                            > Even despite what he'd just gone through, Anonymous' eyes go wide.

                                            > "Y-your bath?"

                                            > So much for trying to drain the awkwardness out by diverting the conversation.

                                            > Quickly you move to correct him.

                                            "I could make another room's available, of course. We have guest quarters for dignitaries, and-"

                                            > "No, no - it's okay. I'm just, still a little - still in a bit of shock, I guess."

                                            > Now he manages a softer smile.

                                            > "I suppose I should clean up, though. Is there, uh - a robe or something I can use?"

                                            "I will provide one, yes."

                                            > The robe turns out to be rather to large for him around the shoulders.

                                            > Minotaurs did tend to be rather more broad, and the robe was one kept for their occasional visits to the palace.


                                            > Still, Anonymous seems rather more relaxed when he emerges, and by the time you're done cleaning yourself up he's taken a spot by the window and is staring at the twinkling lights of Canterlot, spread out beneath your tower.

                                            > It's actually rather surprising, how well he's taking this.

                                            > You say as much.

                                            "I'm surprised by how calm you are. If this had been Twilight..."

                                            > "A lucky mental institution would be figuring out how to handle a very power patient - I can imagine."

                                            > He chuckles, leaning back to prop himself on his palms.

                                            > "Honestly, I think my weirdness meter went off the scale somewhere around the time you proved that you actually hauled a star around."

                                            > The expression on his face had been most memorable when you'd shown him that, yes.

                                            > "These days, a chorus of angels could come down and announce I'm a foretold prophecy to bring the end of all cabbages, and I think I'd get over it."

                                            "I'm... glad, in truth. It is much easier to speak, then to deal with a mind broken."

                                            > "Though, uh. I do have one question? Don't have to answer it, but..."

                                            "Please, Anonymous. Ask away."

                                            > After all, now that he'd seen... that, what worse could he ask?

                                            > How many lovers you'd had?

                                            > Whether anyone had ever-

                                            > "When I, uh, dropped in. Did, uh... was that... uh... did you know it was me?"

                                            > ...you were wrong.

                                            > He could ask something worse.

                                            > Time seems to slow as plans flow through your head.

                                            > Refuse to answer the question?

                                            > No, that'd be as good as an answer.

                                            > Lie?

                                            > You could, you suppose.

                                            > Tell him no, it was somepony else.

                                            > Not like he was ever going to see this ag-

                                            > "Nevermind. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that."

                                            "No, I..."

                                            > Turning your head to hide the growing touch of red on them, you feel your ears fall.

                                            > You can do this, Celestia.

                                            > In for an inch, in for a mile.

                                            "...it's... your invisibility to magic. I've truly never encountered a creature like that before; you're like a walking nullifier ring."


                                            > "Doesn't Discord-"

                                            "Exceedingly powerful, but still magic I can sense and fight - if not overcome alone. You are... like a void. Untouchable. Trying to use my magic on you is like trying to move an ocean with a shot-glass."

                                            > "Oh..."

                                            "Rarely is there such a creature that I could not overcome."

                                            > Too late do you look back, and see the thoughtful look that you know far too well from Twilight.

                                            > It's a look that tells of facts being put together, a conclusion being found, and-

                                            > "Wait... was that like... a not-consensual thing? That you were... imagining?"

                                            > -and an extremely trying question coming.

                                            > Anonymous' eyes go wide as his head ducks at the sight of your flush.

                                            > "Right. Shutting up now."

                                            > Laying your head down over your forelimbs, you ruffle your wings slightly and try to ignore the insistent memories of a very particular heat as you respond.

                                            "Yes, it was. Does it surprise you, Anonymous? That I... fantasize of being deposed, after it has come so close to happening?"

                                            > "Well, more I was wondering... I mean, even if I was going to try anything, couldn't you just, like..."

                                            > He pauses, shrugging.

                                            > "Throw something at me? Hold something over my head and let gravity do the rest? Plain old clobber me, even - I'm pretty sure you're a fair bit stronger than I am."

                                            "Yes."

                                            > Your back rises with another breath, the words seeming to come spilling out now that the floodgates are open.

                                            "Yes, I could, I suppose. Perhaps that's one of the reasons I can give in to these fantasies: There's no fear in them."

                                            > "How do you mean?"

                                            "I could never take pleasure in imagining myself being taken by the Changelings. The thought of what they do to ponies, almost did to us -"

                                            > An unwanted tremor passes through your spine as your memories flick back to awakening in a pod - slime filling your nostrils, your throat, your lungs-

                                            > "Hey. I understand. That makes sense."

                                            > Anonymous seems to hesitate for a moment before holding out a hand in a calming gesture.


                                            > "I'm still a little surprised, but - like I said, of all the things that have happened lately this is not going to freak me out that much."

                                            > Pausing, he looks away for the briefest second.

                                            > "And besides - it's kind of... well... uh, flattering, I guess."

                                            > Now it is Anonymous' turn to flush slightly.

                                            > "Not every day your get royalty thinking about you that way, you know?"

                                            "I... suppose so, yes."

                                            > A touch of a smirk appears on your lips.

                                            "I admit I have something of a unique position that makes it difficult to imagine..."

                                            > "Fair point, yeah."

                                            > Pushing himself upright, Anonymous gives you a smile.

                                            > "If you don't mind, I think I'm going to take some time to think this over... and sleep off the effects of being dragon-fire-wormhole'd."

                                            "Of course, Anonymous."

                                            > And just like that, the moment of personal contact - the moment of intimacy, even - is over.

                                            > The mask of benevolent ruler slips back on; to your surprise, a tinge of sadness runs through your heart.

                                            "I will see that you are taken care of, of course; the storm will make travel difficult for at least a day yet."

                                            > "Thank you, Princess."

                                            > Princess.

                                            > Not even Celestia.

                                            > Your heart sinks slightly; perhaps it was too much to hope that he would think of you in any way else than the same benevolent, distant ruler your ponies saw you as.

                                            > Thus, it is with great surprise when a guard sticks his head into your the following evening and announces that Anonymous wished to see you.

                                            > When he enters, once more dressed in his own clothes, freshly cleaned by the palace staff - thank all the stars for discerning servants who would spread no gossip - it's to your surprise that Anonymous seems somewhat fidgety.

                                            > It takes him a few moments to begin speaking as well, nearly to the point where you are ready to provide the slight verbal nudge sometimes neccessary to free a pony's, or human's, tongue.

                                            > "So, uh... I've been thinking about yesterday. What we talked about..."


                                            > Your heart leaps straight into your throat.

                                            > Subtle tendrils of magic reach out, silently twisting locks closed before you dare to respond.

                                            "I.. see."

                                            > "So I was thinking and I've realized, it's a little bit more than just flattering. It's... interesting."

                                            > Wait.

                                            > What he had said yesterday, 'Not going to freak me out' - 'flattering' -

                                            > And now, 'interesting'-

                                            > He's not -

                                            > "And, you know. Since I've already blundered straight into the thick of this..."

                                            > Once more your cheeks flush with crimson heat, wings fluttering as you try to control their instinctive rise as you remember what you'd been doing.

                                            > "If... you wanted, I could stick around."

                                            > He - truly was -

                                            > Immediately a new, unwanted thought worms its way into your mind.

                                            > While you were safe in your room, doors sealed with your magic and servants knowing better than to disturb their princess for anything but the most horrifying crisis, Anonymous would not be so lucky.

                                            > He would have to travel.

                                            > If he were found here or his visits discovered, even if the nature of his relationship was not - the backlash would be unimaginable.

                                            > Anonymous merely laughs when you tell him this.

                                            > "Can't you just do that teleporting thing?"

                                            "Have you forgotten so quickly the reason for my 'interest' in you?"

                                            > "No, I mean - teleport yourself. Or, yourself and some of the, uh, other stuff..."

                                            "Oh. OH."

                                            > "Yes."

                                            "I suppose..."

                                            > The words are somehow difficult to say, so hard is it to ignore a certain twitching.

                                            "...I suppose I could keep myself out of sight that way. For now, however..."

                                            > A toss of your head directs him towards the window, where a fair amount of heavy rain still cascades from the sky.

                                            "...I think we have a bit more time to spare before you are able to return home, yes."