The Guard

by Master Titta

First published

A royal guard tries to rape Flurry Heart. It goes as well as you'd expect.

The lust sing, goddess, of Obsidian Arrow’s' son, Spearhead, that uncontrolled desire which brought countless denials to him, and got him sent forth into the majestic Royal Gardens’ shrubs and she made him himself suitable for discharge from the corp of the bodyguards of the fair Princess Cadence and the son of Night Light, king of ponies. What then brought this ill-fated fighter to lose the armour and the spear? The nurseling daughter of Cadence and Shining Armour.

But how that came to being?


Created very quickly after an idea I had. Contains Babycon, Excessive Sperm, Orgasm Denial and Epic Language.

Eìs Chapter.

View Online

As the son of Night Light walked away from the magnificent palace’s grounds to abide to his duty as sheperd of ponies and as the alicorn of Love took a golden chariot carried by four ivory-hided pegasi clad in sheets of bronze, the strong son of Obsidan Arrow had been left to watch over the gold and cedar door hiding the graciously small thalamus of young Flurry Heart. The fame of the tender infant as a most lovable and most pleasant-looking filly had not escaped the perceptive ears of Spearhead, and the aweful sights of ground turning into ice after a display of the unrefined and unbridled power she could unleash under distress did nothing to deter him from considering her suitable for his purposes, for he had been taken over by an uncontrollable desire deemed wicked in the eye of the gods and the kings of ponies alike.

He desired the untouched and untouchable orifices of the powerful royal infant.

He twitched, contorted himself, bit his own lips, shouted harsh reprimands at himself, but it was in vain, for he, finally declared his intention.

“I can stand this no longer!” The son of Obsidian Arrow roared like a lion celebrating its triumph upon a pack of jackals. “Well do I know that the day will surely come when I shall be uncovered and my livelihood destroyed, but I grieve for none of these-- not now, not ever. I shall enter and make myself the first to test the daughter of Cadence’s prowess in matters of love!”

Declared this to he himself, Spearhead felt all of his powerful body -- appropriate to a hero -- being shaken by lust, as his sword unsheathed itself at the mere thought of being bathed inside fair Flurry Heart’s liquids. Using the power within himself, Spearhead bent down the glimmering doorknob of brass and, like a battering ram during a siege, he pushed in forward, inside Flurry Heart’s obscure lares, stepping upon the hairy surface of the floor -- as multicolored as the clothes peddled by an exotic merchant and depicting fiery beasts distorted to have large eyes and, ultimately, looking incapable of harm if given life by accident.

Like a meerkat monitoring its burrow, he went courageously went forward towards the gracious thalamus -- with spiraling legs and lion’s feet, with a body carved with crude astronomical and arcane symbols united with the shapes of hearts and painted accordingly to what is deemed appropriate for an infant girl, purplish covers made with the finest linen thrown around, revealing the sandstone-coloured mattress that was underneath -- in which Flurry Heart rested her head burdened with her horn.

“Wake up and shine, thou daughter of goddess and of mortal stallion!” Spearhead proclaimed with flying words that invisible Echo soon repeated, while he torn her covers off, revealing the rest of her fragile body. “For I have a request for you!”

Flurry Heart gurgled her displeasure out, as she stirred her tender young hooves and rapidly flapped her feathered flightbearers and stared with eyes expressing her confusion.

“Please, let my heel use your tiny cavern as haven. Please, let yourself be filled with the fertile white power I expel from it.” Spearhead asked with a general twitch to the daughter of Cadence, which resulted in a “No.”

“Please, let my beatiful ram crash your pretty gate! Please, let yourself be purged by the pure white power that comes from it.” The son of Obsidian Arrow -- his own virility throbbing and spasming like a gazelle when it is captured by the courageous lion -- said once more to Flurry Heart, alas, to no avail, as the infant shook her head and pronounced “No.”

“Please, let the soft holster of your lips envelop my unsheathed sword! Please, drink the savory white power that I expel from it!” He begged for release -- his arousal dripping away from its deliverer -- with an heavy breath, as Flurry Heart spoke short as such: “No.”

“Please, use your fair small hooves, useful for trotting, to empower my arousal! Please, let yourself be dressed in the warm power that comes from it!” He let out a moan mroe suitable to a virgin girl than to a bronze-armed warrior like him, as his third leg pulsed, rippled, throbbed, dribbled and, overall, declared its and its owner’s intent manifest to any possible onlooker. The daughter of Cadance shook her head

“Please, please, please, use the power inside your spirit to free me from this unholy craving! Please, let me expel the painful white power I carry inside me!” He let otu as a shout, his entire body trembling as his virility seemingly overtook and forced its will uipon every limb and gut of its owner. Flurry Heart nestled, for the shout had upset her greatly, and then cried, as a gleaming beam of purple power went loose from her soft horn; the dart hissed through the empty air and soon hit the ever-pulsing stallion pomes of Spearhead, bringing woe to him, for he felt his body creep and burn -- bringing him to ceaselessly scream -- for then creating a veritable fountain of the male seed of life that sent Spearhead forward through the air like a javelin thrown by a masterful warrior, or like an eagle preying upon a tender lamb in the dry fields.

The son of Obsidian Arrow yelled and yelled, his own white power serving well as propulsor for his glide above the rich palaces of the glorious nobles, staining with malodorant stains the rich clothes of the mares passing by and creating fugacious streaks of white upon the shingles masterfully crafted with clay and copper. Spearhead flew his flight for long time, until he fortuitously landed upon a stack of rotting maple leaves and assorted natural remains of various provenience.
“Alas, I have drunk the bitter wine of defeat and shame! Oh, woe is me, for I shall look like a weakling and an inverted to the stallions and the mares with flowing dresses! “ The son of Obsidian Arrow sorrowfully said, stepping out covered in the rotting remains of leaves. “I should jump upon my sword for this! But, then again, I was under the possession of a powerful god, and I shall let this be known to my lord, once the filth will be awashed away from the skin I wear now and from the fine bronze armour protecting my knees from liquefying and my black blood to flow out like a creek!”