Festival
Trixie blinked awake to a throbbing headache, a blazing sun and an unpleasant, synthetic aftertaste that she did not recognise from her usual hangovers. She remembered flashes of the previous night—or perhaps day, or perhaps a smattering of the last week or so. Laughed out of Hoofington over last month’s Ponyville incident. Travelled to a town far out in the boonies, past the reach of easy gossip. Pleasant Springs, a donkey town. A show. Applause. Encore.
Something.
Her head hurt.
She tried to swallow the hangover gunk that coated her tongue and gums, but couldn’t close her mouth for some reason. Her lips and tongue all moved, but it felt as if something were wedged between her back teeth, keeping her mouth wide. When she tried to move her head, she found her neck wedged in place, stuck through a hole of some sort. Her legs couldn’t move properly, and her tail felt far lighter than usual for some reason.
Trixie growled and tried to prepare a spell. A solid wedge of fire cracked through her skull and turned her entire world to white pain. She heard a high ringing in her ears, and realised moments later that it was her own screeching.
Funny. She hadn’t felt pain that bad since she’d fractured her horn as a child...
Trixie’s eyes snapped open in panic.
Once they adjusted to the excruciatingly-bright morning sun, she began to recognise her surroundings. She was still in Pleasant Springs, in the town square where she had performed last night. Instead of her magician’s stage, she was strapped into a bizarre contraption. Her head stuck through one end of a metal trough which was closed at the other end, and a rubber seal fit around her neck. A metal barrier, three feet tall, was attached to one side of the trough, and a set of steps led up to the other side.
It looked suspiciously like a public urinal.
Trixie desperately looked for an escape. She tried to scream, but all that came out was a bleating, “Hlaaah! Hlaaah!” noise.
Hoofsteps approached. She looked to her left, and turned her head the few degrees that her bonds would allow. She saw a crowd of donkeys approaching. They wore smiles more predatory than any herbivore’s smile had any right to be.
The town mayor led the crowd. She approached Trixie’s prison, adjusted her bolo tie and glasses, and then turned to face her audience.
“My citizens,” said the old jenny, “we donkeys of Pleasant Springs are a simple folk. We appreciate honesty, family, and hard work, and respect any folk of any race who brings these qualities to our town.”
The crowd murmured in assent, some stamping their hooves, a few yelling, “Hear, hear!”
“But my good donkeys, we have standards,” she continued. “We are not so open minded that our brains fall out of our ears. We don’t like snooty, high-faultin’ ponies who think that their meagre gifts make them superior to us. We don’t like vagrants who exploit our charity to spread crime and disease to our fair town. And we hate liars!”
With those last four words, she brandished a copy of the Ponyville Gazette, a picture of Trixie’s retreating form plastered over the front cover. The crowd roared in approval. Trixie merely wailed at the unfairness of it all.
The mayor mounted the steps, and petted Trixie’s tied-back silver mane. “We are still a charitable folk, however! Even though this charlatan delayed our Spring Fertility Festival with her lies and her boats, we will provide for her in hopes of lifting her out of her poverty of the soul. We will give her room—in the town jail!”
The crowd laughed and applauded, and the mayor milked it, strutting around on the steps.
“We will give her board—wilted vegetables and day-old bits. We’ll hang a red lantern on her wagon, so she can do some real work at the next town she travels to. We’ll even throw her a few bits for assisting the Fertility Festival! Jethro, Mary, get up here!”
Two donkeys pushed their way through the crowd, a young, athletic jack who seemed handsome in the strange donkey way, and a mare a few years his senior. When the jack reached the stage, the mayor draped a hoof over his withers.
“This is my son, Jethro. This is his first year of age to participate”—the crowd whooped—”and he will provide this harlot with her first taste of repentance.” The mayor turned to the jenny. “This of course is Mary. We all know her, in every sense of the word!” Laughter. The jenny took a bow.
“You two know what to do,” said the mayor, and with one last wink, she left the stage.
The jenny dipped her head under Jethro’s barrel and began to lick at his sheath. Trixie could only watch in horror and fascination as the downward-curving donkey cock sprung forward, already drooling precum. Mary took it into her mouth, sucking it with practiced skill, before taking half the length into her throat with ease. Jethro moaned and rocked his hips above her. Before long, he pulled out of his lover’s mouth and frantically rubbed his shaft. Trixie squealed as the dripping dick approached her face.
The first jet of cum splattered onto Trixie’s mane. He moved closer, and the second went directly into her mouth, as did the rest. Thick, bitter jizz coated Trixie’s tongue and lips. She sobbed from the humiliation and indignity of it. She hated the taste of stallion cum, and this tasted a hundred times worse. Jethro shuffled forward to wipe the last droplets on her cheek, and then walked back into the cheering crowd with his lover in tow.
Trixie cried, desperately trying to avoid swallowing the vile liquid. It was near-impossible to spit out the sperm without being able to close her lips or jaw, and the few trails she did manage to blow out of her lips slid down the slope and pooled at her bottom lip. It clung to her tongue, her gums and the roof of her mouth like congealed soup. Every second made the salty, musky, stomach-churning taste more intense.
The mayor led another round of applause as Trixie hacked and sobbed. “An excellent display,” said the mayor, “and with that, the Rite of Cleansing may begin! Citizens of Pleasant Springs, please welcome our fifteen greatest lovers from yesteryear’s Festival!”
Fifteen rugged, muscular jacks stepped forward from the crowd, basking in the applause of their fellows. Several of them were drinking beer, and all of them were sporting substantial erections.
“These dashing jacks will prove their commitment to the art of sex by slaking their lusts on this repulsive harlot, and then cleanse their genitals of impurities,” bellowed the mayor, “with no further fanfare, let the Festival begin!” She walked behind Trixie, placed a bucket between her hind legs, and then took her place in the crowd as the fifteen jacks approached the stage.
The first donkey mounted Trixie, his hooves digging into her back. The hot tip of his penis jabbed at her rump until he lined up with her pussy. He buried his muzzle in her withers, inhaled deeply, and pushed inside. Trixie squeaked in pain as his cock forced its way into her dry cunt.
Trixie felt oddly detached, as if she were viewing the whole event from a distance, or as if it wasn’t really happening at all. It shouldn’t have been happening. She had come to a town, performed admirably, and offended nobody. They had applauded, cheered, and bought her drinks! She couldn’t understand why they were doing this.
A hard thrust dragged her back to reality. The donkey bit and slobbered on her coat as he fucked her. Spurts of precum made him slick enough to push his way inside her, but it wasn’t nearly enough and every thrust send stabbing pains through her insides, as if hooks had been stuck in her organs and were dragged out with every movement.
“How is she?” asked one of the others.
“Dry,” grunted her rapist, eyes screwed shut in concentration. “Don’t matter, though. She’ll be gushing soon enough.”
True to his word, the donkey came soon after. He bit down hard enough to make Trixie screech through her wide-open mouth, and flooded her cunt with burningly-hot sperm. It stung her bruised innards and settled deep inside her. She felt the distinctly uncomfortable realization that she wasn’t using any form of contraception whatsoever, but could only cough and squeak in protest. As the donkey pulled out, thick, white sperm oozed from Trixie’s pussy and pattered into the bucket underneath.
Another donkey mounted her. This one had a thinner, shorter cock than the previous one, and the slickness of the sperm made his entry feel far more gentle. Trixie let out a noise that felt embarrassingly close to a moan. He kissed and licked at the back of Trixie’s neck. The heat of his body made her skin prickle.
The first donkey stepped up to the stage, and looked down at Trixie. Trixie looked up. His cock was just starting to soften, and he was leering down at her. She felt as if something very bad was about to happen.
She froze in horror as the donkey began to piss.
The first spurts were ropey, almost syrupy, washing out the post-coital sperm from his cock. It splattered against the wall of the urinal, and ran straight down into the trough below. It soon turned into a thick, gushing stream of dark yellow piss. There was nowhere for it to go but Trixie’s waiting mouth.
It tasted beyond vile, horribly warm and frothy, brackish and musky. The smell alone made her want to retch. She closed her throat to avoid swallowing the piss, but couldn’t do anything to stop herself from tasting it and smelling it. The line of liquid rose, dying her powder blue coat a sickly shade of green as it rose to just below her nostrils. He shook off the last few drops onto her broken horn.
Trixie tried to stay very still. Every thrust from behind sent a tiny wave through the pool of liquid in the trough, and the largest ones lapped at her nostrils, threatening to cut off her supply of air.
Warmth bloomed inside her again as the second donkey came inside her. Trixie was dimly aware that if she got pregnant, she’d never know the father’s identity. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. The donkey had barely dismounted before the third pushed inside her, displacing a flood of seed with his thick cock.
The second donkey stepped up to the stage. Trixie only heard his hoofsteps, her eyes scrunched shut. This one pissed directly on her face. It soaked into her mane, stung her eyes, and got in her nose. Soon, her nostrils were submerged. She could drink, or drown.
With a defeated *glug*, she swallowed the foul piss.
By the time she could breathe again, the third donkey had finished, and the fourth pushed inside her. She dry-heaved while the third donkey pissed, aiming directly for her mouth. She did her best to swallow. Her throat and tongue and stomach all urged her to reject it, but she desperately wanted to breathe.
For the next hour, she kept getting rutted and swallowing piss. She could feel her belly bloating underneath her, wobbling horribly with every thrust. Between mouthfuls of piss she took sharp, shaky breaths. She didn’t want to throw up. She’d been deathly afraid of throwing up ever since she was a little foal, and worse, there was nowhere for vomit to go but back in her mouth.
Trixie knew she was crying, but couldn’t tell where the piss ended and the tears began. The donkeys seemed to take perverse pleasure in hurting her with their dicks. None of them lasted long, but they were all plenty rough. Their dicks had a downward curve, and they delighted in ramming the tips directly into her bruised cervix. She grunted in pain every time they did, blowing bubbles through the frothy liquid.
The last donkey began to rut her. Every swallow was a painful struggle. She couldn’t clear the trough in time, she could only keep it from covering her nose and drowning her. Hope flickered inside her as the last donkey filled her insides with jizz. Perhaps they would let her rest soon.
Instead of walking around to piss in her face, the donkey stood in place. Trixie felt a strange warmth between her legs, and blushed as she realized that the donkey was pissing directly on her pussy. It was somehow both the most pleasant and most degrading sensation she had felt that day. Without warning, he pushed inside her, still pissing. Mixed piss and semen poured out of her pussy and into the bucket below. When he was finished, he walked around to the steps and shook the last drops in her face.
Trixie coughed and shivered. Her whole body felt like jelly. Only the restraints on her neck and legs kept her upright. She heard movement behind her, the creaking of a metal handle, and the slosh of moving liquid. Hooves climbed the steps once more. Trixie opened her bloodshot eyes and saw the mayor looking down with a cruel smile, holding the bucket in her hooves.
“Hlah,” said Trixie.
The mayor emptied the bucket into the trough. The mixture of thick, slimy cum and frothy piss was somehow worse than its component parts. It felt almost curdled, like drinking snot mixed in seawater. Patches of white slime clung to Trixie’s face and mane as she drank it down. The crowd cheered and whooped as she struggled, swallowing half a mouthful at a time, trying to stop herself vomiting mid-swallow.
Once she finished choking it down, the donkeys freed her from her restraints. Trixie flopped onto the grass, breathing hard and retching. Her belly was so bloated that she couldn’t even lie down, the only position she could manage was sitting like a dog as she gasped in pain.
“You look like you’re having trouble there, dearie,” said the mayor. She had a slim plastic cock in her hooves. “I’ll help.”
Before Trixie could react, the mayor grabbed her head and forced the cock deep into her mouth. Trixie’s eyes went wide. She knew what was happening and couldn’t stop it.
Vomit surged up her throat and out of her mouth, sticky and sour and painfully hot. It sprayed from her lips and nose, burning them with bile. She sobbed between convulsions as she emptied her stomach. The taste of cum and piss was even worse on the way up, and vomiting felt more painful than the rapes had been. She clutched her stomach in agony, lying on her side in a pool of sick. She cried freely now, sobbing between mouthfuls of vomit, trying to spit the taste from her mouth. The crowd was still cheering.
“There we go,” said the mayor, “nice and empty for the next fifteen. They’ll be ready for you at noon.”
She turned back to the crowd, as Trixie writhed and shivered. “Drink and be merry, my friends! The Spring Fertility Festival has begun!”