Feather Interrogation


                                            >Clink. Clink. Clink.

                                            >You roll your eyes at the hoofsteps as they echo down the stairs, inching ever closer to your cell.

                                            >Their owner must think themselves just as intimidating as the last pony who tried to weasel any information out of you.

                                            >It didn't take much to send that 'stallion' running off. You expected this to go much the same.

                                            >What you didn't expect was for this small little thing to come around the corner, oil lamp in mouth.

                                            >You laugh.

                                            "The princesses' finest, huh?"

                                            >The eyelashes on this guard roll upward, and it's with that you realize that your latest interrogator is a mare.

                                            "I had no idea they were conscripting, what's the word, fillies."

                                            >The pegasus guardsmare sets her lamp down in a corner where the bars of your cell meet the dungeon brick.

                                            >"They aren't."

                                            "Sure, sure, guard pony."

                                            >"You'll speak when spoken too, perp."

                                            >You snort.

                                            >In truth, the guards have all been the same. It's a nice change of pace to finally be on the wall with a pony who doesn't back down on the first rebuttal.

                                            >The lack of will in the guards was the reason you're up here to begin with.

                                            "Of course, ma'am."

                                            >You rattle your chains from your wall-bound position.

                                            >The guardsmare doesn't have much with her, aside from her blue-maned helm, and matching gold armor. It all glitters in the light of the lamp, which catches on her emerald eyes in a perplexingly attractive way.

                                            >It does little to distract from what she carries underneath, though.

                                            "I can tell they feed you well, at least."

                                            >The guardsmare looks down her front, even though the pudgier parts of her barrel and belly are out of sight. As you laugh again, those emerald eyes lock back on you, and you can't help but slow to a stop.

                                            >Shit.

                                            >When you get out of here, you need to take another look at the mares at camp. How come rebels don't have eyes like this? You could win a war with those things.

                                            >"Command says I have to adhere to standard practices."

                                            "And is Command in the room with us right now?"

                                            >She grits her teeth.

                                            >"They didn't say anything about not making accommodations."

                                            >Wait, you might actually get a decent meal.

                                            >You instantly quiet. Fat fuck.

                                            >The small and smug mare smirks.

                                            >"Have your attention, do I? Well, you answer my questions, and we come to a happy ending."

                                            >She steps into your cell, locking it behind her.

                                            >"Doesn't that sound nice, perp?"

                                            "Yeah, yeah. Hop to it."

                                            >Narrowing her eyes, she trots up, stopping just before you.

                                            >From your position, the way you're chained up on the wall, your midriff is at pony eye-level.

                                            >For a small mare like her? Well, while you're stripped down to boxers, she's at crotch-level.

                                            >You take careful notice of that as she leans in, eyes glaring up at you.

                                            >"If you choose to not answer truthfully, well, that's on you..."


                                            >"Who's your leadership?"

                                            >"Where are you operating from?"

                                            >"What is your cell actively doing?"

                                            >"Why are you working with them?"

                                            >You shrug.

                                            "Because I think it's funny?"

                                            >"You think this is /funny/?"

                                            >She huffs adorably for the umpteenth time. You probably shouldn't get as much of a kick out of this as you do, but who cares, you've been at it for at least an hour with her.

                                            >And you'll keep it up, too.

                                            "Yeah, actually. By the way, when do we stop for lunch?"

                                            >The guardsmare actually lets a low growl out, then stomps over from her trudging line.

                                            >She rears up, both forelegs swinging your way.

                                            "Woah, hey—!"

                                            >They land on either side of you.

                                            >The pegasus glares up hard at you, ears folded all the way back, and muzzle just a breath away.

                                            >Her words are a venomous hiss, and they complement her guardsmare bravado in a way you never expected.

                                            >"I've had about /enough/ of this, perp."

                                            >Raising one hoof, she presses it sharply into your bare chest, pushing against a rib.

                                            >Yeah. This is bad. That armor is no joke.

                                            "Hey, come on..."

                                            >She glares, and presses harder.

                                            "H-hey! T-that fucking hurts."

                                            >"You want me to stop? Too bad."

                                            "Fuckin'..."

                                            >This... bitch.

                                            >Her muzzle twitches.

                                            >You said that aloud, didn't you?

                                            >She pulls back from you, her voice darkly quiet.

                                            >"What did you just say?"

                                            "...I'm sorry?"

                                            >Her hoof stays on your chest for a moment longer as she scans your face.

                                            "There's... no need to get violent."

                                            >"...Violent?"

                                            >Her eyes, narrow, and she backs down, armored hooves clopping against the floor.

                                            >"Perp... you've got no idea."

                                            >She falls back to her haunches, and begins to remove her helmet.

                                            >"You've had your fun."

                                            >Holding the helmet in her forelegs, she shakes her blue mane out. It runs down her neck, pooling near the top of her withers. It's a total mess.

                                            >Just like what you're about to become.

                                            >She carefully sets her equipment down beside her, then stands.

                                            >"Now, it's my turn."

                                            "Listen, we can still—"

                                            >"Shut up."

                                            >The clinks of her armored hooves aren't as funny as they should be right now.

                                            >She stomps right up to you, and turns her eyes from yours.

                                            >Right back to her eye-level.

                                            "But—!"

                                            >She moves forward, grips the band of your boxers in her teeth, and pulls downward with the weight of an anvil.

                                            "I—"

                                            >Cold metal presses against your crotch.

                                            >"Shut. Up."

                                            >You can't look down. You close your eyes, and tilt your head away.

                                            >Think of rebel mares... think of rebel mares...

                                            >You can only see the green of her eyes.

                                            >"You have exactly /one/ chance, perp. Answer my questions."

                                            >You can't. You can't give up your... friends. They're all you have out there. And they're waiting for you.

                                            >If you give them up, what are the odds you'll be free with them again?

                                            >You wriggle your wrists, flexing your hands.

                                            "No."

                                            >"Then we'll do it my way."

                                            >The touch of metal leaves you. You hear her shifting. You're too busy trying to regain some semblance of cool before you speak.

                                            >And then, you feel it.

                                            >You tighten and clench.

                                            "What are you..."

                                            >You open your eyes, and stare down at the tiny mare.

                                            >She glares up at you from her new perpendicular angle. All of her hooves are resting on the floor.

                                            >But her pristine white wings...

                                            >Her left is unfurled.

                                            >You can't even finish your sentence as she drags her downy-soft feathers across your balls.

                                            >Your breath catches as she nestles into a particular spot with her divine implements of pegasex.

                                            >"Gotcha."

                                            >Her smug smile is the last thing you see before you're involuntarily lifting your head up high.

                                            >Her feathers roam across the back of your balls, brushing you with the grace of an angel.

                                            "Ffhholy /fuck/."

                                            >Despite your discomfort, you feel yourself pulsing to the unstoppable caress of feathers. The feeling is unrivaled.

                                            >As your dick flushes out at the stimulation, her feathers glide upward, cupping your cock and balls in a bowl of bliss.

                                            >Somehow, the expanded region of touch doesn't impede her in the slightest. She just keeps going; the ticklish feeling builds further and further.

                                            >"Well, perp, I think this is more fun than your fun."

                                            "I... I..."

                                            >"You seem to think so, too. Now /that's/ funny."

                                            >As she crosses your balls over and over, you imagine all the things you'd do to her with your hands. The warmth of the feathers is a godsend, and the softness draws more and more of you in.

                                            >Then, she starts to speed up; slowly, but soon she's crossing over you with her wing like a blanket.

                                            >She's moved now, close enough for her high and swinging tail to brush beside you, and her now-lowered muzzle there to impart your leg with hot breath.

                                            >Together, you form a perfect picture of pleasure.

                                            >Over and over, her feathers draw lines into your cock and balls, from the perfect point behind your balls that makes you infinitely twitch, to the tip of your cock. It's kiss after kiss with those feathers, and they don't let go.

                                            >She tugs and stretches at you now, and each movement is gentle: the pull of the feathers is becoming too much for your mind to process.

                                            >You're curling every extremity you have at this point: hands, feet, neck. But nothing is getting as much of a pleasurable reaction as your dick and balls are.

                                            >Huffing in time with the guardsmare, you swear you can feel her heart through her wing; she's beating as fast as she pulls, but the only thing she's close to ripping off is the barrier to release.

                                            >"Dirty... /bucking/ ape."

                                            >You groan and gasp, and let loose.

                                            >Thick ropes and strands pour from your cock like a gushing waterfall. The feathers can only block so much as they splash: you shoot as far as her dorsal armor, but your cum lands all across her wing, and more importantly, her feathers.

                                            >She comes to a slow stop with her wing, huffing with you as she continues to face the floor.

                                            >After a moment of natural shrinking, she stands, folding her wing halfway before staring at it.

                                            >You laugh weakly.

                                            >She eyes you, then grins. She steps to the side, tail still flagged high.

                                            >She begins to lick her feathers clean.

                                            >Her orange tongue drags across every little dip, scooping up every last bit of your cum.

                                            >Then, she turns to you, emerald eyes glittering, and aimed at your feather-blasted cock.

                                            >"I'm going to get everything I need out of you."