> Saddled
>  by Drop_It_Like_Its_Clop
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Arrival
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Ah don't like it."

The big red stallion sighed as his sister repeated herself, voicing her disapproval for the tenth time in as many minutes. She'd never been afraid to speak up, which was, in part, the problem. Usually, he wouldn't have minded, and it wouldn't have mattered if they been in Equestria, but travelling through the sandswept lands that housed the kingdom with which they hoped to establish good relations, neither of them could afford for her to be her usual self.

"Ah don't like it none, neither," he explained, watching the montonous landscape roll by. "Ah ain't exactly in my comfort zone here, but if we want what we're here t'do, we gotta do things we don't want t'do. Life's full of compromises, you know that."

"Talkin' seems like a light compromise," she scoffed. "Fancy switchin' roles? Ah think you'd look real fetchin' dressed up like one of their fancy mares, and ah think ah'd make a darn good stallion."

"Come on now, talkin' is easier for some," he reminded her, rolling his eyes at her ribbing. "If ah could let you do all the talkin', y'know ah would."

"Feels like empty words, Big Mac."

"Don't be like that," he complained. "You heard what Twilight said; they're gonna expect me front an' centre, an' if ah'm standin' back while you do everythin', they ain't gonna take us seriously. We'll be comin' home empty-handed, like the ponies from Manehatten an' Fillydelphia. We gotta try somethin' new."

"By keepin' me quiet, just because ah'm a mare?" the blonde mare asked. "What if they find out Apple Bloom's keepin' everything running while we're out here? Reckon they'd be too offended by a mare runnin' the farm to talk to us? Or if they knew granny ran everythin', near enough founded the place, 'fore she passed?"

"We ain't gonna find out," Mac warned. "Just..." He sighed and leaned forward. "Just for today an' tomorrow...don't say anything you don't need to. When we get back, you're free to rant and talk 'bout how darn rude they are, but we need to make a good impression."

"Buncha jackasses," the orange mare grumbled, crossing her arms. "Fine. Ah know what ah gotta do for the sake of the family, even if ah ain't happy 'bout it."

"You don't need to be happy 'bout it," he reminded her. "We just need to follow Twilight's advice. Ah reckon she knows a fair bit more 'bout them than we do." He glanced at the hat on the train's table, eyeing it suspiciously. He wasn't one for dressing up fancily, but if he was to make an impression, he had to at least present himself as if he was respectable.

"Don't give the stink-eye," his sister huffed. "All you gotta do is wear a hat, jacket, an' slacks."

"It's hot," he pointed out.

"An' ah'm dressed up like ah tripped an got tangled in my bedsheets!" she retorted, fidgeting in the black Abaya she'd been provided. Rarity had been kind enough to requisition one for the journey, no matter how much Applejack had complained about its appearance. To the fashionista's credit, she'd added a pleasant golden applique to the hems of the garment, elevating it from a modest piece of wear to something with a dash of flair. That didn't matter to Applejack, who pouted as the unicorn explained in painstaking detail the correct way to fit and wear it.

"You look fine." She sat back silently, clearly still unhappy with her compelled choice of clothing. "Just a day an' a half," he reasoned. "Ain't no more than that. If you want to burn it afterwards, ah'll help make a fire back at the farm."

The blonde continued to mutter under her breath about the stupidity of the rules as the stallion fetched the folded parchment from his jacket pocket and opened it up. His eyes scanned the words scribbled down, trying to commit them to memory before they arrived. Thankfully, Princess Twilight's handwriting was a pleasantly digestable font.

-Unlike Equestria, Saddle Arabia regards the male sex as duty-bound to lead and protect all within their society, and have developed certain social norms which may seem counterintuitive or unpalatable. Although the gender roles are inverted and are far more extreme, do your best to tolerate these differences, and recognise that they do not see females as superior to males. While away, Big McIntosh should act as the figurehead of the business. Applejack should try to remain quiet as far as possible.
-Despite their kingdom's vast wealth of spices and jewels, Saddle Arabians do not appreciate ostentatiousness for private individuals, as they believe it is a sign of greed and immodesty. When visiting, do not wear more than one or two pieces of jewellery.
-As mentioned in the above point, modesty is a great virtue, and so as much of your body as possible should remain covered. Do not go anywehere shirtless, and do not show your shoulders, legs, or torso. Your manes should be covered insofar as possible. Big McIntosh should wear a hat, and Applejack should wear a headscarf.
-It is customary to present a gift to your host when arriving, but the Saddle Arabians do not appreciate material gifts. Opulence is seen as arrogance, as previously mentioned, and so the best gift is one which is practical rather than a measure of status, and one that carries notable longevity. Avoid jewellery, spices, scents, or precious metals, and instead provide something that they can use, particularly something that they cannot easily acquire themselves.
-In relation to the above point, it is important to remember that attempts at trade deals have been hindered so far as a result of a fundamental misunderstanding of Saddle Arabian culture and their views on giftgiving. The first ponies to initiate trade talks did so without any gifts, and so were regarded as being an unworthy investment, and the proprieters who reached out from Canterlot presented bars of gold, which was received by the Saddle Arabians as an attempt to flaunt wealth without any merit. The closest that anypony has gotten to offering an appropriate gift is the Pears of Vanhoover, who extended an invitation to visit their orchards at no cost to witness their products, which was received with gratitude, but rejected as a result of the unwillingness of the Saddle Arabians to travel so early in a budding business relationship.

A quick glance out of the window revealed that they were approaching the city, the featureless desert now laden with stone buildings and towering structures, as if everyone were confined to a small area. He supposed they were; Mac wasn't the most learned pony in the world, but his area of specialty was agriculture, and irrigation was perhaps the most important facet of that. Equestria was, mostly, rich and fertile, with numerous sources of water and mineral-laden soil in which to plant crops and seeds. In a land defined by loose sand, the best hope for a settlement would be centred around an oasis, or the banks of a major river.

The rest of the notes talked about how to address the dignitaries and basic phrases in their language that would make a good first impression, and he muttered some of them under his breath as he donned his hat, adjusting the unfamiliar item so it looked something approximating professional. Turning to Applejack, he watched as she tied up her headscarf, scowling as she folded and tucked the fabric into place, ensuring she was presentable. Her frustration was understandable, but that wasn't what worried him. He knew his sister, and she was always vocal as a child, and even as an adult. The last thing they needed was an outburst, even if it were justified. He sighed internally as the train decelerated, standing up and praying to no one in particular to give them both the fortitude they needed to get through this ordeal.

The train hissed to a stop after a few minutes of coasting, and the two of them gave each other one final look over before steeling themselves and waiting, the door opened from the outside after a few seconds. Not wanting to appear indecisive, he stepped from the carriage and onto the platform, expecting to be met with the scorching sun that he'd seen from the window. Instead, his hooves clacked onto cool stone, and he was met with the gentle breeeze of an air-conditioning. The station was plain, but sturdy, and far from primitive or crafted without care, tinted windows letting in light while filtering out the worst of the unforgiving sun's glare. The white of the walls were criss-crossed with patterns and symbols, and the air was abuzz with the comings-and-goings of passengers. Aside from its design, the atmosphere of the place was almost like an Equestrian major railway centre. If he closed his eyes, he might be forgiven for believing he was in Manehatten.

"Masa' alkhayr!" called a voice, clear and enthusiastic, and the stallion jumped, startled. Turning to its source, he saw a tall pony walking confidentally towards him. No, not a pony - a horse, and one dressed in the traditional wear of Saddle Arabian, the long, loose-fitting robe that Twilight had called a thawb when he'd consulted her. He was as tall as the red stallion, though less broad, and with a more natural elegance and fluidity that exuded confidence, the turban covering his mane framing him as sophisticated and important. Alongside him, two other horses marched, looking stonefaced and stoic, their dark robes plain and wraps covering their muzzles and the top of their heads, leaving only their piercing eyes visible. They must've been his bodyguards, if the daggers at their side were any indication. "You must be Mister McIntosh Apple, yes? My name is Tajir Hisan, with whom you corresponded. Ahlan wasahlan."

"Ahem...As-salaam 'alykum, sayidi," the stallion replied, bowing his head. He felt out of place, the suit compressing his body, the hat feeling like it might tumble from his head at the slightest movement, and his accent far too thick for the foreign words. It was like chewing food that wasn't meant for him, and he forced a smile onto his face as he butchered the language in front of his host. Instead, the horse beamed widely, clapping his arms to the stallion's shoulders, and gripping him in what Mac assumed was a friendly gesture.

"Good, very good," he complimented, his teeth so white they practically glinted. He seemed youthful in general, the fur of his face - the little that could be seen of his coat - trimmed and groomed, and his face was smooth, without wrinkles or grey hairs. If he was older than twenty five, he didn't show a single sign of it, something which Mac was usually able to determine fairly quickly and easily. "We shall have you fluent by the end of your trip. Come, now, we shall take you and your servant to your accommodation."

The wording confused Mac, who turned and looked behind him, only to spot Applejack standing awkwardly, her jaw clenched. His eyes widened, and he shook his head as vigourously he dared, receiving a death glare from his sister. Trying to tell her to keep calm with nothing but subtle nods and shakes of his head, he cleared his throat and turned to his host.

"Actually, sir, this here's my sister, Applejack," he spoke up. "She's my business...associate."

"I see," the horse commented. "My apologies, Miss Apple. I should have realised that an industry involving such degress of cooking would have a female involved so significantly in its workings." He bowed his head respectfully, just in time to miss her eye twitching in restrained fury, rising when she'd managed to force her face into a stoic visage. Glancing at the two small cases they carried, he looked back at them. "Is this all of your luggage?"

"Not everything, no," Mac answered. "We do have somethin' else, though it isn't for us. It's at the back of the train." He gestured to the caboose, receiving a quirked eyebrow from the horse, who walked with the two new arrivals to their destination. "As a symbol of our new relationship, we hope that y'all...you and your kin...accept this small gesture on behalf of the Apple family, Sweet Apple Acres, an' Equestria." Stopping at the carriage, he opened the door and stepped aside, allowing the horse to see what it contained.

There was stunned silence, the horse gazing in awe at the item within. Laid carefully on its side, hugged carefully and prepared so as to preserve it in its entirety, was a fully blosomed apple tree, bushels of bright red fruit adorning its branches. Its leaves were still richly green and vibrant, and its wood was untarnished, absent of knots or growths. If there had ever been a tree more suitable for display, or more ideal for a photograph, then it had certainly never been recorded.

"What...is this?" Tajir asked, turning back to the stallion, eyes wide and face full of curious wonder. "Is it...a sample of your trees at home?"

"It's a gift," Mac explained, swallowing nervously. Had he misjudged it? Was this an insult in their culture? Something he'd overlooked? Despite the cover of the roof and the platform's AC, he felt beads of sweat begin to coalesce on his forehead. "Somethin' we hope y'all can enjoy...you and your children...and..."

"It's marvellous," he whispered, eyeing the tree with disbelief. "It can be planted? It can grow fruit?"

"Eeyup," Mac answered, falling into his regular speech patterns as nervousness overtook him. "We'll even help y'all plant it if you need the help. N-not that ah'm sayin' y'all don't know how trees work, just that we can...uh, do it for you. W-with you! We're here ta help if you decide y'all want to receive any help."

"It's so gracious," the horse fawned, reaching out and stopping, as if scared that touching it would mar it or break it. "It's so generous, so kind...whatever could we do to repay such a gift?" He shook his head, an overwhelmed smile cracking his muzzle, until he glanced over his shoulder, dread overtaking his expression. "Eud 'iilaa almanzil 'ayuha alfasiqatu! Nahn bihajat 'iilaa hadaya 'afdal!" The tone he took seemed hostile and fearful, completely out of place with his previous demeanour, and Mac froze for a second, wondering what had happened. It was only when he looked over that he saw the other figures he hadn't noticed before.

There were women on the platform, so still and quiet that it had taken the horse's outburst before he even realised they were present. They flinched at his snapping tone, hurrying towards the exit into the street, leaving Mac a few scant seconds to see them before they disappeared from his view. In the time he had to observe them, he noticed that they weren't horses; there was a griffon, a hippogriff, and even a pony, as far as he could tell, but the expected appearance of a tall, slender native of Saddle Arabia was completely absent. Even more jarring was their clothing; he'd been told that it was customary to cover oneself, to leave as little coat, feathers, fur, scales, or skin exposed as was possible - something Applejack would readily confrm - but the three skittering females wore little enough that he could identify their species at a quick glance. They were far bearer than he'd been led to believe was allowed, showing bellies, arms, and even legs, but they hurried out of sight before he could fully guage what they were, nevermind why they were wearing so little. The bands on their muzzles, or at least above their mouths on some of the women, looked decorative, but out of place on a member of their kind. Was it custom? Why hadn't he read about it?

"My apologies," Tajir spoke up as the ladies left the station, disappearing to some other place. He collected himself and clasped his hands together. "I hadn't expected such a gift from a pony, and so I wasn't readily prepared. I shall need other servants to properly tend to your gift, rather than the eahirat you saw there."

"Th-that's no matter," Mac said, clearing his throat. "If you're worried about it bein' too heavy, ah'm more than happy to lend a hand."

"Heavy?" the horse replied. "No, not at all. It is simply not the place of a...well, of course. It requires special care, and we would not burden such a destinguished traveller with a menial burden of carrying such a weight. Do not worry, my friend; your gift shall be kept here until those properly equipped to handle it are able to transport it to my estate. I thank you again for such a generous gift. Come, you shall be shown your rooms in my home, and then we can discuss business more comfortably." He clapped his hands together, and the two guards marched towards the exit, Tajir beckoning the two ponies to follow.

"We already have rooms booked at an inn," Mac explained, wondering if there'd been a miscommunication. Was anything going right? He wasn't sure. Applejack was always he planner in their family, as well as the outgoing social pony. He was far more comfortable working and taking care of things that needed a strong arm and a dependable work ethic. He fit the role well, and having to negotiate and nagivate foreign social norms was like tossing a foal in a pool and expecting him to learn to swim.

"Your booking shall be cancelled at no cost to yourself," Tajir replied, barely turning to address them. "Any expenses shall be reimbursed in full. Without any arrogance intended, I do believe my abode will be more comfortable for yourselves than the basic amenities of a city dwelling." He chuckled lightly, striding out of the station and into the bright glare of the sunlight, eshewing the protection of the building. With a glance back at his sister, Mac hefted his luggage, and hers, and followed their host.

The heat of the day hit him like a sledgehammer, baking him inside his formal clothes before he'd finished descending the few stone stairs that led to the street, and he could already feel the sweat seeping from his pores. He'd heard of the arid conditions of the deserts in the south of Equestria - his cousin Braeburn had written plenty of times to describe life in Appleoosa, after all - but this was seemingly inhospitable. He couldn't understand how anypony could ever hope to live in such a place.

"Mind slowin' down?!" Applejack groused at him, running to keep up. The stallion halted, glancing back as she almost pranced to keep pace, and tried to move slower, finding that he couldn't manage to keep up withTajir and ensure his sister. The result was an awkward shuffle between the two figures, his usual pace enabling him to walk just behind the host and his bodyguards, then having to stop to allow Applejack to keep up, then jogging back towards the horse. "Ah said, mind slowin' down!"

"Ah can't rightly slow down," he told her, trying to keep his voice down. He felt the gazes of other pedestrians, her speech drawing their attention. He cowered a little, uncomfortable enough as it was. "Can't you walk a bit faster?"

"Not in this bundle o'blankets," she retorted, huffing at her clothing. "An' before you say anything 'bout it bein' easier, why don't you try wearin' it an' ah'll try wearin' your slacks! Ah've never had such trouble runnin' in jeans before." Seeing his uneasy expression, she shook her head, muttered something under her breath, and strode forward, picking up the hem of her Abaya to allow her just that bit more movement. With little choice, Mac followed, the toned orange calves of his sister now directing his path.

A burst of chatter from the side caught their attention, though neither Mac nor Applejack knew what was being said. Tajir clearly did, because he turned around in surprise, glancing at the speaker, and raising an eyebrow skeptically. A horse approached, dressed in street clothes that were comparatively plain compared to Tajir's own dress, babbling incoherently as he walked, his features set into an angry scowl. Switching between Applejack and Big Mac, he jabbed a finger at them, his voice loud and full of accusatory judgement.

"Ah don't understand what you're sayin'," Applejack told him, her words going unheard amidst his ranting. "Ah said, ah don't understand ya!"

"He says you were acting inappropriately," Tajir spoke, walking over to them. "And that Mister McIntosh should have better control over your behaviour."

"Excuse me?" she asked, her features shifting from confusion to indignant disgust.

"He claims you were trying to, what is the word? Not undress, but...flash? I believe that is how you say it. He claims you were flashing the street like a woman of imodest status, and demands you learn how to behave."

"He says what?!" the mare asked, colour building in her face. "That good for nothin', lyin', rude son of a-"

"I do agree," the horse continued, diplomatically cutting her off. "I saw no such thing, and making an accusation against a guest to our kingdom like this is not proper. I find it to be a fault on his part." Addressing the other horse, he switched to his native language, his tone calm as he interjected. The accosting horse spun to Tajir, still pointing accusingly at the two ponies, and was met with measured, soft tones.

"Huh," Applejack muttered to Mac, watching the event unfold. "Ah assumed he'd be sidin' against me."

"Does it help put your mind at ease?" Mac asked. "Maybe the place ain't so bad as you thought."

"Maybe," she agreed. "Ah guess it ain't so bad if we have at least one reasonable stallion taking charge of-"

SMACK!

One of Tajir's bodyguards, on a signal from the horse himself, strode up and backhanded the stranger across the face, sending him sprawling into the dust. Groaning, he picked himself up, shouting something in retaliation, and received a sickening thud as a hoof met his gut, tossing him back again and knocking the air from his body. He lay wheezing, having nothing else to say.

"The matter is resolved," their host spoke up, turning back to his two shocked guests. "It was a simple misunderstanding, and it shall not happen again. Let us continue our journey, and put this unfortunate incident behind us." He turned to continue their journey.

"What in the hay do you call that?!" Applejack asked, her voice rising over the din of the streets. "He was talkin', and you just up and smacked him? Is that how y'all treat each other around here? Is that all stallions are good for, anywhere in the world? Fists and aggression? Ah'm hotheaded, but even ah know ya don't just hit a creature for bein' rude!"

"Appejack-" Mac tried to interrupt, stepping forward cautiously.

"Stallions might be like that in Equestria too," she continued, ignoring him. "But at least there we know to put mares in charge to cool their impulses! Stallions might make good guards, but there's a reason we have mares callin' the shots! Is that where you went wrong?"

"Applejack, don't be sayin' things like-"

"I appreciate this might be strange for you," Tajir answered cooly. "But this is the way we operate around here. In your culture, perhaps he would not have approached you at all. Here, however, he did, and we have dealt with it appropriately."

"Appropriately?!" she asked, exasperated. "He's on the floor! Would y'all have accepted that if ah'd knocked him down?"

"If, assuming you could, it would be seen as improper," the horse answered, his expression stoic in the face of her rant. "We do not have females assaulting males in the streets here. Perhaps it is different in your lands."

"We don't have ponies assaultin' ponies," she shot back. "An' we don't have these damn clothes, either! Speakin' of clothes, he was upset because ah supposedly flashed in public, right? How? Ah'm covered up to my head! How am ah gonna flash anyone?"

"The minds of females taken by rebellious impropriety are not my specialty, I am afraid. You will need to talk to the shurta about the manner in which females attempt to overcome barriers to their decency."

"Do you realise how insane you sound?" she asked. "Do you wanna know what ah did? What caused him to flip? This!" She hoisted her Abaya up to her knees, the orange of her coat visible to everyone on the street. There was a omnipresent gasp, and even Tajir's unflappable countenance balked. "Ah tried to run, because y'all wouldn't slow down, and because this ain't made for runnin'! Apparently, that was enough to make a stallion come up and tell me ah was commitin' a sin, and that was enough for him to earn a beatin'." Scoffing, she dropped her clothes back into place. "Gimme my luggage, Mac. Ah'm goin' to the inn. You can deal with the rest of the trip."

"I am afraid that won't be the case," their host stated, his voice cold. "You shall not be allowed free reign of the city, and you will have to serve your time here in the local sujin."

"Mister Tajir sir, ah don't think this is goin' the way we expected," Mac spoke up, sweating bullets. "Maybe we could talk 'bout this at your place, and figure it all out."

"I am afraid we cannot, Mister McIntosh," the horse answered, gesturing around him. Mac looked where his vision was being guided, spotting several horrified onlookers as they were pointed out to him. Some mares, dressed similarly to Applejack, shielded their children's eyes, while stallion shook their heads in overt disgust. "Your sister's rather...unpleasant...outburst has attracted far too much attention. I cannot ignore this insult to our customs, even as powerful as I am. If we do, there will be outcry at court, and my own position shall be brought into question. I am sorry, but your sister must serve her due punishment for her recklessness."

"Now you just wait a darn minute!" Applejack challenged, stepping back towards them.

"Applejack, please!" Mac stated, raising his voice. "Let me handle this." She huffed, scowling as he turned his attention to the horse. "Isn't there somethin' we can do?"

"I'm afraid not. We can only do what is appropriate, and what is appropriate is for her to serve her term for this trip of yours."

"Ah...ah see. Can you promise me she'll be released when ah go home? And that she won't be hurt none?"

"Of course," he replied. "Ealaa sharafiin, she shall be returned to you no worse than when she was taken in. I believe she shall be better, in fact, given a chance to learn the error of her ways. When we part company, she shall hopefully be less hostile."

"Then let me talk to her. Ah'll make sure she understands, an' co-operates."

"As you wish, Mister McIntosh."

Nodding his thanks, the red stallion turned and walked towards his sister, who had crossed her arms over her chest. He winced at her expression, feeling the burn of her disapproval more than the beaming of the sun above.

"This ain't gonna be what you want t'hear, but-"

"You want me to go with them?" she guessed. "How can you say that, Big Mac? They're barbaric! They treat their stallion's like servants and their mares even worse! Ah ain't gonna just let 'em take me in an' beat me like they did that stallion!"

"He wasn't the friendliest of creatures to begin with," he reminded her. "If y'aint as bad as that, ah reckon they won't treat you nearly so harshly."

"Great deal of help you are," she groused. "So what, ah'll just get a light beatin' instead of a kick to the gut? Is that it?"

"No, ah ain't sayin' that. Ah've talked to Tajir an' he's said you'll be left unharmed an' let go as soon as we leave."

"An' you believe him?"

"What choice do we have?" Mac asked, a frustrated growl entering his tone. "Ah said before we got off the train that you needed to keep your opinions to yourself, and now you've gone an' got yourself in trouble because you couldn't let a situation go."

"They beat a stallion on the street!"

"For talkin' to you like a piece of meat!"

"Like they're doin' right now! How are any of 'em any better than any other of 'em?!"

"It was workin' itself out, an' you let yourself get angry! You could'a let it go, an' we'd be in the shade drinkin' water an' discussin' how many bits we'd be makin' a year from this deal. Instead, we're out here talkin' 'bout how you need to spend a night in jail for arguin' with someone over customs you don't understand!"

"You don't have a right to tell me to not do my job, Mac," she seethed at him. "Ah'm the Element of Honesty! It's my job to call out things ah see goin' wrong! Ah didn't choose this! It's what ah've gotta do! Ah was chosen to fill this role, an' ah ain't gonna just stay silent when ah see things that are obviously wrong!" She straightened up, glancing past her brother. "Maybe if they hear that, they'll understand. Ah doubt they know what the Elements of Harmony are, but they'll definitely know the name 'Princess Twilight' when we tell 'em."

"Applejack, no."

"Don't you give me this 'Applejack no' business. Ah'm here to look after you, not the other way 'round. Ain't that what ma an' pa told us? Ain't that what granny told us? It's our job to make sure stallions ain't bein' takin' advantage of by others. Seems to me like you are. You've always been kind, Mac, and it's endearin', 'specially for a stallion, but right now you're bein' fed a lie."

"Seriously, we ain't gonna do it. Think 'bout how it'll affect us."

"Not 'bout how bein' locked up will affect me?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow at him. "Love ya too, Mac."

"No, ah mean...this trade deal we got goin'. The negotiations. So far, we've made one good impression, one bad impression. Far as ah can tell, if we agree to go along with their customs, have you spend a night in jail, they'll look past it, an' we can get on with finishin' up the arrangement. You'll be out 'fore you know it, and we wouldn't have come here for nothing. If you refuse, they'll probably turn us away, an' we'll have to go home." He leaned in, whispering the final part of the sentence. "An' we both know we ain't gonna be able to keep treadin' water on the debts forever."

His words rested on the smaller mare, and she ground her teeth, acknowledging his point. The reason of his argument burrowed through her stubborness, nearly creating sparks from the effort of digging through that hard shell of hers. Seeing she was close to giving in, Mac delivered a final push.

"Twilight's a stickler for the rules, anyhow," he reminded her. "She wouldn't be happy none if you used her name to get out of servin' a punishment for breakin' some rules. An' 'sides; it ain't right to use your friends to get some advantage from their status. She wouldn't approve of that none ether."

"Darn it Mac, you're right," she conceded, grumpily, letting out a displeased sigh. She looked pained, as though he'd slapped her with a wet fish, and she averted her eyes from his, visibly upset with herself for considering using her closest friend's name for her own gain.

"You'll go along with it?"

"Yeah, ah will. Let's just get this over an' done with. Ah'll be talkin' your ear off 'bout it when we get home, though." There was a brief silence before she hit him lightly in the shoulder.

"What was that for?"

"The snark."

"Ah didn't say anythin'!"

"You were thinkin' it."

"Ah wasn't."

"You were thinkin', Ya usually do." He didn't say anything, and she snorted.

Tajir was waiting patiently for the two of them, and smiled as they approached. "I take it you have reached an agreement."

"Yeah, we have," Applejack grumbled. "Ah'll come along an' submit to whatever punishment you've got waitin'."

"Very wise of you, Miss Little McIntosh." He turned away to gesture to his two bodyguards, managing to miss Applejack's renewed temper flaring up, which thankfully subsided with a shake of the head from her brother, and several deep breaths. "You shall be escorted to where you shall be detained for the duration of your stay, which shall hopefully be rather short. The same stallions shall escort you back upon your release. Ma'aasalaama, for now."

Mac watched with an uneasy heart as his sister walked away, flanked either side by he stallion's who'd up until just now escorted his host. He didn't recognise her from the back, everything that identified her as her covered and disguised, all the way down to her independence. A small group passed in front of her, and he could no longer distinguish which humbled mare she was among the various others.

"My apologies, Mister McIntosh, for the inconvenience," Tajir said, breaking Mac out of his reverie. "It was unfortunate that it needed to be done. I wish that were not the case. She is a spirited mare, which I am sure makes her a good business partner for yourself. Unfortunately, we do not do things this way in Saddle Arabia. I hope you understand."

"Sure," he murmured, nodding unenthusiastically. "Seems only right, ah suppose."

"With that sour note out of the way, then, perhaps we should continue. I shall have my servants provide us with refreshments, and we can discuss our business with much more civility and decorum, yes?" He smiled warmly and made to continue, expecting Mac to catch up. With a final glance in the direction his sister had taken, the red stallion pushed back the gnawing concern and strode after the horse. Applejack was a tough mare; she'd be able to handle whatever was thrown at her.





Applejack wasn't concerned.

She'd been in tighter spots before when embarking on quests to save Equestria and the world beyond, and some stallions with bad attitudes weren't enough to compare to angry dragons, territorial diamond dogs, or supernatural tyrants. She could've laughed when they brought her to a squat stone building, barely high enough to contain two floors. She'd encountered worse when she'd first been summoned to Starlight's village and found herself locked up in the impromptu jail. There, she'd had to remain until they'd come up with a way to escape. Here, at least, she'd have to stay for no more than two days. She could handle that.

She wasn't concerned when they brought her inside and led her down some stone steps into the cool, dark cellar, or basement, or whatever name they chose to give to the underground section of the hut, or house, or whatever name they chose to give to the building. After being outside for so long, the cool air of the interior was a welcome change, and there was enough light flowing in from upstairs to not leave her in darkness, besides. All things considered, her situation had improved.

She wasn't concerned when they were joined by another couple of stallions, these dressed in garments not dissimilar to the bodyguards, but far less intimidating. They looked like something between a clerk and a janitor, though she didn't say it. She'd already managed to get herself into enough trouble by voicing her opinion. They said something to her in their strange language, and she shrugged to show them she didn't understand. They seemed to realise, and motioned to her clothing, gesturing to remove it. She raised an eyebrow, confused as to why there were happy to have her reveal parts of her coat after doing exactly that had gotten her landed in here in the first place, but after lifting it up a little and receiving a nod, she did away with the thing, lifting it up and off herself, and undoing her headscarf. It felt good to be able to toss out her long, blonde mane again.

In her own skin again, she took a certain amount of pride in the looks she got. She thought they were disapproving, but she wasn't particularly bothered. It was their perception of her body that landed her here in the first place, so why should she be ashamed of it now? Her calves and thighs were firm and sharply built from years of relentless applebucking and lugging cargo to and fro, putting the stallions to shame. She doubted they'd done much heavy hitting or carrying in their lives, and while she matched or outdid them with the tone of her muscles, they didn't even her thin waist or perky c-cups to compensate. She felt their eyes burrowing into her midriff, clearly caught off-guard by the outline of her six-pack, and didn't try to hide her satisfied smirk at their reaction, handing over her discarded coverings with a subtle flex of her biceps, just enough to make their eyes flick to her arms.

"Be careful with those, you hear?" she said. "My friend made 'em, an' she'll be mighty unhappy if ah bring 'em back torn an' rumpled." She didn't like the articles - they were intrusive and ugly, in her opinion, but she'd long come to value Rarity's tailorship, and she felt responsible for what happened to the items her friends gave her. To her approval, they took them with a due amount of respect, folding them neatly and deftly, and carrying them back upstairs, leaving her in pair of boyshorts and a sturdy, albeit plain, bra; in her mind, a far more comfortable choice. She was glad to be out of the rags they called clothes. An odd choice for them to be okay with that but not half a mare's leg being visible on the street, but she'd long since given up trying to make sense of their ways. Placing her hands on her hips, she cocked her head. "What now?"

One of the remaining horses raised his hands, clasping his arms together. She frowned, unsure of what he meant, and he beckoned her forwards. When she obliged, he lifted her arms above her head, ensuring she kept them there. She wasn't concerned until she heard the metallic clanking of chains and felt the cold brush of thick, heavy iron, the shackles clicking loudly around her wrists. Her instincts called out in indignity, but she forced herself to stay calm. This was a jail, and she was being jailed. It made sense they'd keep her restrained.

She was a little more concerned when one of them approached her with what looked like a decortive band. No, not a band - a bridle. She shook her head at him, clenching her jaw and keeping her mouth shut. Shackles were enough, but she didn't need to be gagged or belittled any further. She realised as they pressed it against her muzzle that the leather was all there was to the simple contraption; there was no bit. She shook her head more fervently, trying to dislodge the humiliating device, her mane whipping back and forth as she did. With no bit to stop passing between her lips, she voiced her objection, telling them that they could back off, that she didn't have a need to humiliate her further. They didn't listen, grasping her face more firmly than she would've liked to hold her still, gradually securing it around her head. If she hadn't already been in hot water with them, she would've lashed out, giving them a taste of a farm mare's two honest hooves.

She was concerned when, with a final click, the bridle seemed to tighten, conforming to the contours of her face, the leather pressing against the skin of her cheeks and glowing white-hot. She winced, shaking more violently and managing to throw her jailors off, though they seemed happy to back away irrespective. The sudden sensation caused her to yelp, her body reacting before it realised she wans't in pain. It was strange, instantaneous, and unsolicited, but it wasn't painful; just intensifying, and spreading throughout her body. She felt the tingle atop her muzzle, alongside and behind her head, the intrument connecting like a live circuit, buzzing with some intangible, unfamiliar energy. When she took a breath, the material moved flawlessly with her, doing nothing to constrict her movement, but she was intimately more aware of the taste of the air around her, the dryness to it, and the more sour smells present in the room.

"Jayid, jayid," one of the stallion's voiced, a smug, satisfied grin plastered across his muzzle. "Hadha hu aleadl." The others nodded or murmured their agreement, sounding pleased.

"Wh-what is this?" Applejack panted, every breath she took invigorating her, even as the act of breathing exhausted her. "What did you do to me?" She couldn't focus, and the reply she recieved didn't make any sense to her. She shook her head, the bridle refusing to budge even an inch. The tingle that had started at the point of contact had spread to the rest of her face, a pleasant warmth seeping through the fur and the flesh.

"Clothing, no wear," one of them said, addressing her in a way she could finally understand. "Now, wear. It make real woman. You become woman. Woman as woman. Proper woman." Having said his piece, he turned to the others, discussing something she couldn't and didn't want to decipher. Even speaking in her language, what they'd said made no sense to her. Proper woman? Wearing something? Whatever they meant, she knew they'd tricked her; they had something planned, and she needed to find a way out. If only she could focus, and if only her face would stop buzzing. Why was she both aware of everything around her, and too hazy to find a way out? Applejack was very, very concerned, though second by second, that concern was melting into a swamp of undirected general unease.

She was more than a little concerned.

She was concerned.

She thought she should be concerned.

Was she concerned?
> Adjustments
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Despite his prior misgivings, the city was a visually impressive place, and his host was more than happy to show him the unique and special elements which defined and heightened its image. Mac had never really been a pony for complicated urban architecture, but he had to admit that there was a beauty in the buildings and public features, the way they curved and rose, the ornate decoarations carved into the stone itself. The pride that had been poured into the construction of the city was evident, and Tajir lamented that they did not have an opportunity to see the actual spectacles of the city, but rather the middling structures that loomed over the streets on the way to his estate.

"Perhaps you can return in the future, and we can visit the sights and the great displays of my home," he mused. "The Grand Bazaar, the Stately Palace, and a day of plays and poetry, to name only a few suggestions. Proper demonstrations of culture and mesmerising art. I regret that we cannot do so now, but I believe that there is a saying in Equestria; do not mix your pleasure with your business? We aim to do similar here, and we must take care of business before we take care of anything else." He smiled warmly and led Mac through the streets, pedestrians parting to make way for him.

The walk was hot even in the shade of the buildings, and Mac was glad to see them drawing close to their destination, though that was swiftly overshadowed by his awe at the sight. He'd expected Tajir to have a large house, perhaps a multi-storey appartment rather than the squat houses or single floors of rising flats he'd seen as they travelled through the streets, but he hadn't expected what could only be compared to a mansion. It sat on its own, away from the combined masses of homes and other buildings, a street running the length of its facade, and possessed three floors, plus a stone bannister on the roof which, judging from the presence of creatures he couldn't make out, acted as a fourth floor. The structure towered above the white brick walls around its perimeter, a sturdy iron gate securing its entrance. He had to remember to continue walking, trying not to gawk as the gate was opened from within and the two of them were granted entry, a path leading through a narrow garden space to a flight of polished stone steps.

The interior was no less lavish, the ceiling stretching three times his height, and dusky colours decorating almost every wall he laid eyes on. Burnt oranges, browns, caramel yellows, forming proudly cut shapes and designs, curving and spiking, while the open spaces were framed by arches and columns, pillars and buttresses. His head swam trying to make sense of it, and his host let out a good-natured chuckle at the apparent expression on his face.

"It is marvellous," Tajir agreed. "I sometimes forget, with it being so normal to me, but my guests allow me to feel that sense of wonder that has long faded into the background for me. I should do more to be grateful for its splendour." He nodded to himself, as if making a mental note, and flagged a passing servant, who hurried over. With a few words, he gestured to Mac, and stepped aside as the servant reached for Mac's luggage, only straining slightly as the big red earth pony let them go. Without any complaint, and the merest lingering gaze on the foreigner, the servant strode away, heaving himself up the stairs to the floor above. "He shall take those to your room and unpack for you while we discuss matters of importance. He shall not take anything of yours for himself, but if you suspect that he has, you need only tell me, and I shall punish him severely."

"That's mighty kind of you," Mac murmured awkwardly. "But ah trust that your servants won't do anythin' untoward. Ah reckon you would've vetted 'em or somethin', right?" At the tilt of the horse's head, Mac moved on. "Thank you very much for hostin' me here. This is quite the place."

"It is the least I could do for such a distinguished guest," the horse replied. "But do not be losing yourself in my home's beauty and wonder just yet, Mr Apple! As was said before, we must conduct our business first!" He laughed again, gesturing for the stallion to follow him upstairs too. "A significant shame that your sister could not be here to experience this. I believe she would have kinder words for it than she did for my customs."

At the mention of Applejack, Mac's mood soured. The grandeur of the hotel-sized house had wiped those thoughts from his mind, but now he felt the worry and the discomfort come rushing back. "Ah reckon she would..."

"Come, now," Tajir assured him. "She will not be harmed. I have given you my word, and I shall keep my word. She shall not be mistreated. She shall be granted the respect and dignity of a mare whose attitude needs correction, and nothing more." He saw Mac nod, but the pony's expression didn't change, and the horse frowned. "I understand this may be strange and difficult, and please rest assured that I do not want that. You will see her tomorrow, and I promise you that she will be able to personally confirm that she was not treated improperly."

The horse's certainty surprised Mac, and he found himself feeling a little calmer. If his sister told him everything had gone smoothly, then he couldn't argue with that. Tajir's confidence in her attitude either meant that he'd underestimated the mare, or that he had absolute faith in the system and its operators. He chose to believe the latter.

"Eeyup," he spoke at last. "We'll see tomorrow."

"Indeed we will, mister MacIntosh, indeed we will." Tajir strode along the tiled hallway, opening a door for the stallion and ushering him into an air-conditioned office decorated mostly by thick-leafed plants. "Until then, we have some very important business to take care of, followed by an opportunity to enjoy the splendours of my home. I think you will like it very much."

As he stepped inside, the stallion felt the nerves of the upcoming negotiation overtake his concerns for his sister. There was the matter at hand to deal with, and then...well, maybe he could allow himself some time to relax. He'd been worrying and fretting all day. That couldn't be good for his health. Still, there was something trustworthy about Tajir, and the horse's assurances did a lot to ease his mind.

The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that Applejack was in good hands.





The hands were insistent, but not rough, working with a precision and efficiency that told her this wasn't the first time they'd done this. Applejack writhed, trying fruitlessly to avoid their touch, but they persisted, their calloused fingers and coarse palms travelling up and down her body methodically. They'd given a warning to her when she kicked out at them, not enough to do any harm, just enough to discourage them getting closer, but then they'd pointed at a ball and chain against a rack, and she'd forced herself to stay still, glowering at them as they'd resumed their attentive touching.

They started with her legs, lifting her hooves up so that they could wash her down with a damp cloth, followed by a hasty rub with a towel to remove any dirt and the moisture. They followed the grooves of her frog, delving into the crevices and making sure to be thorough. She winced and wiggled, but gritted her teeth and endured it, allowing them to give her something not dissimilar to a pedicure that Rarity tried to make her get in the spa back in Ponyville, though she doubted the fashionista would approve of this technique. They moved upwards, cleaning her pasterns and rubbing in circles up her calves and over her shins, past her knees and up her thighs. Despite the dubious nature of the situation, the experience wasn't wholly unpleasant; she couldn't remember anypony ever being this attentive with her, and she found herself alternating between pulling away and relaxing at the inviting touch.

Bare hands followed the wet and dry rags, slathered in something warm, thin, and slick. Applejack had heared of oil being used by masseurs - she'd spent enough time around Rarity to have heard about just about every possible style and technique of body care - but she'd never seen or experienced it herself. The oil didn't seem to drip or dribble, or run in droplets down her skin, nor did it pool and coagulate in her coat. Instead, it seemed to become another layer of her, seeping into her fur and resting weightlessly on her skin, the gentle heat and subtle slickness all that remained after the hands smoothed and rubbed it in, spreading it evenly over her body. She watched as the horse responsible for applying the fluid dipped his hands into a ceramic bowl and collected a helping of the liquid, never needing more than what stuck to his palms to cover entire segments of her limbs.

The effect was delayed, and Applejack barely noticed it at first. The warmth that accompanied the oil she had assumed was just the difference in air temperature, given that the cellar or basement or wherever they were was shielded from the sun and the walls and ceiling were solid, heavy stone. As the warmth spread, rising in temperature, she wondered if it was a muscle lotion, the sort she and Mac had used at home to deal with strains and mild injuries. It certainly had the same relaxing feeling to it, the comfort that such a targeted remedy would bring to a weary body, but this was more encompassing, and didn't diffuse as it filled more and more of her. It crept deeper into her body, a wave of relaxation and calm passing through skin and flesh and muscle and filling her with a delightful giddiness. Where he touched, a path of bliss followed, the coarse hands passing over iron-clad legs and reducing them to limp, loose noodles.

There was something else, too, something that the mare didn't notice until the oil had been applied up to her hips. Beyond the weightlessness it brought, her affected areas buzzed and tingled, the air around her seeming to hum, while the areas left unaffected felt unsually dulled. She barely reacted to horse rubbing at her abdomen, the pressure of the washcloth and towel hardly registering even as her toned six pack was polished neatly, while every shift in the air near her legs felt like a gust, tickling her coat and brushing against her skin like a warm summer breeze. When the workers moved or changed angles, she felt it, the subtle displacement of the air heightened into a directed airflow that teased her sensitive skin.

When she realised it, the change was obvious; the cloths had felt feather-light across her abs, even as they were insistently pressed against her iron belly, but the slathered hands danced over the bumps cleanly and fluidly, and left her shivering not with cold, but pent-up enjoyment. The heat and the sensitivity, juxtaposed against the serenity and absence of tension, left her roiling with energy she couldn't get rid of, and so she trembled just a little bit, fighting back the sighs she so desperately wanted to utter. It got harder as they moved up her sides and back, the muscles which carried years of taut stress and unrelenting work loosening at the unspoken command of the horse palming her. She shook her head in resistance as her muzzle was brushed and dabbed, growling at the unwanted touch, but she couldn't find the resolve to pull away from the oiled hands as they gently pinched her cheeks and delicately ran up her throat and around the back of her neck, working to cover as much of her as possible.

She was going slack in her chains long before they reached her face, the impact of the oil leaving her head flagging. The sweet fragrance floated to her nose, lingering as the hands ran over her forehead and the upside of her muzzle, the warmth it carried floating down into her lungs. It wasn't harder to breathe, but it was that much more intense, and now her entire body was rising to this heightened level of perception, feeling every twitch that ran through her muscles, every rub of her body against itself or something against her, and every ripple through the air in the room. She wobbled in her chains, her head swaying as her mind struggled to process the vividity of what she was experiencing. She'd felt adrenaline before, and she'd been sedated before, but this was a bizzare amalgamation of the two, leaving her confused and disoriented. She was roaring with energy and power, but at a loss for what to do. Her body was riled and powerful, but her mind was unwilling to take any course of action. She was antsy and impatient, but comfortable and content.

"Wh-what's happening?" she murmured, her breaths deepening. "What are y'all doin' to me?" They didn't answer, and she looked up at one of them as they stood back to watch on, the worker doing the oiling running his slick hands through her tail. "Ain't this gonna affect y'all too? Ain't y'all gonna be stumblin' and wobblin'?"

"Not us," the horse in front of her stated. He seemed to be the leader, or at least spoke enough Ponish to take the lead on these sorts of things. "Strong. Powerful. We not affect. You, you not strong. You weak. You affect. It correct you, make you useful."

The words swirled around Applejack's head, refusing to form into anything coherent. She winced, the strain of focusing bashing into her instincts to stop. It wasn't a physical hurt, but it was far more insurmountable than any pull or strain she'd ever experienced, and she stopped trying to make it make sense. She focused on her breathing instead, controlling her ins and outs as the stallion moved from her tail to her dock, and then down to her sculpted buttocks, mercifully passing over the cotton of her boyshorts. She didn't wiggle this time, clenching only slightly as he passed over her mons and through her crevice, a strangely professional ethos to his movements as he unabashedly but clinically travelled up and down her loins, leaving no part of her free from his oily application. Her underwear, although a barrier to his direct touch, was no defence against the oil, and it seeped through with ease, the effects following shortly after.

Applejack didn't see him move, but she felt the absence of his hands when he pulled away, and felt them attach to her chest. She grunted and opened her eyes, only realising at that moment she'd been clenching them shut, and gazed down at her slumped body, her breasts in the hands of a stallion she hadn't even had a full conversation with. He cupped them carefully, sliding up and down their slickening surface and through her cleavage, and grasped them to rub in the oil through her bra as it rapidly took effect. She knew the horses were done with her, at least for this stage of their disgusting game, when they stepped back to admire their work.

The orange mare had never really been vain, at least not in the same way as Rarity was. She'd acknowledged her body and its strengths, and even boasted a little to rile up competitors, but she'd never felt the need to stop and admire herself or stare in awe and facsination. Now, as the horses unclipped her bra to caress her back and chest more thoroughly, she did; she watched as her brown, thumb-wide nipples stiffened and protruded an inch from her mounds, proudly capping her c-cups like a cherry on a cupcake. They were big, she realised, more self-aware and conscious of her body than she'd ever been in her life. She didn't dislike it - she admired her natural exceptions, a swell of satisfaction passing through her as her features came to prominence, exposed and highlighted for others to admire. They should admire her, after what they'd put her through! If they wanted to see what she had, they'd best well admit she had the body of a pony who didn't deserve to have it hidden away.

She felt the horses moving around her, but she didn't really register it as anything more than movement before they cut the straps of her bra with a firm snap and threw the ruined garment to the floor, then reached out and grabbed a handful of breast, squeezing experimentally and pulling a hissed groan from her. The one groping her laughed, calling the other over to join in. She assumed he had, at least, since that's what happened; the other came and grabbed her free tit, clenching more tightly so that his fingertips sank into her boobflesh, evoking a yelp from her at the roughness. They laughed again, expressing what sounded like approval at her reaction, ignoring her as she pulled at the chains, wanting to rub at the spot where he'd gripped her like he owned her. Oddly, the moment of discomfort passed, transforming into a dull pleasure that rested in her bosom, a reminder of what he'd done. It felt good, transfusing her with a subtle joy that gnawed at her, leaving her wanting more, like an ignorable itch that just wouldn't go away, keeping her tempted to return to deal with it without forcing her hand.

She wasn't given much opportunity to mull through her thoughts as her molesters continued trying out their latest creation, toying with her bust in whichever way they felt appropriate. They pushed her swells together, they lifted and dropped the two jiggling weights, they applied pressure to various parts of her squeezable bosom, and through it all, she was yanked from the unfocused thoughts of her swirling, hazy mind to huff and moan, grunting as quietly as she could. The pinch of her buds was what made her squeal and throw back her head, her cuffs rattling and clanking as she tugged urgently at them. Predictably, they continued, pincering her thick nips between their forefingers and thumbs and squeezing in bursts, forcing a feral melody from the female. The spikes of pleasure were too much, bordering on uncomfortable sometimes, but whenever she thought they were going to cross the line, she found herself not caring, and the discomfort fell away, leaving only need and ecstasy in its place. She writhed, the sensations coursing through her body as they tugged at her jutting anatomy too much to endure stoically, as much as she tried. She didn't know if she wanted to try, but she knew she couldn't hope to resist groaning and grunting as they manhandled her so roughly. Was it roughly? Suddenly that didn't seem right; she didn't feel like this was excessive, but like she was feeling something new and unexpected, but she couldn't explain why she felt that. A twist of one of her nubs banished the thought from her brain entirely.

After it had reached a certain point, the rising tension in her loins was impossible to not notice. At first, the bubbling boil had blended in to the general lovliness that had become her body's default, and the tightness slowly pulling inwards had been indistinguishable from the buzz that hummed through her limbs and core. As it exceeded the heat and the pressure surrounding it, her orgasm built into something unmistakable, and a pang of delighted dread ran through her. Shame struck her like a train, but it was beaten back by the primal and aggressive parts of her instinct telling her, demanding from her, that she go through with it, enhance it as much as she could. She clenched, straining against the chains, her calves bulging as her body tensed, her stomach creasing as the indomitable swell rose and rose, surging forward like a tsunami towards shore, until it was towering over her.

And then it crashed.

She screamed. Loud. Her limbs shot out sharply, rigid, before she flailed, thrashing as she was swept along by the powerful, gushing wave. The scorching heat that had grown inside her roared through her body, burning her with a searing delight that she didn't know existed, and she soared to a height she'd never even nearly approached in her solo excursions into carnal satisfaction. She was helpless, left at the mercy of euphoria brought about by something that never should've set her off, threatening to launch her into a void where she'd be lost forever. Her mind raced, awed as it was battered and beaten, tossed around as her body was slammed with hit after hit of endorphins and her nerves fired in a panicked staccato. She was lost; she didn't know where she was, and she didn't know if she cared. There was only the rapturous pleasure and her recognition of just how unprecedented this ride was.

Her climax shuddered to a gradual halt, her body juttering as it wrung the last of her overload from her. She clenched around nothing, her muscles squeezing and tightening in confusion, unsure of what to do. Parts of her were tense again, locked into rigidity from how hard they'd clamped down, driven by her subconcious and her desperate attempts to exert some level of control over her predicament.

"Good, very good," one of her tormenters spoke, his thickly accented tone dripping with sneering, perverse approval. "It work. You soon be good mare." His arms moved, palms trailing down her front and leaving a gentle electric trail that tingled along the path of his touch. When his fingers turned down, slid past the waistband of her boyshorts, and crept between her legs, she shuddered, the tingle amping up to a thrumming current.

"N-no," she whimpered, turning her hips in a futile effort to stop him. "G-get off me." He muttered something that sounded disrespectful, disregarding her objection as he traced his fingertips around the teardrop of her vulva, her thick rubbery lips slick with more than just the oil. His fingers pressed lightly against her engorged labia, but it felt like a red-hot brand to the mare, her nerves sparking and pleasure flowing through her groin. She groaned and wiggled, but he followed her movements expertly, adjusting and accounting for her attempts to disrupt him, continuing to trace her path until the mounting pleasure became too much and she slumped, allowing him to move freely between her thighs.

He must've taken that as a sign, because his fingers moved swiftly and easily past her entrance and into her depths. As easy as it was with how wet and yawning she was, the graze of his digits against her vulnerable, expose walls felt like an explosion of ecastsy to her, and she clenched down, clamping her legs tight against the intrusion. Like before, he ignored her, swivelling his fingers to brush at the velvety flesh to which he had easy and ready access. She huffed, panting at the waves and throbs he evoked, unable to do anything to stop or slow him. Even squeezing down just made the sensations more severe, compressing his digits into tight confines from which the slightest movement had even more effect. Soon, she was contracting without meaning to, her body reacting to the unsolicited stimulation.

The bubbling, roiling tension built inside her again, unmistakble the second time around. That didn't make it any less intense when the dam broke, her entire body quaking as electricity arced through her, her muscles clenching and unclenching urgently. She screamed again, shouting gutturally to no one as she was swept along in a roaring wave, loving and hating every second of it. The presence of his fingers inside her seemed to intensify, becoming more defined as she contracted around him in a vain attempt to wring him dry.

She'd barely come down from her high before the second horse reached in from behind and grasped her breasts, kneading them purposefully. Her objections, both mentally and vocally, were quieter, reduced in their insistence and demand. She didn't know if she didn't have the strength or if she was growing used to their assertive treatment of her, but it didn't matter. Her arms felt less responsive even though she knew she had a full range of movement with them, less able to yank on the chains above her, and their tactile torture felt less abusive than it had. Even her stomach, taut and tight with the effort of reacting to their pleasuring, felt more relaxed and supple.

The pressure in her head returned as she tried to think about what it all meant, and ceased as soon as she sank back into the comfort of the stallions' manhandling. She groaned in despair, and reluctant joy, at the realisation that this wasn't stopping any time soon. She'd be here for a long time, made to endure exuberance she hadn't asked for. Most of her wondered when it would end, but a growing part of her revelled in how good it felt, and it felt very, very good. She gritted her teeth, fighting back the unwilling moans that threatened to force themselves from her mouth as the stallions began explore her body again, inside and out. She still tried to resist, tried to pull herself back from the pleasure to assert control over herself, but it was a losing battle.

She was - nearly - having a good time.





Mac was having a very good time.

The negotiations had been a lot easier than he'd imagined, though whether through his underestimated ability or the good rapport he'd built with Tajir, he couldn't say. The horse was anything but a pushover, but the red stallion hadn't found the discussions or terms to be unreasonable or opportunistic. They'd been brought water by the same servant who'd carried Mac's luggage to his room, and the talks had opened with the basic and good faith positing of what they wanted. It was almost like two friends talking about what they wanted to have for lunch and where they should go, and the pony found himself able to find common ground very easily. In the end, it had taken an hour, or just over, and with a shake of hands and a few signatures, their business had been concluded.

What followed was a rush of activity as the horse commanded his household prepare for a night of festivities, barking orders at servants and maids, directing them to clean and collect, to write to others and to bring food and drink and other necessities. Mac was given an opportunity to wash and clean and change into more casual clothes, and he did so, refusing the offer of help from servants. He did take them up on the offer to wear a Saddle Arabian garment, however, deciding he ought to fit in. It was loose and smart, and as foreign as it felt, it seemed far more asthetically in line with his host and the environment than the stiff business suit had been.

It was barely evening before he was sat at a low, room-length table, resting on a cushion and exchanging friendly chatter with Tajir and his invited guests. Tajir translated back and forth, and to his surprise, Mac found the experience easier and more enjoyable than he would've expected. The others were friendly, welcoming, and impressed by the pony's attitude towards their culture and norms. They offered him thanks and well-wishes, and spoke his praises to Tajir, who agreed. Mac was thankful for his red coat to hide his blush at their compliments.

"Truly, you are a unique stallion," Tajir insisted, biting into a date. "I did not expect your offer to be so generous."

"It ain't nothin'," Mac assured, nibbling at a vegetable he couldn't identify. It tasted different, but the new flavour intrigued him, and it did a lot to fill his hunger. "Ah wasn't wasn't raised to be greedy, an' with all the work you're doin' to make this work, it's the least ah can do."

"60% of the profits of this venture is still a steep gift," the horse reminded him.

"60% in exchange for a monopoly on apple, corn, an' grape sales into Saddle Arabia," Mac pointed out. "No tarrifs, no restrictions, no questions. Ain't exactly an unfair trade. And 'sides, it's more than enough for..." He trailed off, clearing his throat and continuing to eat.

"More than enough for what?" Tajir asked after a brief silence, gazing at him curiously. The pony remained quiet for a few seconds before he answered.

"Our farm has a lot of produce, but it ain't the most profitable in the world," the earth pony admitted. "Half the time, we're bogged down in disasters, extra costs, long supply routes, an' minimal staff. It's a family business, so we don't really have outside help. Our grandparents founded the farm, an' then our parents, but ever since they passed, it's been up to us to keep things runnin'. It ain't been easy. We've had to ask for loans on a few occasions, and each season we have to try an' chip away at the mountin' debts. This deal's enough to clear all of that away, on the first payment."

"I see," the horse replied, mulling the stallion's words. "A stallion in your position may well have turned bitter, resentful, and spiteful. Some may have tried to demand more of a cut, considering a balancing of the universe after so long under the thumb of fate. Yet you remain generous and thoughtful. Truly, you are an inspiration to us all."

"Just helpin' my family," the pony answered. "It's what a stallion's gotta do, right?"

"Indeed, indeed," Tajir agreed. "I believe you've mentioned that you are the only stallion left in your family, yes? You have two sisters to care for, a business to run, and all the manual labour to attend. Your life is hectic and demanding, but with this deal, perhaps you will be given a chance to give yourself some time and space for more personal matters."

"Personal matters?" the red stallion asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Perosnal matters," the horse repeated, sweeping a hand at the room around them. "Experiencing life, the fruits of your labours. You may wish to build a bigger home, to decorate it lavishly. You may wish to build a circle of friends, or climb the social ladder. You may wish to see your business expand to dominate your home kingdom. Or maybe you wish for a large family, a faithful and obedient mare and many, many strong children. Whatever it is, I hope you pursue and succeed at your endeavour, as noble as it undoutedly will be."

The red pony was about to answer when one of the serving girls placed a bowl of salad in front of them, picking up an empty plate to make room for the new addition. A second brought over an amphora of some fruity drink to fill their cups, doing so quickly and efficiently before stepping back and continuing to attend to the other guests in the room. Their presence had been a constant since the beginning of the gathering, all of them female and all of them silent and precise in their designated tasks. He'd initially been surprised at the sight, particularly the translucent cloths and cuts of silk that formed their uniform, if the skimpy garments could be called such, but had taken it in stride when the other attendants simply ignored them as they sat down. Over the course of the gathering, though, some of the guests had began snapping their fingers to gather the attention of the serving girls, and had been barking commands, and the mention of an obedient mare by Tajir stuck in his mind.

"Can ah ask a question?"

"Of course, my friend. Ask anything your heart wills."

"These...girls," he began, glancing at the wandering females. "Ah can't help but notice that they're not exactly covered."

"They have covered what needs to be covered," Tajir commented with a chuckle. "There is something pleasing about a denial of sense, no? To see a naked mare is enjoyable, but one with enough held back from plain sight is tantalising. There is a careful balance to strike. Do you find these females to be too exposed for such an effect?"

"No, no, not at all," Mac explained. "It's just that in the streets, mares were expected to stay entirely covered, an' my sister got in trouble for showin' her legs. Why are they dressed like this for us? Ah thought it was dishonourable."

"In public, certainly," Tajir acknowledged. "A mare who cannot remain modest is a mare who is not pure in mind or spirit. Such mares are a danger to a stable society. However, in private, among friends, there is little reason to hold a mare to such standards."

An image of the female household servants wearing headwraps entered his mind, but he bit his tongue and insteaded nodded. "Ah understand, but when we stepped off the train, there were girls there too, dressed like these ones here. That was in public." He glanced at the nearest serving girl, eyeing her skimpy outfit and the outlines of her bare body beneath. There was a loose-hanging silk cloth covering her pelvis, and he didn't want to guess whether there was anything beneath. A bitless bridle was secured around her muzzle, the same band he'd seen on the ladies that Tajir had ushered away from the train station earlier that day, and a quick check confirmed that every one of the scantily-glad women here bore functionally identical fastenings.

"Ah, yes," the horse replied, shifting uncomfortably on his cushion. "There are some exceptions. Those ladies were under my employ, and so there is a permission granted for them to be out in public as such. Normally, we would not permit such a thing, but their lijam marks them as subordinates to someone such as myself. It is a...how would you say it? Occupational permission."

"Their bridles?" Mac guessed. "They wear 'em as a mark of employment?"

"In a manner of speaking," the Saddle Arabian confirmed. "A mare who wears it reveals to others that she is harmless, and so there is no reason to berate them should they act contrary to our customs."

"How does it show that they're harmless?"

"The course undertaken to acquire that harness is vigourous and thorough. A female who wears one is a female who has been approved for such a service, and is trustworthy in carrying out this act. The lord of chaos himself was reformed by your heroes, and now serves as a trusted friend to the crown, does he not? There must have been a good reason, and firm standards, before he was allowed to be released from his stone imprisonment and released freely into Equestria."

"But how do they feel 'bout all this? Did they know what they were signin' up for when they were offered?"

There was a moment of silence as Tajir regarded the pony, his lips moving slightly as he pondered. After a few seconds, he nodded, and snapped his fingers three times. Immediately, one of the servants, a hippogriff, strode over, hurrying to the horse's position at the table.

"Yes, master?" she asked, bowing her head and smiling at him. "How may I serve you?"

"Our dear guest has a question for you," Tajir explained, turning to Mac. "Ask whatsoever you please."

The red stallion was put on the spot, not expecting to be able to talk to the ladies about their situation. He hesitated, words swirling in his head as both of their gazes turned to him, the attention burning at him as he sat and floundered momentarily.

"Uh, hi," he began, awkwardly. She smiled sweetly at him and nodded. "Ah was just wonderin'...how do y'all feel about your bridles? Are they comfortable? Do you mind wearin' 'em?"

"Oh, it's an honour!" she answered brightly, her response immediate. "I'm thankful that I was entrusted with it, and I wake up every day greatful for the opportunity to live such a blessed life! Whenever I walk around, stallions and mares alike recognise what I am, and I feel so warm and happy for it! I thought I was happy before, but this is even better! It's exuberance!"

"An' the way you're treated is-?"

"Amazing," she explained, jumping in the second his sentence began to slow. "Everycreature is just so engaging and welcoming, and they're all eager to see me, all the time. Before, I was just some griff, but now, I have the chance to make so many strong stallions happy, just by catering to their basic needs!" She let out a cute giggle, and the stallion felt his concerns abate just a little.

"All because you're wearin' that bridle?" he asked, receiving a nod of affirmation. "And what would happen if you took it off?"

There was a stunned silence, as if he'd asked her to do something unthinkable and unfathomable. Her smile twitched, faltering. She remained still, and Mac could see as well as feel the dread taking hold of her. Her joy flatlined, and in an instant, the excitable, boisterous woman he'd been talking to had been replaced by someone nervous and very, very anxious, the upbeat energy replaced with something colder and darker.

"M-my bridle?" She gripped the bowl she was holding more tightly. "Y-you want me t-to...take it off?"

"Ah was just curious," he explained, wincing at whatever faux-pas he'd just committed. "You look like you're bein' treated as a servant, but ah wanted to know if you ever got time to just be yourself. Can you do that?"

There was another silence, and she looked around the room in a panic, the other serving girls looking tense as they carried on with their tasks. Some stared in horror, while the others fornlornly continued with their duties, setting down food and drink or carrying away empty containers.

"I-I..." Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes, and her breathing picked up noticabely. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! P-please tell me what I've done wrong!" It was obvious she was trying to stay professional, but she couldn't stop the sobs from wracking her body. "I'll give up food for the next week if it'll make up for whatever I've done, b-but please let me keep my bridle!"

"No, no, it's okay!" Mac hushed, panic beginning to fill him too. "Ah don't want you to remove your bridle! Ah was just curious, was all! Keep it on!" She didn't stop hyperventilating, but nodded frantically, and shifted from hoof to hoof, glancing at Tajir. He nodded at her and waved her away, to which she bowed and skittered to another guest, trying desperately to fall back into a rhythm with her work. Mac was shocked, and stared at her long after she left their presence.

"As you can see," the horse spoke up, seeming indifferent to what had happened. "They don't remove it. They can't. They've been trained far too well, and there is no risk of their abuse of such authority. Such females cannot do harm to a society when they are so well attuned to what is best for it, and so they are afforded more liberty in how they may dress and act."

"Doesn't seem like there's much liberty," Mac mused, wondering if he was towing a line.

"As much as they are able to be afforded," Tajir agreed. "The standards we have exist for a reason, after all, and we cannot abandon it entirely. A female well-trained is a female who has use and purpose. You see, in my culture, we believe that everyone has value and duty within them. For stallions, it is to lead and be strong, to do what must be done for the good of those around us. We fight, we conduct trade, we carry out the hard work that must be done. Architecture, sculpting, governing, farming. Males are strong, and fit for such a purpose." He nodded at the red stallion, noting the pony's physical prowess. "If they neglect this duty, it is a disgrace, and they must be punished. Similarly, a female who rejects their duties must be guided back onto a righteous path. If they cannot, then perhaps their path is destined to be different."

"An' what duties does a mare have?" Mac asked, half disgusted, half intrigued.

"Child bearing, cooking, cleaning, among many others," the horse answered readily. "They have wisdom that many do not appreciate, and it is not best to interfere with the natural wisdom they possess. Not all carry such wisdom, however. While some are paragons, exemplars of all a female should be, some are rebellious, they display contempt for greatness and all that should be." Seeing Mac's frown, he smiled knowingly. "Do not think this is the sign of an ignorant stallion, mister MacIntosh. Males, too, are not all destined for greatness. Some are thugs, and are fit only for roles befitting violence. Some are great orators, and speak well before the public. And some, such as myself, are savvy and have a penchant for patterns and opportunities. We all have a place, and we must all embrace it."

"Ah don't know if that's entirely fair," the pony interjected. "Ah'm not a great negotiator or orator, but ah've negotiated a deal with you. We make our own path."

"Do we?" the horse asked. He didn't seem offended, but intrigued by the conversation. "I have an appreciation for langauges and merchantry, but I have no capability whatsoever for hard manual labour. That is not my calling, while it appears certainly to be yours. You have enough strength to fight everyone in this room and win. If, however, you tried to create a work of art to be displayed before our reining sultan, do you believe you would succeed in winning his pleasure, or his ire? I would have no more chance of farming your land than you would of conducting the affairs of any other stallion. That is not a statement of shame or belittlement, but it is important you understand. Our paths are set out before us, and our choice is whether we embrace it or selfishly rebel, denying all others our contributions to the world. That is the mark of a great stallion or mare." He glanced at the serving girls as he spoke his last words. "Or the brand of an impetuous one."

The pony shifted awkwardly, watching as the other stallions around the table leered at the serving girls. One of them swatted at the ass of a passing mare, causing her to squeak and leaving her scurrying away as the stallions laughed. Mac bit his tongue, feeling a growl ascend in his throat, but when the girl turned around to look back at the stallions, she was giggling, a red flush on her face as she tried to resume her work. A few moments later, she walked back past the stallion who'd spanked her, slowing down and hovering nearby until he did it again, a broad smile on her face as he did. Mac didn't know what to make of that, and his certainty took a hit.

"It doesn't seem proportionate," he posited at last. "Trainin' mares to be frightened servants just so they have the opportunity to dress in more revealin' clothing."

"Your language has an idiom, I believe; the proof of the pudding is in the eating. Look around you, mister MacIntosh. Our kingdom has little crime, and much prosperity. The citizens here welcome you with open arms, and we have much to trade. Our sultan has not be ousted in over a millennium, and there is no enemy at our gates. We do not imprison our enemies in stone, but set them on the right path and integrate them into our society. Those who wish to deviate from our moral norms must be tested to show that they can be trusted with such a dangerous profession, and they always perform admirably and with the good of the kingdom in mind. Does this sound like a society which has done the wrong thing?"

"Ah...suppose it isn't without merit," the red stallion reluctantly admitted.

"Precisely," Tajir noted. "There is merit to our ways, as I am sure there is merit to yours. Your kingdom is famed for its friendship and great achievements, and we find your people to be amicable. I do not ask you to agree fully with us, but merely to understand that we have our ways and our reasons. You are a reasonable man, mister MacIntosh, which is why you are sat here today, enjoying our food, and your sister is not. Had the situation been reversed, your positions would've been, too. We are not unreasonable, we just have certain standards. I appreciate that you follow those standards, even if you find them at odds with your own."

"A little," Mac confessed. "But...well, like you said, there's merit to your ways. Ah don't like the ways the ladies are treated here, but...well, it's sorta like a mirror to Equestria."

"How so?"

"We don't have training programmes for disobedient mares or stallions, but we have some harsh punishments for anypony who does anythin' wrong. We don't shout at ponies for dressin' up wrong, but there are limits on what we can do. There's celebrations exclusively for mares, an' the only way a stallion can become a prince is by marryin' a princess. Ain't no real opportunity, unless you know ponies who know ponies. The EUP Guard are almost entirely stallions, and there's no real support for 'em. Ah guess we just view stallions as havin' a role to play, an' carin' little about what that means for 'em. Ah think we've convinced ourselves that, because we don't have a centralised dress code or strict laws against certain things, we're somehow better an' without flaws." His mind flashed back to his sister's earlier words about the need for mares to be in charge to control the impulses of stallions, and he grimaced.

"I am sorry to hear," the horse consoled. "I shall avoid judgement, as you have for my customs. But, while you are here, you may indulge in some customs that are perhaps more favourable towards you, yes? If I may ask something rather personal, do you have a romantic relationship with a mare?"

"Nope," Mac answered. "Ah did, but we broke up. We realised our lives weren't movin' in the same direction, an', well, we decided to end it."

"As sorry as I am to hear that, it does mean you're available, and you're in luck. Normally, I don't have this many servants, but I was lucky enough to be able to hire some additional females on short notice from a very reliable friend." Tajir turned to the room. "Tell me, what do you think of the lovely ladies present? Does any in particular catch your eye?"

The pony wondered if he should eye up the servers and select one like some immature colt. Even with the explanation of his host and the permission implicitly received, if his earlier obversations meant anything, it felt perverse to deliberately ogle what amounted to catering staff for his own satisfaction. He didn't believe that them wearing skimpy outfits was in itself an invitation to objectification, and he was hesitant to jump right into staring at the ladies who were innocently doing their jobs. He picked up some more food - a style of bread he hadn't come across before, and a smooth dip made from chickpeas - and ate to buy himself some time, looking around sightlessly.

"More drink, sirs?" a voice asked, pulling Mac from his reverie. Glancing up, he was greeted by the smiling face of what he initially thought was a pony, until he recognised the black and white stripes which adorned her coat. Not a pony - a zebra, like Zecora from back home. She looked young, definitely not long past twenty, and despite baring the brightly coloured bridle that marked each servant in the room, she appeared upbeat and genuinely happy to be there. He'd gained a sense of when a mare was truly happy from Pinkie's antics, and this zebra exuded it.

A few seconds passed before he realised he'd been staring, and uttered a hasty, "Eeyup." Her smile widened, and she poured him a new drink, the pony watching as she tipped the container up and skillfully topped up his cup. She was slender and feminine, not unlike Apple Bloom, but with far less tone to her muscles, and her size and shape generally felt familiar to him in a comforting sort of way. Her mane was tied into braids, each one seperated into a single white or black collation which flowed over her shoulders and decorated her in a way he couldn't describe other than exotic. Her task done, she nodded politely at him and turned to leave, dutifully carrying on with her job.

"Something slightly familiar?" Tajir suggested, taking a sip from his freshly filled cup. Mac jerked his head to the side, the comment catching him off-guard. It sounded accusing, but not in a hostile way, and the stallion recognised the feeling as the same as when he was caught trying to take cookies from a jar in the kitchen as a colt. As he did back then, he swallowed and averted his gaze.

"Er, maybe," he coughed. "She's...pretty."

"Very," the horse agreed. "What she does with her mane is something I believe only she could succeed in making look good. It is very appealing, asthetically. She does not carry most endowed bust of any female, but perhaps your attention rests on other parts of a woman?" He laughed when Mac blushed, the red stallion chuckling nervously. "There is no need to be ashamed, mister MacIntosh. I consider you to be a close associate, and with whom can you discuss these matters if not your associates and acquaintances? You live among mares most of the time, yes? Well, now you are among stallions, and you may grant yourself the luxury of acting accordingly."

The horse's words gave Mac pause, and he found himself genuinely trying to find reasons why he shouldn't engage in this sort of discussion with the slender stallion. He still felt awkward about it, but his rational met no real resistance as he reached the conclusion that his host was correct. Despite his mild misgivings, he cast his eyes over to the zebra, watching her as she worked. Tajir was right; her bosom was on the smaller side, a pair of perky a-cups or perhaps b-cups, but they were suited for her, neither sagging nor blooming from her chest obscenely, like some of the more narcissistic and ostentatious models in Equestria. They were well shaped and fit her body, and were emphasised by the two jutting points standing proudly through the fabric of her chest-covering. Like her chest, her derriere was slim and toned, the sort he'd expect to see on an athletic sprinter, packing just enough to not leave her lacking, but keeping her areodynamic and lightweight.

"Ah like her," Mac admitted, the confession leaving him feeling lighter, like a weight had been lifted from his chest. It was a tentative first step, but after taking it, he felt his confidence grow. Being open and honest felt good among other stallions. "She's got a good figure, an' she ain't the bustiest, but it suits her."

"I could not agree more," Tajir toasted, a pleased smile stretching wider over his muzzle. He sipped his drink and gestured around again. "Anyone else? Perhaps you have an eye for ponies? There is a mare here you might appreciate." After a quick look, he pointed out the girl in question, who Mac observed for a few minutes.

"She's nice, ah'm sure, but she isn't..." He paused, considering his words. "She's lackin' the sort of thing ah'm lookin' for."

"Undersandable. How about...her?"

"Nope."

The red stallion appraised each of the females in the room in turn, feeling less and less guilty with every passing second. He was having fun, expressing his inner thoughts with a pony who didn't judge him for it, and actively encouraged and shared in the activity. Slowly, his shyness abated, and he discovered that there didn't seem to be much wrong in eyeing up prospective partners, or even just attractive females. Why had he felt so awkward about it all this time?

He was honest with Tajir about his thoughts, pointing out the ones which were too tall or too short, the features on each of them he appreciated most. The horse nodded sagely and spoke his own opinion, the pair smirking as they assessed what else was on display. Mac considered the hippogriff who'd been called to them earlier, but outside of pitying her and wanting her to be kept safe and out of trouble, he found he wasn't especially attracted to her. She was physically fine, but there wasn't that significat individuality which made her stand out, and he moved on to another serving girl.

The griffon was the first one to catch his eye in the same way the zebra had. At first, he balked, doing a double-take to see if it was someone he recognised. She was arctic bluish grey, her wings darker than her coat, and her eyes were a shimmering teal that gleamed and shone, drawing his full attention. His mind scrambled as he tried to figure out if this was the same griffon he knew, but the more he looked, the more it became apparent it wasn't Gabby. He'd spent enough time around Spike and his doting, affectionate girlfriend to know how she acted, as well as the white of her throat, which this griffon lacked. With the startling sight cleared up, his gaze moved down to the female's bust, visually caressing her sizable swells as she moved from guest to guest, cheerfully offering them food. He received a good view of her posterior, which was far larger than the zebra's and perfect for her frame, which carried a healthy amount of padding. She looked soft in all the right places, without any excess that looked saggy or out of place.

"That one," he murmured, nodding at her. "She's the sorta girl ah'm not afraid to say ah like."

"A spectacular catch, and a refined taste," Tajir complimented, nodding along approvingly, taking his own chance to eye up the grifonness. "You have a fine eye, Mac. May I call you Mac?"

"Eeyup," the red stallion answered, unable to hold back a giddy grin at the casual use of his name. "As long as you don't mind me callin' you Tajir."

"I think I would like that," the horse agreed, chuckling and raising a glass. "To fine food, fine drink, and fine women - the basis of all fine friendships!" They laughed and drank, and fell into hearty conversation, the red pony gorging more readily on the food laid out for him. It was new and strange, and it was delicious. The more time he spent in this land, the more comfortable he became. He indulged, the new experiences seeming ever more inviting as the emerged.





"Ga-ah!" Applejack cried, grunting as she climaxed again, her mouth hanging open and her eyes rolling back. She'd lost count of how many times she'd been driven to ecstasy by the two persistent horses around the twentieth orgasm, their wandering hands touching her everywhere she could think, and places that had never occured to her. They never undressed, never took the time to sate their own desires, instead keeping her in a constant cycle of rise and fall, her peak arriving and leaving her mentally splayed before they dragged her back into the throes of pleasure. It wasn't romantic at all; they'd held her face up, clutching her muzzle and forcing her to look into their eyes as they stroked at her engorged anatomy, keeping a steady gaze as she squealed and shook as they wrung another quaking climax, but they never attempted to kiss her.

They were so generous.

It must've been hours, but they'd only ever tended to her needs. They'd made her feel so good, foregoing their own pleasure, and she felt the reluctance she once harboured being swept by the rising tide of attraction and want. She was stubborn, she saw that now. They'd only been trying to help her, and she'd been so rude and aggressive towards them, shouting and making a scene. What was happening to her now was only fair, and the stallions carrying out her punishment were doing so professionally and dutifully.

Even though her body had gone numb, wracked by the repetitive rushes of haphazardly firing nerves and synapses, a week's worth of dopamine dumped into her bloodstream over the course of her punishment, the sharpness that came from their gropes, strokes, squeezes, caresses, and rubs cut through the background buzz that had taken over her body. Their touch was as vivid and defined as it had been when they'd first started, and she happily gyrated against the palm held between her legs, urgently trying to feed her own pleasure. The stallion smiled at her gleefully as she gave in to her desires, unable to form thoughts beyond immediate, carnal notions of need and other lustful imperatives. She humped desperately until she came again, feeling another shift overcome her. It felt right, more and more of a burden she didn't know she was carrying leaving her with every mind-altering crash.

Everything felt better. She was exhausted, soaked in sweat, and her feminine excretions dribbled freely down her legs over fur that had become saturated and drenched in her previous produce, but it felt right. She was where she needed to be. Her belly felt smoother, less tense, and her body felt more rounded and soft to the touch. Had she been carrying tension all this time? Was that what this was? A flask touched her lips, and she instinctively suckled like a newborn, greedily gulping down water to rehydrate herself. She'd need it, if they planned to keep doing what they were already doing. When it was empty, they pulled it away, and  she beamed through her panting, gasping mouth, her lips curling into a smile even as she tried to drag in air.

This was good. This was right. She was glad she was here.
> Attunement
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A warm bath was the last thing Mac would've expected he'd want after a day of heat and pressure, but he suppose it made sense. Even in this part of the world, where the temperatures rose higher on a daily basis than he felt during the summer back home, ponies - or horses, he figured - would want to bathe and relax after a tiring day, and what better than a warm bath? Even if the days were hot, the nights were cool, and the construction of the building kept the air regulated nicely. As for the bath itself, well, that was a whole different matter.

He'd have called it a pool, but it had been introduced to him as a bath, and so he'd accepted it. It was large, easily big enough to fit five ponies, and was constructed out of a smooth white stone that made resting on the seat easy and enjoyable. The whole room was dedicated to the bath, with soft, fluffy towels resting atop stone benches and an assortment of soaps and shampoos adorning the wodden shelves along the walls. He didn't ask how it was heated, but the room was silent, save for the quiet lap of the water whenever he moved, and the echo of his own breathing. How much must this have cost? He didn't dare think about it, and even being here without the comforting distraction of a feast made him aware of just how out of place he was among these wealthy merchants. Still, that was the whole point; he was here to see if he couldn't bring some of that money home to his own family, and give them a taste of even a fraction of this sort of luxury. He wanted them to experience it, too.

Applejack ought to have been experiencing it. He frowned in spite of himself, his mind wandering to her again. She'd been gone all day, and while he wasn't going to accuse the Saddle Arabians of doing anything, he couldn't be sure that his sister's boisterous attitude wouldn't get her into even more trouble while she was locked up, if it hadn't got her into trouble already. He shifted in the water, his mind wandering to the possibilities. How would he know? Was it possible for him to find out? Maybe he should check with Tajir....

A soft rapping at the door broke his spell and brought his attention back to the bathroom. He glanced at the door, hesitating in how he should answer. When it came again, he called out uncertainly; "Uh, occupied...but, uh, come in, if ya want to use the bath, or..." He trailed off, even more uncertain than when he'd started the sentence. He didn't have long to stew in it, though, as the door clicked open and swung slowly inwards, giving him a view of the visitor. He blinked, not sure of what he expected, but certainly not the creature who stepped into the room.

"Good evening," the zebra greeted him, smiling pleasantly as she closed the door. "Did you enjoy the feast? It was a marvellous event, and I don't mean because I was there serving. Master Hisan usually has small gatherings of his close friends and associates, much smaller than the one tonight. Tonight was something truly spectacular, and it must have cost him a great deal of money to arrange, especially on such short notice. You must have really impressed him."

"Uh...th-thanks," Mac muttered, blindsided by her appearance in the room, and her compliments. "It was real nice of him, an' ah enjoyed myself." He paused for a second, his brain catching up to his mouth, and he awkwardly stumbled over himself to correct his faux pas. "A-an real nice of you too, ma'am.  Since y'all were servin' us, an' all." He smiled anxiously, his blush thankfully hidden by his coat. Her giggle was sweet, too, and he felt the heat in his face increase.

"Thank you," she cooed, her own cheeks dusting with a hint of red as she averted her eyes. "But it was my job, master, and I'm not expecting anyone to thank me for merely doing my job. It's my pleasure and my honour...but I'm so pleased you want to thank me anyway. Does that mean I did a spectacular job?"

"...y-yes, you did," he answered, unable to refuse that point. She had been attentive and eye-catching, which, according to Tajir, was at least part of the point of their presence. By that standard, he'd certainly been impressed.

"Thank you again," she bleated, fighting hard to contain her excitement. Her hooves clacked over the stone floor as she approached the shelves, reaching up to pick up some bottles. "I don't want to be presumptious, but do you mind if I bathe with you? I don't want to get in without asking, master."

Mac wasn't sure if he had an answer or not. His mouth opened as if to speak, but no words, or even sound, came out, and he gawked at her. His mind was blank, the concepts of yes and no eluding his every attempt to formulate them. Every time his judgement tipped one way or the other, and he began to approach the answer, it wisped away, and the process began again. The zebra continued to watch him patiently, managing to look at him without coming off as awkward or condescending, but didn't move a muscle to hurry his decision. In the end, he forced out a polite yes, and she smiled as she pulled at the belt of her robe. Of course she'd need to undress to get in, but the realisation struck Mac anew, and he averted his gaze out of instinct, but found himself unable to keep his head turned, or his eyes off her.

"I should introduce myself," the zebra continued, hanging the discarded robe on a hook on the wall. She was facing away from the pool, and the stallion's eyes raked up her toned back without any concious input from him. She was lithe and lean, and striped in a mesmerising black and white beauty, his vision following the patterns as they swirled around her thin body like an ornate layer of clothing. "My name is Zemballa."

"Ah'm MacIntosh Apple," the pony responded, his throat a tad drier than usual as he spoke. "Most ponies call me Big MacIntosh, or Big Mac if y'ain't feelin' wordy."

"And what should I call you?" she asked in return, turning to face him and stepping towards the room-spanning basin. Her hooves clacked as she stepped steadily towards him, gracefully closing the distance and carefully stepping into the water, easing herself in with slow, delicate motions. Placing the bottles on the side, she turned back to him again, submerged up to her torso.

"A-anythin' you want, miss," he replied, licking his lips awkwardly. He had a full view of her naked form, as immodest as anypony could hope to be, and it was clear he was far more fixated on that than she was. She didn't seem to pay any mind to his rampant, frantic visual wandering up and down her front, from her slim belly and taut legs to the bumps of her breasts, her bosom fairly unremarkable save for the twin nubs that capped each. Her nipples had stood even through the material of her work clothes - if they could be called clothes - and now that she was naked, they were magnetising; jet black and as thick as her pinkie finger, the two peaks bore small golden hoops which stood out against the darkness of her areola. She hadn't taken off her bridle, he noticed, the leather straps remaining stretched across her face in a strangely neat way.

"Anything?" she queried, dipping her shoulders beneath the water and reaching for one of the bottles, which appeared to be a fragrant body wash of some sort. "Does that mean I can call you Macky, or other words beginning with 'M'?" When he hesitated, she giggled softly, raising a hand to her muzzle. "Sorry, I'm just playing. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Mac answered, the girl's mannerisms intriguing him. She squirted some of the body wash into her palm and began applying it to her shoulders and neck, rubbing the fluid into a lather and massaging it into her coat.

"Would you mind doing my back, master MacIntosh?" she requested, extending the bottle to him. "I find it hard to reach, and since there are two of us, I was hoping you could help me."

"Uh, sure," the stallion agreed, his throat tightening at her words. Steeling himself, he stood up, crouching a little to keep his lower half underwater, the remnants of his inhibitions manifesting more strongly now he had to actually move. She didn't comment on what he was doing, passing the bottle to him wordlessly, her fingers brushing against his as he took it in his broad hands. He almost encapsulated the whole thing, a sight that didn't seem to go unnoticed by the zebra, whose gaze lingered for a moment before she turned around and continued rubbing circles across her trim body, sudding her front in deft, pacticed swipes and scrubs.

The stallion began with her shoulders, starting as safe as he could, and though he knew what he was doing, he still felt clumsy by comparison to her own smooth, easy movements. He didn't want to press down too hard, worrying about hurting her inadvertently. She was much smaller than him, over a foot shorter, and he felt the difference in their statures as he glided his palm up the back of her neck, capable of grabbing her like picking up a cat by the scruff if he just closed his fingers. His thumbs moved minutely, glacially, as he massaged her back and passed over her ribcage, the softness of her fur and skin magnified by the lushness of the bodywash. He wasn't sure how far she wanted him to go, so he went only so far as he could, dipping down to wash at her hips, but refraining from passing below her tail, and cutting off before he passed around her sides. She maneuvered herself to allow him to to scrub her, seeming to coordinate their movements well enough that it looked like a single dance, leaning left and right and forward and back, raising herself up so he could reach the parts of her below the waterline. She didn't need to ask where he was going, and she didn't need to change or alter her flow. She just knew how to move to make it work.

When he was done, and had pulled away, she smiled gratefully and turned around to face him, her coat awash with swipes of froth and riddled with bubbles like studs beset in her armour of lather. She stepped onto the bath's bench and brushed her soapy hands down her waist and legs, replenishing the delicate foam that had been lost to the water.

"Thank you," she sang, smiling cutely at him. "I can do you, now. Please take a seat."

"Th-that isn't necessary, miss."

"Please, I want to," she told him. "If you're okay with it, master Mac. I won't tell you what to do, of course, but I would very much like to wash you." Her expression turned sweeter, if such a thing was possible, and he felt his heart melt at the sheer innocence of her visage. He couldn't say no to that, and so he didn't, complying with her request to take a seat on the bath's submerged ledge and nodding to her. She approached with a happy stride that spoke volumes of just how much she wanted to repay him in kind, and he tried to relax. She was being nice, and he owed her the respect to not be awkward around her.

She was soft and slippery from the soap, and when she slid down his front to straddle his lap, he tensed again, the physical contact far beyond what he'd expected. The zebra was light, even taking the buoyancy afforded by the water into account, but her warmth and silky smooth presence against his torso and waist was paralysing, as if she'd rested a mountain atop him. It wasn't uncomfortable, or even bad, all things considered, but as the mare began to rub her feather-light, tender hands over his neck, massaging his tension away with adept, agile fingers, he felt a nervousness overtake him that he hadn't felt since he'd fallen for Sugar Belle. That insecurity crept up on him, the sort teenagers knew all too well when approaching a filly or colt they liked, the screaming urge to act and the immobilising fear of doing something wrong.

As her hands made their way over his broad shoulders and down the rolling, corded musculature of his arms, her chest pressed against his, slipping and sliding over his immaculate pecs and her slim belly passing wetly across his chisled abdominals. Her nipples were diamond hard against his skin, their firm drag accompanied by the metal of her rings, and of the two, the rings seemed softer and less significant. He wondered if she could feel the hammering of his heart, the resonant thuds striking hard enough that it ought to be rattling his ribcage, the slams rapid and powerful as the mare continued to assail him. Her hands slipped around his ribs to wash his back, caressing the tight muscle there and stroking down his spine.

Despite Mac's character and upbringing, there was no resisting nature. He tried, forcing back his thoughts and feelings even as the striped beauty continued to feel his natural strength and roam over his lap and upper body, moving with a fluidity that he'd never witnessed from any mare before. It seemed effortless for her, and she showed no indication that this was anything out of the orindary for her, either. For all his physical strength, there was no pushing back against the inexorable urges of his own body, no matter how much he strained and fought, no matter how much he forced himself to stay still and not grab the gorgeous zebra and pull her close. He could fight his instincts, but his body didn't need his permission, and pulse by pulse, throb by throb, a hardness formed between his legs, coalescing and stirring within his sheath. Before long, the amalgamated excitement couldn't be contained within the fuzzy pocket, and inched forward with every clang of his heart.

He tried to be mortified, to flush red like a fiery beacon from the embarassment, but his urges wouldn't let him. Instead, he remained still, his concern at his expanding anatomy diminished to a background awkwardness while his sword emerged from its scabbard, growing harder and longer with a steady swiftness. It brushed against Zemballa's buttocks, bumping against her rump on its way further up her back. It was unmistakable and undeniable, but the zebra remained professional as she cleaned the stallion, mostly ignoring the mass that demanded attention, still rising and still stiffening into a thicker, longer staff. The only indication she gave tha she knew what was happening was her soft coo, her smile widening as she traced her fingers tenderly along his jaw and down to his chin. Biting her lip, she continued with her task, undeterred by the obvious. By the time it reached its full tumescence, the crown breaching the surface of the water, Zemballa was done, and she leaned back to look the pony in the eye.

"All clean," she told him, her voice softer, but no less enthusiastic. She wiggled just a little, jostling his excited anatomy, and holding a couple of fingers over her lips, clearly enjoying what she felt. "I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Is there anything else you want?" She let her fingers walk up his chest, grazing his neck and tracing along his jawline. "Anything I can do for you at all, master Mac? Anything?" She was close to him, their muzzles inches apart, though she didn't take any steps to move closer. She was waiting. Waiting for him.

He acted.

With a sudden burst of vigour, Mac closed the gap and smooshed their lips together, throwing off his doubts, concerns, and inhibitions entirely. Her response was immediate, her slender arms wrapping around his shoulders to hold the pair of them together, and she sank into the kiss, closing her eyes and moaning softly against his muzzle. Their lips danced, the big red stallion caressing hers with confident sweeps and brushes, setting a pace and leaving her to mirror and copy, which she did. She followed him everywhere he went, letting him guide her as they embraced and exchanged passion, unfettered by anxiety or bravado. His strength was met with her meekness, a perfect response that made the whole dance fluid and seamless, and when his tongue pressed against her lips, she parted to let him inside, greeting his encroaching muscle with the tender touch of her own. He explored her, running his tongue over hers and savouring the feel and the tateless flavour of her, the softness and the heat and the wetness and the simple, amazing feeling of her in the most basic, vulnerable, and powerful act.

They were both panting when they broke apart, neither of them looking collected or presentable. They locked eyes, gazing at one another with a swirling balance of hunger and affection. Zemballa was the first to move, standing up and swinging her leg off him, her vision focused on him the entire while.

"Could you sit up there please, master," she asked him, her voice laced with an unmistakble huskiness, even as she tried to remain polite and proper. "It'll be easier."

What she meant by that never crossed the stallion's mind. He simply pushed himself up out of the water, shunted back, and rested on the rim of the pool, the swift lift and park conducted without any real thought put into it. He didn't consider her intention, or stop to think about how exposed he was, his pride jutting upwards like a monument to his masculinity. Zemballa finally broke eye contact to stare in awe at his stallionhood, nearly gawking as finally saw what he had to offer. When she remained fixated on his throbbing turgidity, his lustful confidence fell away slightly, and he cleared his throat.

"Is everythin' okay?" he asked, unsure if he felt turned on or apprehensive about her reaction. She swallowed, nodding her head for a few seconds before turning to him.

"Of course, master," she answered. "You're just so big, definitely the biggest I've ever personally handled, and...and that's good. I'm just preparing, is all."

"Nervous?" he asked, his pride stroked by her words. His member pulsed in response, and from the flicker of her eyes, he knew she'd seen it.

"No..."

"It's okay," he assured her. "Ah understand if you are, and there's nothin' wrong with it, besides. If you think ah'm big, then you can tell me that you're worryin' about it."

"I'm not worried, master," she told him. "But...I am a little anxious, I suppose. You're huge, probably the largest stallion in the kingdom, and...I want to do a good job."

"You will," he promised. "Take it at your own pace. It's been a while for me, so ah probably need to take it slow too."

She seemed to be comforted by his affirmations, and Mac's own confidence had shot through the roof at her mild trepidation. He leaned back on his hands and spread his legs so she had room to work, and sure enough, she closed the distance to properly admire his package. Dainty, slender fingers wrapped around his pole, failing to fully close around the girth of the meaty shaft, her grip tightening as she tried to connect her fingers, but unable to compress his dickflesh even a tiny amount to shorten the distance. Her breath brushed against his surface, the heated breeze comparatively cool compared to his engorged pride, and as she pressed her lips to the underside, offering it the smallest, most reserved kiss, he couldn't hold back a low exhalation, releasing as he sighed that he'd been holding his breath.

"Look how big it is," she exclaimed, laying the length across her face, half of her obscured as she gazed up at him with excited eyes. As she beamed up at him, her mouth open in a delighted gasp, he caught sight of a golden piercing in her tongue, something he hadn't noticed before. It contrasted against the pink of her tongue, and it looked good on her; it didn't take away from her coyness, or her sweetness, but gave her a "You're worth two or three stallions. Does this count as a threesome, then?" She giggled at her own comment, quickly breaking off into a series of sniffs and inhales. "Wow, you smell so good, and you're just..." She trailed off, unable to find the words to express her approval of his equipment, and instead began to smooch and flick the tip of her tongue over the section of his cock nearest to her muzzle, touching at him lightly and dreamily.

It didn't take her long to progress from basking in his presence to trying to experience more of it, the girl widening the sweeps of her tongue to reach more of him, starting in circles and swirls before she ran out of untouched meat, and had to crane her neck and turn her head to brush over the rest of him. Her movements were slow and steady, her oral caresses tender and focused, and she kept her actions varied, moving her tongue in an array of patterns at her own discretion. She tried flicking her tongue up and down, playing the tip over his veiny shaft, then let her tongue hang out before dipping down to his sheath and dragging the flat surface all the way up his underside, from his base to the rim of his glans. Her efforts were exploratory and slow, but every movement was puissant, her touch like an aimless, meandering path of static across his neglected member, and she was rewarded with a steady dribble of precum from his dilated cockhole.

The zebra held Mac's focus as she tended to his column, even as he alternated between gazing down at her and letting his head roll back as a particular strong pang overcame him. Even after she'd ran her tongue along all of his shaft, from the broad strokes with the flat of her tongue to the careful swipe around his medial ring and gentle probes into his sheath, when the sensations were freshest and strongest, she seemed to find a way to keep his recently rediscovered excitement up and rising. She knew exactly when to remain in one spot, devoting her ministrations to a single section of his wang, and when to move on to taste and tease more of him. She knew when to curl her tongue around his curve and when to lay her muscle flat and draw it up his rigidity. She knew when to dig her tongue into his sheath to indulge in his concentrated flavour and when to drink up the pool of watery pre atop his crown. Perhaps most importantly, she knew when to stop lapping at his prick like an ice lolly and when to suck it down fully.

Her lower lip hooked under his corona while her upper lip grazed over his plateau, sweeping along his remaining pre as she did so, until she'd englufed the blunted end of his pride, eyes gleaming with joy as she encompassed his girth. Slowly, she sank down, giving her jaw time to adjust to the sheer size she had to accommodate, lowering half an inch at a time before pulling back to the very tip. She bobbed delicately, deepening her dive with every downard motion until she'd taken the first few inches, then six, then eight, then ten. She reached his medial ring, his flare bumping the back of her throat, and she relaxed, meeting his flat until she managed to slip it into her gullet at last and begin sliding it down her esophagus. Inch by inch, she conquered his stallionhood, her soft lips sealed softly and flawless around his circumference, making the whole thing seem effortless. Even as the stallion felt her trying to work him into her, the subtle shifts and changes of rhythm or direction letting him know she'd had to adjust, he saw how smooth and skilled her performance was, and would've truly believed she was a professional with decades of experience under her belt.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

The resounding thumps shattered the steamy peace of the room, and Mac jerked instinctively, driving his dong deeper into Zemballa's maw, causing her to gag at the unexpected intrusion. He grunted under his breath, the sound and sight of her struggling to deal with his size sending a ripple of satisfaction through him, to his confusion. Shaking off the new experience, he looked between the door and the suckling mare, his instincts sending two sets of contradictory instructions to him; hide the zebra and send away the newcomer. What if it was Tajir, though? He couldn't send away his host, and the very owner of this room! Then again, how would the horse react if he walked in and saw his honoured guest with his privates buried almost entirely within one of his servants? He groaned, struggling to think with the persistent, nonchalant gobbling. Somehow, it being smooth, gentle, and slow made the whole thing even more intense. The knocking came again.

"Uh, o-occupied!" he called out, more forcefully than he intended, and with nervousness laden in his voice. He winced, hoping that he didn't have to do more to send away the newcomer, and learned a second later that he was right; the door opened and the creature knocking simply strode in.

"Good," she said, closing the door behind herself. "I was wondering if I got the wrong room! You two are so quiet! I wouldn't have known you were doing hanky-panky in here if I didn't know anyway!" She tittered and walked over to the zebra's discarded bathrobe, barely looking at the two as she moved through the room.

"Uh...miss?" Mac questioned, his face burning red with horror at the presence of a bystander while he was blown by a stranger. She glanced back over her shoulder at him and smiled a knowing, playful smile, her vision flickering for a moment to the zebra between his legs.

"Don't be embarassed," she told him. "You need all that blood to pump up that huge, throbbing, juicy cock. What good will it do in your face, as handsome a face as it is? None." Her eyes roamed over the stallion's chest, admiring the sight of the stud being sucked by a hungry, striped slut. "I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier, but Zemballa can be really shy around creatures she likes, and she was absolutely over the moon when we were told that you found us attractive. I had to let her come in first so she could introduce herself and get into the swing of it. She's adorable like that, and I couldn't refuse letting her warm up in her own time. What sort of colleague would I be if I said no? A very rude one, that's what! It seems she's wasted no time in getting over her nerves..."

The pony gawked at the girl, hearing her words, but barely registering them. This was, unmistakably, the griffon he'd spied at dinner, the one he'd pointed out to Tajir. She was still strikingly similar to Gabby, with the same coat colour and even similar mannerisms. It was the lack of white that mostly distinguished them, and the brilliance of this griffon's teal irises, which captivated the stallion until she removed her bathrobe, depositing it neatly atop the zebra's, at which point his gaze automatically fell to her breasts. She wore small golden hoops too, little decorations that hung from her perky pink teats. He stared, unable to remove his sight from her bosom as she strutted confidently towards the side of the pool and around it, approaching him with a sashay in her step, until she broke line of sight by moving behind him.

"You can look at me later, master," she whispered in his ear, loudly enough that all three of them could hear what she was saying. She knelt down behind him, her chest pressing against his back, and her chin resting on his shoulder. "Right now, there's a drop-dead gorgeous zebra blowing you, and she's doing a beautiful job. Why don't you focus on that? Let her know how she's doing." Her claws grazed along his ribs, palms sliding through the suddy fur and around to his chest, where she rubbed in slow, sensual circles. "I've never seen her go down on a stallion like this before; look how deep she's taking you, master. She's taking this thick slab of meat so far down her slutty little throat, and she's doing it all because she can't look at someone as handsome and strong as you and not want to choke herself on their cock. Then again, she's never met anyone as strong, handsome, and well hung as you. I haven't either." She kissed his cheek in a brief peck, the movement almost chaste but for the context of their encounter.

Mac groaned at the hen's words. It was enough having a beautiful mare delicately tend to his staff, and with the level of skill Zemballa was displaying, but it was another thing entirely to have a second beauty embrace him from behind, caress him softly, and whisper dirty truths in his ear. She spoke in a hushed voice nowhere near quiet enough to be a sincere attempt at discretion, and while her tone was smooth, silky, and sensuous, her words were filthy, sounding like lines straight out of a porno. He shivered, the tactile care above and below his waist enhanced by the sight and the knowledge of what was going on, the awareness of just how impossible this ought to be sending a pulse through his rod. His breathing hastened, his stones grew heavier, and the static in his loins built into a buzzing, thrumming charge.

His orgasm was sudden and intense, the wave crashing over him without mercy. He bellowed, uncaring in the moment how loud he was, and erupted into the diminutive mare's mouth, spraying a hot flow straight into her waiting stomach and plastering her throat in his liquid love. It must've clung to her passage with how much he gave her, his shaft swelling and throbbing aggressively, his flare keeping her esophagus open to receive his pent-up release. All the while, he shuddered in the other female's grasp, listening to her coo and celebrate his rapture, her words like fuel on a blazing inferno.

Mac's chest was heaving by the time he came down from his high, his powerful lungs attempting to rip oxygen from the air to replenish the amount he'd expended when he'd sang his pleasure to the world. Every few seconds, he grunted as an electric ripple ran through him from the zebra's ministrations, her muscles contracting around his pulsing prick as if to squeeze any spooge still left. Even when she drew back, still attempting to gulp down the flood of cream he'd deposited into her, she didn't give up, sealing her lips around his cockhole and sucking, like trying to drain the last of the milkshake from a straw. She was successful, licking her lips cleaning and beaming up at him, red-faced from the effort, but clearly elated with her performance - and his.

"Wow!" the griffon cheered. "You were amazing, Zemballa! Wasn't she, master? Just look how thorough she was!" She reached down to his cock, grasping the sensitive skin and caressing its veiny, saliva-shined surface with a thumb. "Spit-polished and buffed, and not a drop of your nut left, inside or out! I'm envious!" She giggled and let go, nuzzling his face with her own. "I really need to introduce myself, don't I? My name is Gaia, but of course you can call me anything you want. You should probably know it so you can give me orders; Get over here, Gaia! Suck my huge dick, Gaia! Bend over so I can ruin you for every other stallion, Gaia! Sure has a ring to it, doesn't it, master? If you don't mind me being narcissistic for a second, anyway. But that's enough about me - what should I call you? Other than 'master', obviously."

"Y'all can call me Mac," the stallion murmured, his brain still fuzzy from the mind-melting he'd just endured and the rambunctious griffon's licentious introduction. "Anythin' is fine - Big Mac, MacIntosh, Big MacIntosh..."

"So many names," Gaia clucked. "I'll have to try them all out tonight, when you're splitting me in two with this bitch-breaker you have right here. Before we get to that, I want to show you something, and I really think you'll like it. Zemballa, can you be an absolute babe and throw me the body wash?"

The zebra obliged, wading through the bath to the bottle she'd left on the side and tossing it over to the griffon, who snatched it expertly out of the air. Stepping past the stallion, she splashed into the bath and quickly dunked herself under, wetting her coat before she flicked open the lid and tipped the bottle upside down, squirting a substantial amount onto her bosom. When she was satisfied she passed it back to the striped mare, who took it meekly and replaced it on the edge of the pool, while Gaia massaged the fluid into her fur, lathering it into a suddy wash. It didn't need to take as long as it did, but her claws continued to sweep over her breasts, her claws occasionally tugging at the hoops and tweaking her perky buds, until she finally stopped with a deeply satisfied sigh.

Stepping towards the staring stallion, maintaining eye contact as she did, Gaia mantled the marble bench and knelt between Mac's legs, crawling forward until she was perched at chest level with his schlong. Wordlessly, she leaned in, ensnaring his shaft between her frothy pillows and pushing the pair together to truly trap him in a malleable, pliant prison. The griffon rose as high as she could from her position to draw his cock through her valley, and then back down to his base, massaging his member in smooth, repeated movements, all while she fixed him with a smoldering, salacious smile, her teal orbs meeting his sap green.

She was limited to what she could reach, given his prominence, but the lower half of his momument was well-polished by her persistent bathing, and being sandwiched between her doughy breasts was enough of a sensation on its own to make the half job a worthy experience. He reached forward instinctively, grasping at a nipple before he realised what he was doing, and paused, only for the griffon to nod emphatically at him from below, her beak spread in a happy grin. With her approval, he tweaked, pulling a gasp from her, and sending a trill of delight thorugh himself. With both hands, he toyed with her pert buds, twisting and tugging softly while she continued her polishing, wrapping him in soft titflesh and the silky smoothness of the bodywash, its coolness clashing wonderfully with the heat of her body.

"Could you stand up please, master?" the griffon asked. "It'll be easier to worship more of your greatness that way." She said it so casually, as if she were asking him to lift his hooves so she could vacuum clean the floor around the couch, and all while she was boob-buffing his pecker.

"You're doin' a mighty fine job right now," he told her, feeling a hot wave of breath gust past his shaft as she sighed in contentment, a small shiver running through her body. Did this one have a praise kink? "But if it's what you want, ah'll let ya have all the access to me that you need. Somep-...somegriff as talented as you deserves all the requests she makes." His hunch was confirmed when she shivered again, more noticeably this time, the movement telegraphed through the jiggle of her soft, supple assets. 

"Thank you, master," she uttered, sounding equal parts smug and awed. "I always do my best." She followed the swing of his steel beam as it shifted from vertical to horizontal, swaying from the momentum carried by its own mass. "And for you, I'll do my utmost best. 200%, just for you." She once again embraced his masculinity with her suddy baps and began her routine again, this time able to glide from his base to his very tip, the change in position allowing her greater reach, just as she promised. The satisfaction was doubled just from the extra amount she had to worship, and he let out a low sigh in reaction. She said she'd give it her all, and having more to do didn't reduce her skill at all; the lower half of his cock received just as much attention as it had before, the same amount of pressure and softness surrounding his stick as she heaved and pushed in her quest to properly serve him.

Mac had forgotten about the third person in the room, the boobjob taking all his attention, until something grazed his buttocks. He jumped a little, swivelling his head to check what was going on behind, and saw the zebra on her knees, her fingers trailing over his taut, firm cheeks. The sight of her surprised him - was she really so quiet and agile, or had Gaia's sensuous play been so captivating that he hadn't noticed the striped girl exit the water, maneuver behind him, and get down to toy with his backside?

"Is this okay?" she asked, smiling shyly up at him. "I won't do anything you don't want me to, but I thought you might like it, and if it matters to you, I'd really like to try it on you. If that's okay, master." She looked vulnerable from his vantage point, and probably felt as vulnerable as he did. Did she? She seemed to throw herself intho these situations with a ferver, albeit lacking the brazen confidence of her griffon colleague, while he was still hesitant to take charge. The situation was confusing, and his body's desires snarled at him impatiently as he diverted energy to working it out.

He was thinking about it wrong, he realised. He was too busy thinking about how he felt about the situation, whether it was okay, but the females here were more than happy to do this for and to him. Zemballa was nervous, sure, but she was willing and eager. He felt nervous, but why? None of them should be feeling nervous. That was the bit that needed mending.

"Y'all can do anything ya want," he assured them both. "Worst ah can do is say no, an' the same goes for both of you. If ah'm doin' anything you don't want, tell me. That's how this is workin'. We're havin' fun, or we're not doin' it at all. Ah want to know that you're doin' it because you want - no roll in the hay is good if it's reluctant."

"Absolutely," Gaia agreed, shining his pole in long, competent undulations. "If we're not making you feel good, then we're not doing something right. And if we don't feel good, well, then we're not doing something right then either! It's hard for us to not feel good, isn't that right?"

"Completely right," the zebra agreed. "I'll show you how much I want it, master. You won't ever doubt that I'm enjoying what I'm doing to you." With her piece said, and her tone much more bouncy and confident after his assurance, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his rump, barely pushing his skin down a half-inch before she met the unyeilding muscle beneath. She didn't let that deter her - to the contrary; she sighed and breathed in happily, revelling in his firmness and effort-induced masculinity - and shifted her kiss across his chisled slab of assmeat. She was thorough, gracing his glutes with tender touches and affection from edge to edge, side to side, pressing her nose into his tail and huffing happily before moving onto the other cheek, where she was just as thorough.

She wasn't satisfied with just his impressive backside; she continued on to his crack, worming her muzzle in between his hewn plates and enduring the pressure as she tried to reach his guarded treature. Her breath was hot, billowing in urgent, needy gusts against his taint and sack, rolling out from the confined space where she'd loged herself. It took several seconds for her to pry his butt apart, giving herself easier access to her target, but depriving herself of being enclosed in his lewd, muscular embrace. She made up for it when she planted her lips against his raised ring of wrinkled muscle and kissed, smooching far too sweetly for what she was actually doing.

The first lick made the stallion shiver, the simple upwards swipe sending a tremor through his nerves from his groin to his head, and then back down again. The second and the third did the same, each swipe deliberate and slow, with the perfect amount of pressure to evoke his reaction without diving in too quickly and rushing the experience. She was measured and calculated, sporadically licking at him on the downstroke too, irregularly enough that every time she did was a welcome surprise, and made his thighs quiver imperceptibly. Each time he grew used to her technique, figuring out her pattern, she switched, adding something new - she swirled her tongue around his rotunda, she delivered a flurry of licks, she flattened her tongue and dragged it heavily over the wrinkled skin, she kissed his wettened pucker, until his knees were trembling and he longed for nothing but her continued praise.

"You make such cute sounds," Gaia commented, giggling as the pony groaned and let out a staggered breath. "Really rugged and manly sounds, but they're deliciously attractive! She must be doing a number on you. First time?" She dipped her shoulders beneath the water, washing the soap from her bust and cleaning the top half of his shaft before returning to her lengthy ministrations.

"Ah had an ex who tried this before," Mac revealed. "We tried a lot of stuff, bein' each others' first an' all, but she was never really into it. She wasn't a fan of anythin' overly physical, an' ah knew she was just doin' it for my sake. We'd stopped makin' love for months by the time we ended it."

"A hard breakup?" Gaia guessed, sympathy leaking into her voice.

"Not at all," the stallion told her. "We realised our lives weren't goin' in the same direction, she wasn't one for intimacy or kids, an' ah knew ah'd want kids, so we agreed we'd be better off as friends. We still keep in contact."

"That's nice," the griffon said, smiling up at him as she flowed back and forth along his shaft. "Maybe you should get her to come here, we fix intimacy issues really well. I'd even wager that if your ex was totally not into sex, we'd find a way to help her see how good it is. That way, she wouldn't just be doing it to make you happy, she'd be making herself happy too! As it should be!" She noticed the pony's frown, and grimaced at how he'd reacted to her remarks. "Sorry, sorry...my big mouth ran away from me. What I meant to say was that we're really happy making you happy, and you deserve to have creatures like us. I'm happy that it's me and this beautiful striped slut, because we are, if I'm allowed to be arrogant, the best two girls in this whole place. And if you somehow haven't noticed, Zemballa's got a really good mouth on her that can do things I wished I could do in a hundred thousand years. When your ex tried...this...with you, how did it go? Was it thorough, or just tepid?"

"Uh, she...well, she licked me, and...yeah, that was 'bout it."

"So no real deep, depraved, porno stuff?"

"Eenope."

The griffoness grinned and pressed her cheek against the top of his shaft as she moved, rubbing his stallionhood between her breasts and her face. Her eyes were lidded in knowing mischief, the sight sending a thrill of anxious excitement through the male. "Then you need to try this. Z, show master how a real slut treats her master."

The effect was immediate. Mac's eyes widened as the enthusiastic tongue, already flitting over and around his butthole, pressed stiffly and firmly against his ring. The zebra was insistent, wiggling it in place as she tried to gain entry, releasing and building the pressure intermittently in a dogmatic attempt to work her way inside. Push by push, press by press, she made gains, struggling for every milimeter towards her goal. His sphincter began to loosen, the pressure against it growing and growing, his ponut stretching slightly at the behest of the wet, hot organ, and he groaned at the strange feeling of being properly tongued, the sensation growing in intensity as more of her wiggled past his waning defences and into his previously untouched passage.

"How does it feel?" Gaia inquired, cooing her question at him. She didn't break eye contact, managing to sustain her lustful, seductive gaze even as she danced her body up and down his member.

"N-new," he grunted, the dexterous touch of the zebra's flexible appendage hot against his insides. It was powerful, the sections of tract she touched blooming with pleasure and vibrations, the mere contact setting off his nerves and leaving him abuzz. She didn't stop, diving deeper and deeper until she finally, eventually, ran out of muscle to pour into him. He had no sense of proportion when it came to this, but knew that - despite the yards it felt like - she could've only slipped a moderate way into him. That didn't prevent her from swirling around, reaching up and down and dragging her tongue this way and that-

He gasped and thrust forward, booping Gaia on the chin with his glans and smearing the freshly-squeezed pre over her fur. She laughed, squeezing her breasts in delight as he began to leak more readily into her pillowy embrace. Mac groaned and panted, his upper body joining in his legs in tremoring. Behind him, the zebra remained still as she worked, her actions invisible to everyone in the room, but transmitted transparently through the stallion's reaction.

"Oh, somepony's having their boy-spot played with," the griffon teased. "I'm so envious of Zemballa, stroking that sweet little area that gets the best reaction from boys of all shapes and sizes. It doesn't matter if they're cutesy-wootsy femmey boys or big tough strong alpha male studs, every guy out there melts when a lucky gal gets her finger or tongue on it. Not only do you produce so much yummy pre, but you also make the best noises, and I live for it." She let out a sigh as the cock in between her tits throbbed and spurted a helping over her throat, marking her in the best way. "Please tell me what she's doing. I want to hear how she's making you feel good, master."

"R-rubbin'," he grunted out, his voice strained. "Just rubbin back an' forth. Keepin' on the pressure."

"Mmm," the hen murmured. "Such a good zebra, milking you dry so you can make a mess on my balloons. I want a big mess, master. I want you to blow a huge load on this big juicy griffy titties, to just coat me in your baby batter, to lose control and cover me in your thick, gooey spunk. I think I've been a good girl, master, and I want you to reward me if you think I've been a good enough girl, too."

The stallion couldn't answer properly. The pressure against his bulb was intense, the expert touch of the cute, shamless mare sending rolling waves through his body and building a burning buzz within his gut. His gonads felt heavier and hotter, his shaft was boiling, and his mind was sluggish from the sheer number of sources of stimulation. Everything was demanding his attention, and he only had so much to give, which was why he didn't notice at first when Zemballa's hand snuck between his legs and grasped the bottom half of his cock. The touch was graceful, delicate, and pleasurable, but compared to the humming static building in his loins, it was negligible. Only when she brought her second hand around to make jerking him off possible, giving her enough coverage to actually work his shaft, did he realise what she was doing. She co-ordianted as best she could, keeping her tongue and hands on seperate rhythms, leaving him no second of reprieve. Gaia kept to her side of the medial ring, letting the ridge divide their responsibilities so that Mac could truly experience the best they had to offer.

One half of his junk wrapped in satin-soft tits, the other massaged by a sweet, polite, petite zebra mare. Attentive oral that he'd never have dared ask from anyone. Depraved words spoken with shameless glee, verbally pulling him into the shared perversion they were sharing, promising him pleasure beyond measure. Hands, everywhere, tongue and lips and breath and saliva and bodies, all pushed against him and in him, slurping him down and urging him towards his release. It was a lot, and he let out shuddering breath as it caught up with him. Two gorgeous females were doing unspeakable things to him, willingly and gratefully, and they'd asked him. They wanted him. This wasn't just some favour or obligation from a kindhearted asexual mare to a red-blooded stallion; it was unadulterated, unrestrained passion.

The heat built up to unbearable levels, rising far too quickly for him to register it properly. It swooped in, reaching its boiling point in seconds, and then, he erupted. Letting out a deep groan, his body shook, the orgasm ripping through him mercilessly, his nerves blazing as he writhed and shook and tried to stop himself tumbling over, colours flashing through his head and lights springing into form before extinguishing themselves in tenths of a second. He was weightless and heavy simultaneously, every part of him seeming to float even as it dragged him down, moving and remaining still. His dick throbbed, pulsing as it squeezed out a stream of ivory over the waiting griffoness, her breasts molded around the expanded flare of his heaving pipe.

His eyes rolled back, the pressure against his prostate refusing to let him stop pumping out his seed, coating the partner at his front and clamping down heavily against the tongue still grinding against his bump. Even when he finally stopped splashing ropes of jizz over the happy griffon, he still felt as though he were pushing out ropes of his cream, the sensations remaining and playing over and over like an echo. When Zemballa withdrew her tongue, he felt empty, his tract mapped through the immense heat that activating it had caused, but completely fulfilled. With a quick glance behind to make sure he was clear, he sat down heavily, his ass smacking down against the marble rim of the bath, two hard surfaces meeting in a loud crash.

"Mmm, master," Gaia purred. "How generous of you! I didn't expect so much, but I'm very happy for this gift, and I promise I won't waste a drop of it." The voice prompted Mac to raise his heavy head, bleary eyes searching out the hen. He was greeted by the sight of the beaming female slapped with messy shots of his own finish, strands clinging to her face from the splashback, and a chest that could only be described as plastered. He couldn't have done more to paint her if he'd grabbed a brush and spent hours meticulously filling in every spare space. Even her nipples were masked behind the totality of his ejaculation, protruding as perky little bumps amidst a sea of white. "Hey Z, c'mere."

The zebra crawled to the edge of the bath, watching as Gaia stepped labouriously forward, fighting against the water and cradling her breasts so as not to spill the lake of liquid clinging to her fur and skin, and pooled in her cleavage. It was a slow, determined waddle, and as soon as she was close enough, the two shared a brief moment of eye contact and a wordless conversation before the zebra leaned down and licked the isolated strands of spunk from the griffon, who purred and closed her eyes to enjoy the drag of the mare's tongue over her face. Zemballa worked methodically, travelling downward from the highest point of the griffon's messy decoration, her lapping requiring more passes as the cream became thicker where it had concentrated and amalgamated. The sheer amount that rested in between her bust required the zebra to sup the excess down, the lewd, wet slurping sending a resurgent throb through the observing stallion.

With the spilling hazard contained, Gaia grasped her cleaner's head and pulled her in close, smothering the striped mare inbetween the bountiful bosoms and shaking herself to let them slap stickily and encouragingly against the zebra's muzzle and face. Zemballa didn't need much motivation, and visibly began to feast, sticking her face further into the valley and jerking herself side-to-side, drawing a giggle from the griffon and smearing the spunk over the both of them. Still, it gradually began to clear, the efforts not just one of display; the zebra attentively licked and lapped, humming and toying with the cum-slathered breasts between her assigned task. The two of them played, stroking manes and crests, blowing raspberries against soft flesh, laughing and letting their hands roam, and showing off to their watching third partner. The sight alone was an aphrodisiac, and by the time they were done, after minutes and minutes of dedicated tongue-bathing, the stallion was fully erect once again, without even having to stroke himself hard.

Gaia licked Zemballa's face to clear it of the worst of the mess she'd made of herself, and the two giggled as they washed off more thoroughly with the bath. The zebra moved over to the sink to clear rinse out any residue of her dirty activities while the griffon scrubbed herself down, applying more bodywash and rubbing her body sensually as Mac watched on, smiling at his unabashed attention and obvious arousal.

"How did you like that?" she asked, hefting her mammaries up for him to ogle. "I think we made very good use of your generous gift."

"Eeyup," Mac agreed. "Y'all looked right at home, and ah think you looked absolutely stunnin' coated white. Prettier than you usually are, even, which is somethin' mighty hard to beat."

"Thank you!" the griffon uttered, glowing at his praise. "I can't wait to be covered and filled again! But now..." She looked over towards the zebra, who'd just finished gargling mouthwash.

Mac wordlessly agreed with the griffon, needing no further prompting to stride over to striped cutie, his hooves clacking loudly as he closed the distance swiftly and embraced the zebra, reaching down to hoist her up and hold her close. His thick arms clasped her lithe body to his chiseled torso, her softness meeting the flat of his rock-hard chest and belly. The scent of mint and ethanol filled his nose as he pressed their lips together, tasting it lingering on the coldness of her tongue as he stormed into her mouth, revisiting it energetically once again. Zemballa moaned in his arms, her legs wrapping tightly around his sides and her hands running through his mane. He didn't have to break the kiss to grab some towels from the side and throw them down onto the floor, or to kneel so he could lay down on his back. When he came to rest, he broke the kiss, pushing her head back gently.

"Do you want me on top?" the zebra asked, whispering the question breathily and receiving a nod. Obeying, she stood, having to stand fully upright to pass over his spire. Curiously, she lowered herself back down to sit on his legs and reached forward with a hand to pull his shaft towards her, pressing his length against her body. "Master...it's huge!"

"Take it slow," he told her, the sight of his presence reaching all the way up to her chest, spurring a roll of rugged excitement. It felt right, seeing his cockhead framed between her insignificant breasts, and feeling her heart beat anxiously in her chest at the knowledge that she'd be impaling herself on something that couldn't be far off half her height. "Don't rush; take it nice an' easy, an' you'll be fine."

The zebra steeled herself and nodded at his words, rising up once more and tilting his tower towards her crotch. The plateau grazed the teardrop that was her labia, his spongy glans grinding along the thick elastic lips on his first pass, and gliding along in subsequent drags as her abundant natural lubricant coated his cockhead. He was too thick to just slip in, as ready as she was, and the simple testing of the waters became an abridged form of foreplay, her slick snatch slipping over his crown at first in undulating thrusts, and then in more spontaneous and sporadic movements. She swivlled her hips, slathering her femlube over him as she circled his tip, nestling it against the entrance to her trove. She giggled demurely, bashful even as she took joy in just playing with his stiffness. Mac caraessed her calves encouragingly, smiling at her antics as she rolled her hips, their parts pressing and poking at one another unyeildingly, teasing and tempting in nudge after nudge.

They both exhaled when his flare finally pushed into her, stretching the bottleneck of her quim open with an audibly wet squish. Her passage was luxurious, rolling with warmth and welcoming his presence, and her walls were sinfully soft, running with moisture, and all-encapsulating, closing in to encompass and squeeze around him like the world's most comforting blanket. Again and again, her muscles clenched, massaging his tip in powerful, involuntary draws and pulls. Their needs seemed to be synchronised, the need for more rising in both of them until Zemballa lowered herself further, forcing a groan from the usually stoic stallion. He didn't seem to slide up her valley her so much as flow into her, his cockflesh compressed by the pressure of her demanding, clinching entrance, squeezed inward as it passed her gate and expanded again inside her, demanding room within her loving confines.

The mere penetration had been that good, Mac realised, taking a break from his own pleasure and the stunning portrait of his zebra's face to look down at her progress. She'd only taken a few inches of him so far, and it felt like she'd personally massaged every inch that she had. In spite of the slow progress, he was glad for it; he wasn't sure he could maintain any sort of composure with how good she felt. Who was more of the novice? The thought was fleeting, but it grounded him, and he continued to run his fingers up and down her lithe, toned legs, praising her progress tactilely and verbally as she huffed and whimpered, her cunny swallowing his size in brave dives, each dip adding a few more inches to her stockpile. His medial ring took a few attempts to clear, the mare letting out a cute squeak as the ridge nudged into her and rode up her canal, but she didn't stop or slow until the entirety of his stallionhood lay inside her.

"I-I did it," Zemballa breathed, excitement thick in her whispered voice. "I-I took all of you, m-master. You're completely inside me." She brushed the stiff bulge lining her torso, running her palm along the her belly to feel the protrusion. "D-do I feel good?"

"Eeyup," Mac answered, gritting his teeth. He was stuffing her, filling her like a glove, and she pressed down around his intruding length from every direction. He could feel every breath she took, every pump of her heart, every quiver and tremor, and all he could do was revel in it. "You're a real good girl."

"I am?" she asked, biting her lip. "I'm a good girl?"

"Eeyup."

She didn't answer, but shone with pride and showed her thanks by shifting slightly, rocking her waist back and forth in glacial movements, which grew more pronounced as she gauged his reaction. The rocking rose to gyrations, and those became hops, her slim body bouncing against his. Their gazes caught, remaining connected as the zebra lifted herself further, exposing his glistening cock part by part, the slapping of flesh on flesh growing louder until it eclipsed their huffs and groans. Zemballa rested her hands on the stud's abs, feeling the stern resistance against her palms, using his unyielding belly to aid her caroms, until she had to give up the angle for balance, relying on her legs to lift herself up his snatch-splitting shaft.

With an open view of the striped mare, Mac was treated to a sight that he hadn't seen in ages, and certainly never to this level of quality. The trim, slender torso of the zebra bore the outline of his pole, a rounded bulge protruding outward at her sternum whenever she sheathed him on a drop, but otherwise retained its flawless athletic aesthetic. The small golden hoops adorning her jet-black nipples bounced soundlessly in time with her fluid ups and downs, and with no obstruction blocking his vision, he spied a similar piercing decorating her thick, thumb-sized clit, the gold constrasting beautifully against the pink nub peeking from the safety of her marehood. He knew what to do as soon as he saw it, and reached down to press a thumb against the dense bundle.

Zemballa's rhythm stuttered at the contact, her legs trembling and whimpers emerging from her throat as she tried to persist in the face of his meddling. A few lazy brushes crumbled her efforts, leaving her riding him at an irregular beat in uneven strokes, and she quivered as he strummed faster and faster at her vulnerable bulb. It didn't take long for her to climax, her legs giving way and slamming her down fully on his length to send her soaring past the peak and squealing at the sharp, vivid rush. Her cunny spasmed, wildly clinging and clutching at his rod, crushing down with pleasurable, unrelenting insistence. Mac had to roll over to pull out, leaving her nearly hyperventilating as she recovered. Her marehood closed around emptiness as he exited her, constricting vainly around nothing, her pink walls closing behind the frame of her droplet-decorated pussylips.

"You stud," Gaia cooed in the stallion's ear, her voice dripping with huskiness. "You gave her the best orgasm of her life, and I am so envious." He hadn't heard her approach, too preoccupied with Zemballa to notice the quiet pat of paws closing in, but the sudden sound of her didn't frighten him. It felt right to have her nearby, no matter the circumstances. "Now you've had a good feel of zebra pussy, why don't you give griffon goods a try? Or...if you're feeling adventurous...you can try a different hole."

"A different hole?" he repeated. The suggestion made Mac pause, a slow shudder of delight running through him, moderated by the dwindling but present voice of caution. He knew what she meant, and he knew the offer intrigued him, but there was something holding him back from jumping on it.

"Yes, Mister MacIntosh," the griffon confirmed, sliding around him to appear in his line of sight, never letting her body leave his. "My butt. My booty. My backdoor. My starfish. My tight little butthole." Her smile carried a mischievous smirk underneath, and her eyes were awash with a glitter of naughty delight. "It's tight right now, but after you're done, it'll be like an exhausted mine, but unlike a depleted mineshaft, you can come back and find more gold every night. It will never, ever run out, Big Mac. There will always be a reason to delve into this forbidden shaft."

"Is it...uh...are you...clean?" He winced at the question, not wanting to ruin the mood, but it was the one thing that held him back.

"Absolutely!" she answered, not missing a beat, her smile persisting. "Clean as a whistle, and lubed ready to go. It's a neat little trick of these hot pieces." She tapped her bridle with a claw, running her finger along its leathery length. "They take care of any nastiness and make sure we're always ready to serve, no matter what activities our partner might want. You never need to worry about getting infections, dealing with unexpected or unpleasant messes, or sustaining injury, unless your partner really, really wants to, I guess. It's all magic, see. They also do some other stuff, but the point is, I'm utterly clean, stretchy enough to never be too loose for your bitch-tamer, and I even produce lube like my pussy does. It's neat!" She beamed at him widely. "Here, take a look!"

Before Mac could say anything, she'd spun around and bent over, reaching back to spread her plush butt cheeks for his viewing convenience. Unlike the Zemballa, or any female he'd ever seen, the griffon's vulva lacked the familiar equine lips, her labia seemingly a pair of neat, tucked, thin strips of pink framing her damp gash, and her clit was tiny by comparison to the zebra's, though it wore a similar hoop piercing. Her groin didn't look like a teardrop, or like an exclamation mark, as he was used to, with what ought to have been a raised bump of dark muscle instead being a wrinkle between her buns, set just above her lackluster quim. It was austere, compared to the zebra and his knowledge of mares, but there was something exotic about it, too. True to what she said, her sphincter was wet, a thin droplet oozing down the lines of her creased skin.

"Have a feel," she encouraged, her claws depressing her buttocks as she gripped tighter and spread them apart, pulling the wrinkles taut and distorting her pinhole of an anus. "Don't be shy. I promise on my whole entire family that it's totally safe and clean. Go ahead, and don't worry about being gentle."

Her words, in conjunction with her provocative actions, assuaged his concerns, leaving him comfortable to reach out with a lone finger and draw the tip over the dribbling rhombus. The fluid clung to his finger, stretching into a droopy string as he pulled away and thinning until it snapped under its own weight. It was strangely familiar, resembling a mare's natural juices, but thicker and warmer, like commercially produced lube. The oddity didn't faze him, though, and he pressed his fingertip against Gaia's exit, rubbing in a circular motion and feeling just how narrow her pucker really was. With a curious determination, he applied pressure, amazed at the ease with which he was able to glide into her. It had almost looked like her hole was stenciled on, completely unremarkable and not at all as eye-catching as a mare's, but it managed to swallow his digit all the way to the knuckle, accepting his digit without any difficulty whatsoever. He tried a second, and then a third, all of them squeezing their way into her backdoor and jostling beside one another in a comfortable grip, her deliberate contractions squeezing his insertions gratefully.

When he pulled out, rather reluctantly, his fingers were slathered in the same glistening slime he'd brushed from her star, as if he'd dunked his digits into a full bottle of commercially available lubricant, a chord of it bridging his fingers and her hole. It was thick and stringy, clinging to the griffon's buttocks fur and Mac's fingers, and curving under its weight, until it broke and slapped soundlessly against Gaia's juicy thigh. Cautiously, the pony raised his glimmering fingers to his nose and sniffed warily, a tiny part of him expecting the worst. To his amazement and approval, there was nothing. Gaia had been completely right; she was clean, elastic, and absolutely able to take him without any trouble. Which meant...

"How good are you at ridin'?" he asked, sitting down on the towel. The griffon straightened up, letting her plump cheeks clap together as she let go of them.

"As good as you demand of me," she told him, puffing out her chest proudly. "If you want the best in the world, then you'll have struck gold. If you want something slower and more steady, hey, I'm your gal."

"How 'bout a show?" Mac suggested, laying his back against the towel and resting his hands behind his head. He smiled good-naturedly up at her, wearing his easy-going demeanour proudly and letting his stallionhood bob and sway rhythmically. The griffon grinned before gathering her composure and sashaying over to him, pulling the stallion's rod towards her and steadying it, circling him in long, deliberate steps, like a stripper teasing a dancing pole. She drew closer, flicking the fluffy tip of her tail over his vein-crossed surface, the prehensile appendage swirling around and loosely pumping his shaft, only to fall away after a few decent movements. She even dusted his glans, the gentle back-and-forth over his plateau with her fluffy tip pulling a groan from the pony and drawing his hips upwards. She stopped her treatment as soon as he reacted, continuing her rotation until she stopped facing away from him, her round globes parting to envelope him.

The flexed her hips, shaking her booty to hotdog his meat with minimal effort on her part, just easy, seductive movements that captivated his attention and glazed his underside with her secretions, lowering herself to his medial ring and shimmying against his flare teasingly. She didn't draw on the foreplay for long, knowing she'd milked the moment for as long as was tasteful, and instead looked over her shoulder as she brought his tip in between her buns and nestled it against her almost impercetible entrance. With a twinkle in her eye, she relaxed and allowed gravity to lower her, his blunt tool straining against her rear for a few seconds before her ring opened for him, and her slick passage engulfed his tumescence.

She was hot; heat bled from her body, pressing against his cockflesh as much as her silky walls did, the slickness she provided amplifying the temperature to sweltering levels. Unlike his usual experiences, this was a dry heat, or something he would've called dry if his journey wasn't made easy by the omnipresent ooze that coated his stiffness as he was taken deeper and deeper. Gaia seemed unstoppable, taking his shaft in steady, measured drops, lifting up with a squeeze of her anal muscles and plunging down further with every pass. She didn't even flinch as his medial ring popped past her sphincter, the additonal girth inconsequential next to the width she was already stuffing into her tailpipe.

Her butt met his groin before her ring met his sheath, leaving her some padding to decelerate. Mac grunted as she came to rest, fully ensconced by the insatiable griffon, who purred proudly at her achievement, sitting still so he could admire it as much as she did. Her rounded globes were front and centre, the softness of them squishing flat against his groin, and her tail slithered side to side, tickling at his torso as it moved. He reached for it, closing his hand around the whiplike appendage and tugging it playfully, only for her backdoor to clamp down around him. They shared a gasp, Mac's deeper tone mixing with Gaia's feminine pitch.

The action prompted her to move, swivelling her hips to tease his embedded staff and to truly demonstrate just how deep he was in her, his cock receiving a massage from every part of her as she gyrated and squeezed and hugged his length. Her movements transitioned into a slow hop, her rear lifting and exposing his greased shaft in little teasing flashes, each reveal showing more and more, like some sort of satirical striptease. She unfurled her wings in a slow, exaggerated display, stretching them out so he could see her in her full majesty, graceful and powerful as she rose and fell at a speed she set for herself.

"Is this a good view?" she asked, pausing as she bottomed out to wiggle in place, jiggling his cock in her tight confines. "My big round butt bouncing on your bitch-breaker? Is this what you like to see, master?" She resumed her bouncing, her cheeks slapping against his pelvis in heavy slaps as she drove herself downward at the top of each rise.

"Eeyup," Mac told her, clasping her tail and yanking it again. "Lotsa paddin' for the slammin'. It's damn good to see."

The griffon shuddered at his words, her breath catching as he complimented her assets. "Mm, master, you're too kind. I've got plenty to show from the front too if you want to see?"

"Not yet," he told her, yanking her tail again. She gasped, then squealed as he delivered a firm open-handed spank to each of her fleshy globes. "There. Now turn 'round."

"Yes sir!" she giggled, twisting her upper body around and swinging her leg up and over his supine form, pivoting 180 degrees in a couple of seconds. Her rectal grip around his cock remained tight, the friction of her spin perfect to send his dick throbbing and to pull a low groan from the stallion's lips. As soon as he'd returned his gaze to her fully, she began moving again keeping intense eye contact as she bounced more vigourously on his shaft, a confident, proud smile splitting her beak. Her boobs swayed and jiggled, retaining the momentum of her boisterous movements as she rose and fell, swivelled and swayed, travelling with her and springing back as she abruptly dropped down or leaped up again. All the while, she watched his face, her beak parted slightly.

"Dayum," he murmured, his eyes drawn to the entirety of her. There was so much to look at, so much to consume and admire, so much to salivate over. When she leaned back, her gash with its clittoral piercing demanded his attention, her trickling excitement highlighting her pink folds and framing the sight of his cock disappearing and emerging from her hungry backside. 

His eyes were drawn back up to her bosom as Gaia grasped her tits and squeezed, her entire arms moving and her shoulders rolling as she kneaded her pillows, letting out hums and groans for his benefit. She closed her eyes briefly, her face contorting into expressions of pleasure and lust, performing her pleasure in grand theatrics as her digits pressed against her supple flesh, pushing down as far as she could muster and thrusting her chest forward so he could see how hard she plied. She hooked a talon through one of the rings, tugging it outward to pull at the nipple, her tit following the demanding direction, and let go, letting it boing back into its natural resting place. The next nipple followed, the griffon's fingers rolling and pulling and pinching, all while her body rose and fell to the unbroken beat.

"Gettin' close," he warned, his tip burgeoning already. That snapped the hen out of her routine; her hand moved down to her crotch, her digits running daintily over her clitty in small circles, the clicking of her talons against the ring lost over the slap of flesh on flesh and the sloppy wetness of their coupling. As she pulled upward, turning her powerful drops into a rapid humping, the schlick of her self-pleasure became more noticeable, as did the acceleration of her breathing. She worked her rump harder, jerking it back and forth in a cushiony blur, switching from pleasuring all of him to focusing on the most sensitive area of his pulsing pride. His flare expanded against her compressing walls, his firmness adding to her pleasure, which only made her contract harder, which fed his bubbling, spitting lust, the feedback sending them soaring to their peaks. Her tail wound around his unattended shaft, committing fully to stroking his staff, pumping up and down to give him that additional stimulation.

They either came at the same time, or within scant seconds of one another. Mac grunted and let his head strain backwards, his hips jerking upwards to try and stuff more of his member into her wringing ass. Gaia gasped and squeaked, her arms and hands trembling as they continued to move, stroking, rubbing, and toying with her tits and her twat, and the two fell onto the quaking rush of orgasm. The stallion's shaft visibly thicked as it pumped his load, throbbing mightly with the effort of pushing pints of his cream into the slut's waiting interior. It gushed, hot and thick, erupting from his cockhole at pressure, sweeping through her guts. Every new splash seemed to reset her ecstasy, sending her hurtling from atop the peak again and again, as if she were stuck on a loop.

They came down together, the shocks running through their bodies elongating each other's orgasms, their pleasure rising again as one of them pulsed or leaked or contracted, before they settled down again, their hearts thudding - Mac could feel her beat through her walls, the flesh vibrating against his rod - and their breathing deep. The griffon was still standing, her sphincter gripping his shaft like a vice, as though unwilling to let a single drop of his gift to escape. With a little difficulty, she eased herself up, straining to move past his broad flare without loosening her muscles entirely, a task in which she mostly succeeded; a little stream of his jizz ran from gaped exit and dribbled down her leg, but it was beautifully perverse sight, and it just emphasised how much more there was still in her when she hurreidly brought her hand underneath herself to plug her hole, her knuckles grazing his flare as she passed. Only when she'd stuffed in her claw up to her wrist did she move again, stepping away from Mac and his slowly-flagging pole.

He'd completely forgotten Zemballa was in the room until Gaia walked over to her. These two were experts at consuming his attention, and the embarassment he felt at having forgotten a third party's presence again was outweighed by how impressed he was that they were that good. With a few whispered words, the gently masturbating zebra was encouraged to her hooves, her cheeks flushed red at whatever she'd been told, and hand-in-hand with the griffon, they returned to the towels, standing taller than the stallion for the first time.

"Could we have the space please, Mac?" Gaia asked sweetly. The stallion couldn't say no to the politeness of her request, nor the two gorgeous females gazing down cutely at him. He stood up, leaving the impromptu mattress for the two of them to use. "You said you wanted a show, and we've got a show for you." She smirked knowingly as the zebra laid down, getting comfortable on her back, before nodding to the griffon, who turned away from the stallion and stood over the supine mare. With a glance over her shoulder, Gaia winked at Mac, spread her wings proudly, and removed her claw from her hole.

A deluge of spunk poured from the griffon's flooded rear, flowing forth like champagne from an uncorked bottle. Gaia spread her buttocks apart, giving the stream a less obstructed path towards the helpless zebra, painting the striped mare's face and chest in layers upon layers of cream. Mac watched in fascination as the griffon emptied herself, sharing the sticky flood he'd injected into her with the eager slut beneath her, practically erasing the black on her striped body. It was as alluring and inticing as watching a delicious baked good being drizzled with honey or icing, albeit the most depraved frosting of any tasty treated he'd ever seen. The stream slowed to a trickle, oozing from her hole and clinging to the fur of the hen's inner thighs, her anus flaring as she pushed, insisting on giving the zebra everything she had to give, and was rewarded with a few additional spurts, some of the mess exiting her with a rippling rasp, until she produced only bubbles.

The end result was chaotic and perverse, and it was one of the most beautiful sights Mac had ever seen. The griffon's rear was a splatter of white, cum bubbles inflating and popping from her glazed, winking asshole, and weak dribbles of jizz creeping down her groin and legs. The zebra was drenched in spooge, the slop piled on her so thickly it was like she'd been dipped headfirst into a vat of glue, and even her attempts to sweep the jizz towards her mouth to drink it down did little to impact the amount coating her. Shaking her booty to clear any remaining drops, Gaia let go of her ass and shuffled back, kneeling down to straddle the zebra and lowering her upper body so the two of them were pressed together in a creamy sandwich, their tongues working to clean the gunk as they shifted and ground against one another. Groans and purrs were interspersed with giggles and sighs, and their loins rubbed against one another as they played, softly and slowly gyrating back and forth, a pair of thick black lips against an austere slit and a thick nub against a delicate little bud.

Mac was transfixed by the display, the sight of the two females tribbing refilling his lust and returning him to full turgidity. The way they moved was smooth and sensuous, their bodies reacting instanteously to each other in a simple but flawless dance. It didn't need to be more than fluid swivels and tender contact to be a perfect performance, and the stallion was captivated until Gaia looked back and signalled him with a sultry gaze, a smirk, and a wiggle of her butt. Something about her cum-smeared face spurred him on, and he responded to her unspoken invitation with a passionate fervour, striding over and grabbing her buns roughly, spreading them wide with firm, clutching hands, his fingers digging deep into her padding.

Her squeal filled the room as he plunged into her, shunting his entire length into her in a violent shove of his hips. After she'd taken him so easily in her tighter hole, he wasn't worried about her being able to handle him the way nature intended. He pounded her without any pause for her to adjust, hammering in long, rapid strokes, letting her buns absorb the impact as he slammed into her. The clap of his pelvis against her fleshy rear was thunderous, the whap-whap-whap accompanied by shouts, squeals, and cheers from the griffon as she praised and encouraged him, the clarity of her words varying as he ravaged her, brushing against her nerves or grinding over a sweet spot, his glans clashing against the neck of her womb roughly enough he could swear it produced sparks.

She screamed as she came, driven over the edge by his relentless plowing, his cock plunging into her depths even as she clenched around him. He didn't stop for her second or her third, or even when she stopped talking at all, resigning herself to guttral groans and delighted whimpers. Her cunny clung to his cock, gripping him adoringly throughout his mindless battering, speaking the praises Gaia couldn't. He gritted his teeth as she wrung his tool again, yet another climax thrust upon her, and joined her in her bliss, emptying his nuts into her chamber.

In a deft movement, he pulled out from the griffon and dropped his glans against Zemballa's gate, thrusting in more gently than he had with his catbird slut. The zebra moaned for him, her pussy accepting him like an old, familiar friend, her walls smooth and nearly frictionless from how wet she was. It didn't take as much to make her squeal and cum, and he'd finished her three times before he had a wicked urge to swap back to the other female. Leaving the zebra's confines, he lunged back into the hen, driving her wild from the unexpected attention. When she came, it was back to Zemballa, and then back again, and then back again.

The mare didn't object as he rubbed a finger against her ponut, teasing the bump of muscle. He realised how different it was compared to the hen's, more leathery, yet smoother than the wrinkle of the buttslut's exit. With little resistance, he was able to ease in a single finger, and then two. She wasn't as confident as Gaia, but with some coaxing, and many more orgasms, she was able to fit all four of his fingers, stretching to accommodate what else he had to offer. She came around his fingers several times, sometimes while he was tending to her cove, sometimes while he was balls-deep in the griffon atop her, but with every climax, she grew more comfortable fitting him, her additional advantage helping to smooth the penetration.

Mac let the last of his load seep out of his cumhole before he pulled out of that sweet pussy one last time. His abs were awash with sweat and strings of his own jizz, a result of his plundering of his two female's holes. He didn't care at all; it was a mark of his effort, and he felt a swell of masculine pride at the knowledge that he'd done this to them. Pulling out his fingers, the stallion guided his crown to the loosened, empty pucker, its rim glistening with her naturally produced lube, and rested the broad, blunt tip between her buns. Easing forward, he moved in small, incremental thrusts, gently introducing his stallionhood to her backdoor.

She was tight. Her butt resisted his efforts, but through coaxing, encouragement, and a passionate makeout with the griffon atop her, Zemballa relaxed enough to let him in, all the way to his sheath. Her canal clenched around him, squeezing and exploring the rigid rod stuffed deep inside her, and as he moved, she whined for him, trembling and whimpering as he claimed her more thoroughly than any stallion ever had before. Her hips began to gyrate, and then she was panting, her body growing enamoured with his presence. Before long, she was peaking, driven to an anal orgasm that she could only shriek out to the world, even as Gaia stifled her with a dominant, tongue-filled kiss.

When he did cum, she bucked her hips to drive him deeper, wanting more and more as he hosed her guts, flooding her insides while she milked him for all he was worth. No matter how much had gave, she wanted more, and her muscles worked hard to extract every drop from his cum-tanks. Exhausted, they fell atop one another, sweaty and sticky and buzzing from exertion. Mac was empty; he'd pumped and shot and injected everything he could give tonight, and the two females were full. It was a good balance, he thought to himself, chuckling softly as he tried to pull out, only to be stopped by Zemballa's legs wrapping around his waist. He didn't need to go anywhere, and cleaning up could be done later, he reasoned, acquiescing to her plea to stay where he was. Leaning against the griffon, he kissed the back of her neck, his hand reaching down to caress the zebra's cheek beneath her.

Exhausted and filthy, but happy. That was good.





Applejack was exhausted. She'd lost track of time, and thinking was becoming harder. Perspiration covered every inch of her body, and she shook lightly from the aftershocks of her treatment. Whenever she was thirsty, she'd be made to drink, replenishing the water she lost as she was forced into orgasm after orgasm and sweated her body weight. It was always the same stallions - at least, she thought it was. How many were there? Had more come and gone when she wasn't paying attention. She didn't know any more. All she knew was what was happening right now, and what was immediately around her; the heat of her body, the sweetness of the air, the ache in her muscles.

"Eahira, anzur," a voice called to her, and she raised her head dazedly, but promptly. One of her handlers was standing before her, watching her intently. She didn't say anything, but held his gaze. "Anzur," he repeated, stepping to the side and sweeping a hand to gesture to something on the wall. Was that a window? She could see a mare on the other side, somepony she didn't recognise, chained with her hands above her head. She observed, wondering who this was, and why they were showing her this stranger. She shifted, and so did the other mare. Applejack blinked, and so did the stranger. That wasn't a window into a cell next door - it was a mirror. But if that was a mirror, that meant the stranger-

The orange mare turned and twisted, looking at her reflection from as many angles as she could. Her straw-coloured mane was flowing freely and wildly over her shoulder and back, as damp with sweat as the rest of her, and leagues away from her much more kempt manestyle. Her fur was brighter than she remembered, seeming to shine despite how dark its saturation made it, and she looked different in some way she couldn't pin down. The bridle around her face seemed sharper than it should, the colour popping out, maybe even glowing, but never clearly enough for her to point to. For all the changes she'd endured, she didn't seem worse somehow, but something was definitely wrong. She wasn't herself, in some small, imperceptible way. Sure, her mane was all over the place, and she looked as if she'd run the Running of the Leaves, but those were superficial, something that could be fixed. What seemed off was something more fundamental to her, something she'd lost. Something significant had changed, though she still looked like the mare she'd always been.

Like a mare.

The realisation hit her suddenly, and she ran her eyes over her reflection as the truth of what lay before her sank in. Since childhood, she'd been a hard worker, taking on tasks regardless of her suitability and training herself to be bigger and better and stronger and faster. She was a proud independent mare, and her persistence had given her a firm physique, boasting muscles that put some stallions to shame. She'd arm-wrestled body-builders, stopped a runaway carriage with grit and determination and two legs honed for kicking, and she'd fought monsters three times her size and won. She was a force to be reckoned with, and all it took to see that was one glance.

That was not the mare who faced her. She was facing a mare of feminine grace, with slender legs and arms, a pair of bountiful, youthful d-cups weighing on her chest, and an alluring hourglass figure. Her thighs were soft and plush, her bottom jiggled as she moved, and her tummy was trim and flat. From every angle, this was a womanly mare, her features attuned to an ideal and adjusted from imperfect to carefully designed. A supermodel might spend millions of bits in cosmetic surgery and specialist creams and ointments and not emerge as polished as this, and the facade of beauty those crude methods produced could never hold up to the natural authenticity of the image in front of her. This was the figure every teenage girl strived for and every teenage boy dreamed about. It was what philosophers and artists struggled and strained to conjure into being, to imitate on paper through paint or ink, through image or written word. It was a mare free from the imperfections of nature and free from the imperfections of the artifical attempts at remedying the flaws present in every pony.

This wasn't her, Applejack thought. For all the beauty and brilliance, it wasn't what she was. It wasn't what she'd built herself up to be. Her physique was gone, the years of work and selfless effort that had resulted in her form was gone. Everything it represented - her character, her resilience, her pride and self-esteem, her dedication - was gone, swept away like it all meant nothing. For any other mare, this might've been paradise, but she hadn't worked towards this, or wanted it, or earned it. She hadn't earned it.

She hadn't earned it.

The phrase kept repeating in her mind, smothering her other thoughts. She tried to cast it away, but it persisted, ignoring the shaking of her head, and around her head, her bridle warmed again, the heat pressing against her skin. It seeped through her mind, extinguishing the dread, the disgust, the anger, the contempt, any lingering rebellious thoughts. She stopped worrying, she stopped hating the sight of herself, and she stopped blaming anyone. Maybe that was the problem? Had she hated herself? Had she always thought that she had to prove herself? Was that why she was so angry?

Maybe she had earned this, she thought, one of the few things that was able to remain without being swamped by her inner censor. Maybe she'd been exactly the right sort of pony who deserved this treatment. She'd been so angry before, so disrespectful, so rude. They'd changed her, taken away the contempt and the insolence, and now here she was, somepony new and fresh. Somepony who had been purified, washed clean of her flaws and sins. Somepony she was supposed to be, perhaps?

No, she hadn't earned this body, this mentality. Not yet. But she'd needed it, and she'd deserved it as a birthright. And now, these strangers had given her the opportunity to be worth the kindness they'd shown her. She looked over herself again, admiring the improvements. She looked cuter, her eyes twinkling with a feminine meekness, and her expression was softer and more demure. Was her face smoother? Perhaps, maybe a little bit more round, her cheeks softer and more pinchable. Her arms were not longer iron, but smooth and slender, her bust was, well, bustier, and her hips were fuller and her waistline thinner. She didn't have those hideous pseudo-masculine abdominals anymore, but something more fitting of a lady. Rarity would be proud when she returned home! Her thighs weren't monstrous, but were now perfect eye-candy for males of all species. She shivered to think about the attention she'd get. Maybe that's why she had no suitors before; she'd been a freak all along.

"Thank y'all," she murmured, looking away from her reflection to address the stallions. "Y'all were far too kind. Ah'm sorry ah caused all this trouble." The stallion nearest her reached out a hand to touch her cheek, his palm gliding over her fur in a tender, affectionate manner, and she nearly melted. She couldn't suppress a groan at how good it felt, the sensation amplified tenfold to what it should be, and her heart brimming with adoration. Was this what love was? She didn't know, and she didn't need to put words to feelings. That was something about her that hadn't changed. She just nuzzled his hand, kissing instinctively whenever her lips came across skin.

It was hard when he pulled away - nearly heartbreaking - as if what had felt like an eternity rubbing her face against his palm wasn't enough. Fortunately, he had a good reason. Of course he did; he knew what he was doing, and he wanted what was best for her. He turned to the stallion behind him, who'd carried in a pillow atop which sat an assortment of gold jewellery, and picked one up. She hadn't noticed the other stallion approach, but that didn't matter - she didn't need to know anything. She smiled as the one who'd stroked her cheek said something in his beautiful, exotic language, unable to comprehend him, but loving the way he spoke anyway. He tried again, then gestured to her and stuck out his tongue. With a start, she realised what he wanted, and mimicked him, stretching her tongue out as far as she could. She felt silly for not knowing sooner what he wanted her to do, and held her muscle out for him as he readied the delicate little stud and carefully positioned a needle over her extended appendage.

The scream tore itself from her throat as the needle stabbed into her, the pain lancing along her tongue as though she'd be jabbed with a white-hot poker. The stallion continued to fiddle, slipping the metal stud into the wound and securing it in place before he stepped back, leaving her to writhe as he fetched the next item. Applejack looked up at him through watering eyes as he approached, sucking on her tongue and trying to ignore the hurt. He was carrying a ring, but what interested her was the captive bead, or more specifically, its design; it was an apple. Had this been designed specifically for her? As she pondered, her heart beat in her chest, anxiety washing over her as he grasped her breast firmly in one hand and squeezed tight, securing it and aiming the needle at her thick, dark bud.

She couldn't look away as the sharp point tore through her flesh with ease, passing through one side and emerging effortlessly on the other, a flash of steel from a jut of brown. She hissed, wincing as he pulled the needle out once again and hooked the hoop through the gap he'd created, securing the decoration with a few deft twists. It was intrusive, but it felt neat and secure, and despite the pain, there was something comforting about it. She held this thought in her mind as he pierced her other nipple, gritting her teeth to keep from crying out, and bravely watching as the stallion fasten her marking. She felt a swell of pride at her awards, and having endured their fitting so bravely. She wondered if her brother would be proud of her too. Of course he would, once he saw her; he'd be so proud of the mare she'd become, how much she'd improved.

She tried to nuzzle the stallion again, but he'd moved back, and she peered around him to see what he was doing. There was another ring, just like the two she was now wearing as bosom decorations. She wondered why he was picking it up. After all, she only had two nipples, and they were occupied. Where would a third one go? The question rolled around in her head, confusing her, until he knelt down and spread her legs apart. She shifted, the realisation scaring her, and her heart doubled in its speed. The prick of the needle made her whimper and she tensed, and then-

She screamed. Long and loud, she hollered and wailed, bellowing until her throat was sore and her voice was hoarse. The stallions had long since finished by the time her vocalisation turned to sobs, and she hung her head, clenching her eyes tight as tears rolled down her cheeks. She hadn't been strong or brave after all. She was sore and tired and dirty, torn down from on high and broken. They'd sculpted her into something new, whether or not she wanted it.

"Thank you," she whispered, biting back the tears to utter the words. "Thank you."

She did need it, whether or not she wanted it.

She was exhausted and sore and filthy, and that was good.

It was good.
> Acquisition
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The applause didn't stop when the kiss did, the assembled guests pouring their praise on the freshly married couple. Mac smiled as his lips left his wife's, their small act of intimacy sealing their bond and announcing proudly to the world their love and unbreakable union. She smiled back at him, beautiful in her white gown and veil, her cerise eyes brimming with love and pride, speaking a thousand words to him without saying a single one out loud. Turning to the crowd, they beamed at their gathered friends and loved ones, sharing their triumph and delight, hand-in-hand and ready to go out into the world together.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, holding him in place as he moved to step forward, her tone playful and her grip far too light to actually stop him.

"Headin' off," he told her. "The two of us, together. To our reception."

"But we haven't consumated our marriage yet," she pouted, smirking at him in a devious, sultry way.

"Uh, no, we ain't," he agreed. "That comes later, when we're alone..."

"And deprive our friends of the experience?" she questioned, gasping in faux-horror. "First, you kissed the bride, now it's time for the bride to kiss you." She ran a hand down his chest, biting her bottom lip lasciviously. "Let's not be squeamish when it comes to the more...powerful aspect of demonstrating our love."

The stallion stammered in surprise as she sank to her knees in front of him, her palms gliding down his hips and legs and back up again, caressing his inner thighs until she caught his zipper with a deft pinch of her thumb and forefinger and unzipped him shamelessly in front of the assembled guests. Without a hint of bashfullness or hesitation, she shoved her hands into his underwear and retrieved his awakening ardour, threading it through the space she'd made for him, and exposing his stallionhood to everypony present. He should've been mortified, as should everypony else, but all he could muster was a muted surprise as she began to stroke his shaft, delivering soft kisses to the sides in an effort to bring him to full hardness. The guests, too, didn't react with disgust or contempt, but watched on approvingly, smiles adorning their muzzles when he turned to look at them.

"Uh, honey, wh-what're you doin'?" he asked. It was all he could muster; his arms only raised far enough so he could bush his fingers through her magenta mane, and despite his trepidation, he couldn't summon the will to stop her.

"Giving you a wedding gift," she responded, circling her tongue around the rim of his crown in a sinful display of precision.

"But ponies are watchin'!"

"I know." Her fingers were divinely soft as they stroked his staff, massaging great swathes of his rod even as they failed to fully enclose around it. "It's the perfect time and place."

Mac found himself unable to disagree, letting out a sigh as her lips passed over his glans, forming an airtight seal and suckling expertly at the sensitive tip, her tongue rolling up and down his plateau as she did so. Her technique was measured and sublime, and the presence of a multitude of onlookers only made the experience more exciting, if somewhat tense. His wife didn't care at all; she thrived on it, in fact, her soft little moans conspicuous so the guests could hear just how much she enjoyed tasting the huge member her husband was boasting. Slowly, she engulfed more of him, closing her eyes as she bobbed back and forth in gentle passes, smoothly and incrementally annexing more and more of his shaft to the embrace of her lips and attentive tongue, swallowing happily around his girth.

The appearance of other mares was sudden and immediate. Without warning, an azure pegasus dropped to her knees next to his bride, grinning up at him from below a swept-back white mane and, with a wink, licked her way down from his medial ring to his sheath. With his trousers in the way, she unlooped his belt deftly and popped open the button holding his trousers together, pulling them down along with his underwear to better expose his equipment. It took Mac a few seconds to recall her name - Night Glider - by which time Cheerilee had sank down to her knees on the other side of him, kissing her way down the side of his pride and lowering herself to his groin, planting her lips on his right nut and smooching it tenderly. Around them, more mares took their place, waiting their turn to praise his stallionhood, among them ponies he'd known since his childhood, and some he'd only met more recently, all of them eager to sample his goods.

"How romantic," Mayor Mare cooed, wrapping her arms around his torso and hugging his back. "Having everypony celebrating openly like this, without shame or fear. I officiated your parents' wedding, too, and it's clear you love each other as much as they did. I'm glad you can marry your beloved without having to do so in secret." She sank down, trailing her hands down his sides until she reached his narrow hips, and pressed her lips unhesitatingly against his buttocks, each at a time, before worming between his legs and lapping at his sack from behind, taking advantage of her position to jump the queue.

Mac let out a staggered breath, hands roaming his belly and chest, holding onto his hands, massaging his stones and appraising his legs while he received oral bliss from every angle. Looking up, he saw that all the guests were standing, queuing for a chance to get to him, all of them looking on lustfully and longingly. Applejack was among them, smiling proudly at him, her eyes brimming with satisfaction and a small but growing amount of excitement. That should've been weird, but it just felt natural. Didn't it?

Something wasn't right. He looked down again, something scratching at the back of his mind. Why was he getting married? He couldn't recall anything before the marriage, not without it swirling and fading into obscurity. He vaguely recalled them being together, but hadn't they broken up? Why were they getting married? As those thoughts entered his head, the sensations from around him began to cool, becoming more abstract until they were completely absent. He didn't feel like he was standing up, but laying down on something soft. The afternoon sun didn't feel warm against his skin, as if it was just an illusion. All he could feel was the gentle suckling on his pride, and hands massaging his jewels - those sensations became more vivid, more sharply defined, until it was all he could feel and hear.

His eyes flickered open, the scene around him dissipating instantly, the final frame of the dream lingering in a frozen flash, which itself began to disappear like a photo developping in reverse. He was in an unfamiliar room, a gentle breeze entering the room from an open doorway which led to a balcony overlooking a city. Noises of a bustling street below followed the fresh air into the chamber, greeting him as he roused from his sleep. Beneath him, a thick mattress morphed to his shape, leaving him weightless within an angelically soft embrace, feathery pillows cradling his head.

"Good morning, master," a sultry voice purred. It was feminine, confident, and distantly familiar.

Looking down his body, he saw the bedsheets had been thrown to the side, and two females were stationed at his waist, nursing his morning wood. A striped beauty was blowing him, taking the first half of his erection in her maw and bobbing in focused rises and falls, keeping to a strict rhythm as she moved, smoothly, gracefully, and achingly slowly, paying due attention to every inch of him, and making sure her technique was flawless. A griffon rested her head on a claw, smiling knowingly at him as she stroked at his member, trailing her talons carefully and lightly up and down his sheath, and dipping down to cradle and fondle his balls. As she toyed with him, her eyes twinkled with mischief and delight, anticipating something to which he wasn't yet privy.

She was Gaia, the one smirking at him. The other one, the zebra with gorgeous braids, was Zemballa. They'd visited him while he was bathing last night after the feast, and they'd done the sorts of things he wouldn't have had the imagination to fantasise about merely a week ago. The information returned to him as quickly as the memories did, and his eyes widened in shock and embarrassment.

"I hope you don't mind us helping ourselves to breakfast," Gaia continued, shifting her head to his sheath and licking upwards in a slow drag, letting her tongue draw itself over his veiny skin. "We were just so very hungry, and Z here was just so parched, she absolutely needed a drink right away. I hope you can forgive us, master." She kissed his medial ring softly, imitating innocence and flashing him a saccharine smile.

"Ah...'scuse me," he muttered, sitting up and shimmying to the edge of the bed hurriedly, doing his utmost to avoid kicking them in the process. They seemed surprised at his action, remaining silent as he rummaged through his wardrobe for the dressing gown he'd packed, and hastily donned it, using the cord to tie his throbbing need against his body. Folding the gown over his immense pride, he hoped nopony would see the crown resting between his pecs. It was inconvenient, but he couldn't really do anything to make it go down, and he couldn't wait long enough to see it deflate naturally. "Ah've gotta go do somethin', just wait here."

"As you wish, master," the griffoness said. "We'll be here for you when you get back."

"Do you want us to do anything while you're gone?" Zemballa asked. "Make your bed? Clean the room?"

"Play with each other?" Gaia suggested, pulling the black and white mare up to her. "Something nice for you to come back to."

"If y'all want," Mac replied, opening the door. "Nothin' specific, just keep yourselves busy." Not waiting to hear their response, he stepped out and closed the door behind him, looking both ways before picking a direction and travelling down the corridor.

The estate felt bigger as he paced through the corridors, the clack of his hooves against tiles echoing briefly before being snuffed out by the open space looking over the courtyard, giving his walk an odd staccato that felt oddly distant. His heart thumped, his mind racing with questions and concerns, and as far as he could tell, there was only one horse he could approach to address anything that was flashing through his head. He had to ask for directions from a passing servant before he found his way, but after only a little bit of a walk, he found himself in front of the door he needed.

"Aidkhul," a voice called after he'd knocked, which Mac took as an invitation to enter. Creaking open the door, the pony saw Tajir sat at his office desk, scribbling something onto parchment. Upon seeing Mac, the stallion smiled warmly and placed his quill back into its inkwell. "Sabah alkhayr, my friend," he greeted, spreading his arms wide. "I hope you slept well. I did not wish to wake you before you were ready, but my servants will still prepare breakfast if you wish to eat. Lunch is not too far away either, if you would rather wait."

"Thank you," Mac replied, shutting the door behind him. "Ah'm not hungry, but ah appreciate your hospitality." He walked over to the desk, trying to organise his thoughts. Tajir watched and waited patiently. "The, uh...ah woke up with two of the servants in my bed..."

"Yes, the zebra and the griffon," Tajir recounted. "Do you wish for their paperwork?" He began rummaging through the drawers, the sound of flicking paper reaching Mac's ears.

"Ah was more wonderin' why ah woke up to them in the first place," Mac admitted, scratching his cheek bashfully. "Ah didn't expect last night to happen, an' ah certainly didn't expect them to still be around today."

"I see," Tajir lamented, managing to look professionally apologetic. "I didn't realise this would need an explanation. This is clearly a mistake on my part; I should have forseen that our customs would not be as immediately obvious to you as they would to one of my countrymen. Allow me to explain; the two eahirat are now yours, in perpetuity."

"They...what?" the pony asked, blinking in confusion. "They're mine in what way exactly?"

"Yours," Tajir repeated, gesturing with his hands. "Your mares, your servants, your slaves, your property, however you wish to call them. You own them now, in full title and deed, from late last night until the end of time. Unless you choose to sell them, of course. They are your property to dispose of as you see fit."

"How exactly did ah come t'own them?"

"Is it not obvious, my friend?" Tajir asked, standing up and coming around the desk to take Mac's broad shoulders in his hands. "They are my gift to you. Many of the servants you saw last night were provided to me on loan by an acquaintance of mine, and once you had pointed to me your prefered females, I saw to it at once that they would become yours. I purchased them expressly for you, all costs and deductions paid for in full and up front."

"They're gifts?" the earth pony asked, uncertain what he was feeling as he heard the news. "Why?"

Tajir chuckled at the stallion's question, patting the red male's shoulders in a friendly manner. "You are quite the remarkable stallion," he started. "You were the first Equestrian to impress me upon your arrival, and your gift was truly magnificent. I do not feel any shame in admitting that it made me feel wholly inadequate. Your open mind, your humbleness, your respect and politeness, all of it truly put the grand total of my riches to shame. I had expected ignorant foreigners to arrive in my country, and instead, I was met with a wise and commendable stallion the likes of which I am hard-pressed to find in Saddle Arabia at all. I had expected outrageous attempts to force your way into our industry, and was shown for a fool by your restraint and shrewdness. I tried to find something truly valuable enough to compensate you for your character and your personality, and all I could manage was the superficial comfort of a feast and pretty females. When we spoke last night, I was beside myself with worry that you would find me to be an unfit host." He shook his head sadly, but then his smile redoubled.

"But then came the answer I had been seeking, and your honesty was the key. You admitted to feeling unfulfilled, to being worked hard and unappreciated, to lacking that one thing in your life that you truly needed to be complete, and I understood what needed to be done. It was perhaps the one thing I was in a unique position to buy you which did not rely on simple commercial value, but on investment as well as something deeper and more meaningful. You selected your desired partners, and I did the rest. They are yours now, Mac. Yours to have and use as you see fit, to form a family and to provide for you. May they serve you well."

"A family?" the stallion asked, his awkward confusion overcoming his reluctance at piling on question after question. "But ah...ah'm a pony, and they're, well, not ponies. How could we have foals together?"

"Another serendipitous strike of fate," the horse revealed, grinning jovially. "The bridles around their faces, about which you asked last night? They have many properties, of which a few you're acquainted already, I'm sure, but all of them share a common, singular purpose; to shape the wearer into a proper female. Some females need guidance to become their true selves, some need to be aligned in behaviour and appearance to the ideal they secretly strive towards, and sometimes nature poses a barrier to partners of differing species. The bridle is Saddle Arabia's answer to these complications, and it performs exceptionally. A good female cares for her male, keeps him comforted and cared for and loved. She tends to his needs, material and otherwise, and perhaps most importantly, she continues his lineage. In order to facilitate that, the bridle ensures optimum fertility in the wearer, guaranteeing that they will bear children for their partner."

"But different species can't-"

"Not naturally, no," Tajir interrupted, acknowledging the pony's point as it arose. "But with magic, anything can be accomplished, and far more effectively than if nature were allowed to take its course. Childbirth can be a rather unpleasant affair, but the bridle makes it a swift process of utter joy and triumph. Pregnancy can be a scary and capricious time, but females who wear the bridle know only boundless excitement. Conception can be a difficult and stressful necessity, but the bridle heightens the female's fertility and makes sure that the process is pure ecstasy for all involved. And if the female happens to be a different species from her male, the bridle ensures the mating results in a successful impregnation, and the male is granted offspring of his choice of either species. Without the bridle, who is to say what might occur? Birth defects? Sickness? Weakness? We've seen to it that these defficiencies are removed."

Before Mac could ask any further questions, there was another knock on the door, and Tajir turned to answer it. Another horse peeked inside, saying something in his native tongue that Mac couldn't understand. As he and Tajir spoke about whatever had brought the servant to the room, Mac mulled over what he'd learned, uncertain as to exactly how he felt about the bout of truth. All the females he'd seen at the feast yesterday, all of the servants who had provided him food and tended to his every need without a care, all of them were stupefied by something as innocuous as a decorative garment. They were brainwashed, or drugged up - but they weren't unhappy. If what Tajir said was true, it wasn't as if there weren't upsides to this. The females he saw were all happy - exuberent, even - while he, a free stallion, was stressing and fretting about his farm, his family, whether or not he was doing the right thing by accepting this gift. He-

"Mister MacIntosh," Tajir spoke up, cutting through the swirl of the pony's thoughts. "I have been informed that your sister has arrived safely at my estate. She has been escorted to your room, where she was intended to be given over to you directly. However, as you are here, she has been left there for you to meet her. I presume you would like to go and see her at once?"

Emotions surged through the big red pony, switching from shocked to relieved to nervous and back to relieved again. He let out a sigh he hadn't inhaled, and nodded affirmatively at the horse. Making sure he was presentable, he moved towards the door, followed out by Tajir, the messenger heading in the opposite direction.

"You are welcome to stay for another night, if you so please," Tajir explained, matching his guest's stride so they walked together. "If not, then I want to say that it has been an absolute pleasure to host you, and I hope you visit again soon."

"Thank you," Mac murmured, his heart thumping heavily in his chest, his nerves growing with every step he took. "Can ah ask 'bout this gift you gave me? It's...somethin', alright, an' ah'm wonderin' why you thought ah deserved it."

"Because there is simply nothing of equal value I could otherwise provide in exchange for the gift you brought me," Tajir explained, warmth exuding from his tone and smile. "Your gift to me was one nurtured by your own hands, and mine is one purchased with a section of my wealth, but both our gifts to one another are things which are long-term benefits; investments, if you will. Just as your tree will contribute to my business and shall feed my household for generations, nurturing them as they rise to greatness, these females will contribute to your family and shall provide you strong and healthy children, giving you generations to build a legacy and care for that which you build. It is, I hope, a fair exchange."

"But when ah bring them home, to Equestria, how will I be able to...won't they be seen as....aren't they...slaves?" he asked, wincing at the words. He expected to be firmly rebuked, to be told to not be so crude or insensitive, but instead, the horse snorted in amusement.

"My dear Mac, what they are is up to you. They're yours - if that makes them your slaves, your household servants, your concubines, your wives, or anything else, that is what they are."

"Ah'm just worried that ponies will think ah'm-"

"Mister MacIntosh," Tajir interrupted good-naturedly and stopping in front of their destination, turning and taking hold of Mac's shoulders again. "You are a strong and powerful stallion. Your qualities are numerous and noble, and you are truly the first foreinger I consider to be my equal. Your only weakness is that you don't seize your destiny, you refuse to act like the stallion I know you are, and that I see you are. You must let go of your fear and trust that you are the master of your destiny - and of the destiny of many around you." With a comforting pat on the pony's shoulder, Tajir took hold of the door handle and turned it, creaking open the door into the lavish bedroom. With a gesture, he directed the pony to step inside. Mac took a breath and did so, his heart beating like a drum against his chest.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting. At the mention of Applejack's return, he'd entirely forgotten that the two females in his bedroom were even there, doing whatever they'd decided to do when he'd left. The thought that she might've stumbled into a room with two females acting very lewdly - a room she had undoubtedly been told was his room - had never crossed his mind. What had been even less of a thought was the idea that she'd be any less Applejack when he finally got to see her again. He'd always envisaged her grumpy, frustrated self greeting him, but as he came to a sudden stop, jaw dropping to the floor and eyes bulging, he came to realise for the first time just how unobservant and mistaken he'd been.

There were now three naked females in his room, all of them in comfortable, relaxed postures, chatting eagerly amongst themselves. When he and Tajir entered, they turned to face the newcomers, their visages bubbly and happy. It took a couple of seconds longer than it should've for him to recognise her from how much she'd changed, the differences apparent from his memory of her less than twenty four hours ago, but he'd been brought to her, and it was so obviously still her. She still had her blonde mane and orange coat, she still had her freckled face, she still had her sap green eyes, but the rest of her wasn't her. Her abs were gone, her muscled physique was gone, and her loudmouth, outspoken demeanour was noticeable - audibly - absent. She beamed at him joyously, a feminine smile without a trace of a grin or smirk, and untarnished by anger or irritation.

"Big Mac!" she called out, striding forward to hug him. He cautiously opened his arms, embracing her as she reached him and gripped him in a tight hug. It should have been tight, at least; as he held her, he could feel how soft she was, her iron musculature reduced to a necessary layer within her. "Ah've missed you so much!"

"Ah missed you too," he told her, stroking her back. "How 'bout we get you some clothes, an'-"

"Nuh-uh, don't need 'em," she answered, pulling back and smiling happily up at him. "Got special permission from these here nice stallions to do without their fancy garments." She puffed out her chest, her round breasts bared for everycreature in the room to gaze upon. She was actively proud of her nakedness, seemingly displaying the same simple satisfaction with her body that she'd always had. It was odd to see her so familiar, yet so different at the same time - and her nakedness was a mildly uncomfortable element, too.

"As you can see, she still has some backtalk to deal with," Tajir mused. "But otherwise, she is a perfectly obedient, physically and mentally attuned mare. Much of an improvement from yesterday." When he received no reply, he continued, "In my humble opinion, at least. Is everything okay, Mac?"

"What am ah gonna do?" he asked, sighing.

"Take her," Tajir replied, patting him on the back. "She is yours, improved to be a proper mare. Consider her another gift to you. All you need do is claim her. I shall leave you to go about your affairs as you see fit. If you wish to join me for dinner, you are welcome to do so."

By the time Mac found his words, the horse had left the room, the door shutting behind him and his hoofsteps fading down the corridor. Pushing his sister back a little, he looked her up and down, guaging - again - how severe the changes were. She simply posed for him, placing her hand on her hip and flicking her mane over her shoulder. She looked just like the other two; a decorative bridle morphed to the shape of her face, hugging her muzzle, and piercings through her nipples and clitoris, rings that caught the eye and marked them as owned mares. As she spoke, he'd spotted the flash of gold on her tongue, too. She wasn't Applejack anymore, not the sister he knew.

"We'll get you to Twilight," Mac declared. "She'll fix you, an' we can go back to normal."

"Fix me?" Applejack asked, sounding shocked. "Ah don't need fixin', Mac. Ah've been fixed. Like you said, ah should've listened more, not said the stuff ah did. Ah see that now; they've made me realise what ah should be doin'. Bein' uptight all the time because ah've got decisions to make? It sucks. Followin' orders? It's liberatin', freein' me from the drag of life's hardest and most pointless choices."

"They brainwashed you," he told her, running his hand through his mane. "They took you and they twisted you into somethin' that ain't you."

"Ah'm more me than ah've ever been," she rebutted, smiling disarmingly. "Ah'm cute, sexy, an' real ready to make right on what ah did wrong. Ah want this, and ah want a strong, handsome stallion to take care of me as ah take care of him. Ah'm more than ready to be a mare for you, Big Mac."

"What in the hay?" he asked, grimacing at her. "A what? For me? What are you talkin' 'bout?"

"Ah've been discussin' stuff with these girls here, an' they've been helpin' me realise some stuff. They have a lotta good things to say 'bout you, Big Mac." Her emphasis on the first part of his name was accompanied by a sultry lidding of her eyes, a sight which sent a shiver through the stallion. In disgust, he assured himself, though he didn't feel the assurance. She skulked towards him, placing one hoof deliberately in front of the other in a slow, precise walk that oozed purpose.

"You're my sister," he pointed out, instinctively taking a step back, despite her diminutive presence.

"Who better to be close to you?" she asked, walking forward until he backed against the door. Closing the distance swiftly, she ran a hand down his chest. "We're already close, an' we're already livin' under the same roof. All that changes is that ah start treatin' you like a mare should treat her stallion. An' since you're the male of the house, it's only right that ah take my place as your mare."

"But...this...we..." He couldn't get out more than a word at a time, trying to argue as to why this was wrong, but failing to produce the sentences. Did he even know why? He didn't know if he knew. All he knew was his thundering heart, the blood roaring in his ears, his flushing face, and the three females all eyeing him hungrily. He wanted something, but he didn't know what.

"But nothin', you silly pony," she giggled. Something so feminine sounded wrong coming from her, but the sound itself was angelic, and a swell of pleasure rose in his torso. "Stop bein' so stubborn an' just agree to it, already." Her hands moved to his gown's cord, tugging it open, and tried to part his gown.

"Applejack, we should talk 'bout this," he complained, pulling his gown over himself as she pulled the halves to the side, trying to maintain his modesty as much as he could.

"Nothin' to talk 'bout," she responded, reaching for a different part of the gown to shift it. She was persistent, moving to change her hold whenever he stopped her, never giving up on her quest to strip him. "You never liked words much anyhow. Wasn't that what happened when we arrived here? You said you had it hard 'cause you had to do the talkin'? Well, now there's no need for talkin', but definitely a need for somethin' hard."

She ignored his weak objections, dismissing his platitudes about it being wrong for reasons unexplained, and continuing to rub and reach, disregarding the words even he didn't believe. Thoughts swirled like a typhoon in his head, a distressed overlap of reservations, uncertainty, excitement, and apprehension. Gaia and Zemballa watched on wordlessly, observing with obvious interest, and despite the horse's absence from the room, Mac felt like Tajir was watching, too. Judging. Keeping silent and stoic as he watched the pony being manhandled by his sister, no differently than how he was verbally manhandled by her when they arrived. The strong and noble stallion, directed by his smaller, weaker sister. Applejack leapt against him, and he caught her instinctively, holding her so they were face-height. She smirked at him - smirked - and shoved her breasts into his face, shaking her torso to jiggle them teasingly at him. Mac twisted his head away, trying to remove himself from her cleavage.

"Stop bein' such a silly pony," she chided teasingly, holding his head to encourage him. "It's what you're supposed to do, Mac. Come on, you've already given it to these two good an' proper, why can't you give it to me too, hm?" She tried to dart down for a kiss, pressing her lips insistently against his.

"ENOUGH!" he roared, startling everypony in the room. She lurched back, nearly falling from his arm, his free hand having to reach back and secure her. The griffoness and zebra eeped in alarm, jumping back a few paces. "Ah am tired of you considerin' yourself better than me! Ah'm not lesser than you! You don't get to boss me around! You don't get to talk down to me! It ain't your place!" Seething, he narrowed his eyes at her. "Y'all want me to be your big bad male? Y'all want me to be the head of the household? Fine, ah will be. Y'all will listen to me now, no exceptions."

"That's what ah've been tryin' t-" Applejack began tentatively, before a snarl from her brother stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Shut up," he snapped at her. "You wanna be a mare, huh? You wanna be my toy? And ah'm the silly pony?" He snorted in disgust. Despite his mood, his blood was pumping hot and fast around his body, and his shaft had slipped free from the confines of his dressing gown, leaving him very obviously aroused to the anxious room. "Stupid fuckin' mares," he grunted, disrobing in sharp, angry jerks. "You two, get over here, get this damn thing off me."

Regardless of how scared or not they were, both his servants obeyed him immediately and without question, hurrying to his side to help the gown from his shoulders and body. When it was off, they stepped back, but he stopped them with a hand. Pulling the zebra towards him, he shoved her down onto her knees, her task clear. Applejack watched in awe as the stallion directed them to service him, having the zebra take his crown and as much of his shaft as she could muster, while the griffon leaned under to lick at his hanging fruit. The stallion let out a grunt and a sigh, showing his approval, before he looked at the mare in his arms again. She swallowed, intimidated by the gruffness and raw power he exuded.

Without a word, he took one of her nipples into his mouth, his hand grasping at the other, and set about playing with them, tugging and pinching, using his teeth and fingers to great effect. She whimpered, grasping him more tightly, and in turn, he grasped and gripped her harder. His tongue swirled around her ring, curling through the hoop to tug it before returning to lapping at her areola, feeling out where the flesh merged with fur. His fingers pinched, pulling at the metal and the density of her brown bud, dragging it as far as her supple tit would allow before letting go. When she hissed in discomfort, he lessened his pressure, but returned to that point to hear her hiss again, finding her limits so he could explore and enjoy them. He switched breasts, evening out his approach, and giving her tender side a chance to recover while he visited the same treatment upon the one he'd just suckled.

Pulling back once both of the tits were properly treated, he grunted at Zemballa and Gaia to get out of his way, waiting for them to scutter back towards the bed before he turned and shoved Applejack against the stone wall, ignoring her oof as the breath momentarily left her. Reaching down, he guided his shaft towards her thick lower lips, brushing against their leathery, elastic surface and snorting in amusement at her shudder of delight.

"Beg for it," he commanded.

"P-please," she whimpered, biting her lip. "Dick me down good, Mac. Ah need it, more than anythin' ah've ever needed before."

"Why do you need it?"

"Because ah'm a slutty mare whose place is being stuffed by strong stallions," she answered. "My only purpose is to take commands an' take dick."

"But you'll only be takin' my dick, wontchu?"

"Yes!" she breathed. "Ah'll only ever take your dick, Mac."

"Who's a silly pony?" He brushed his glans against her labia, her nethers sweltering and soaked from their foreplay. She barely suppressed a moan at his movements, the spongiest part of his cock still hard enough to set her nerves aflame.

"....Ah am?"

"Say it."

"Ah'm a silly pony."

"Louder." His tip brushed her clit, and she gasped, quaking at the warmth that blossomed through her entire body.

"Ah'm a silly pony!"

"Keep sayin' it."

"Ah'm a silly pony! Ah'm a silly pony! Ah'm-"

She screamed as he thrust in, her pussy clenching like a vice around the sudden intruder, burying himself in three quick shoves. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and she came hard, crying out as the sudden orgasm overtook her body. The stallion held her against the wall, her tunnel rippling against his shaft, trying to milk him for all he was worth. He ignored it, struggling to pull out of her contracting canal and battling the insistent hold of her legs, managing only a few inches at a time. As she wound down, he was able to start thrusting again, sawing back and forth at a good pace, taking her at his own intermediate speed.

"You're a silly pony an' a dirty whore," he told her, stretching her unexplored depths around his demanding girth. "Now you're bein' taken by your own brother because you ain't nothin' but a dirty whore."

"Dirty whore," she repeated, running her hands through his mane. "Ah'm a dirty whore. Ah'm your dirty whore, Big Mac!"

"Master," he corrected, growling the term at her. "Address me properly, whore."

"Ah'm your dirty whore, master!" the orange mare proclaimed, squeaking as he delivered heavy thrusts into her, slamming forward in sharp, powerful shoves. With the wall behind her, there was nowhere for her to go, no way for her to get away from the spearing as he rammed himself into her depths, striking at her insides like a hammer on an anvil. The force was amazing, the sheer roughness of it heightening the simple pleasure of being stuffed and filled, her nerves blazing from the friction and the presence of a hot, throbbing slab of meat inside her. She was doing what she was supposed to do; what she was made to do. The friction built up quickly, igniting the volatile pressure inside her and sending her careening into another body-wracking release, her muscles tightening as lightning surged through her, crying out as she clamped around the stallion claiming her.

Mac didn't stop as she spiralled, thrusting into her contracting cunny and pushing her to greater heights. Her orgasm persisted, fuelled by his pounding, until his cock had been wrung enough by her desperate attempts to milk him, and he pulled out completely. She began to whine, unwilling to end their vicious passion, but he detached her limbs from around him and lowered her to the floor, her cushiony behind absorbing the impact. Without any warning, he brought his flare to her lips and slammed forward, shoving his length into her mouth and ignoring her startled yelp, grabbing her head to stop her pulling back as he jerked his hips in sharp, short jabs. She gagged, strained as he pulled her towards his crotch, her throat forced to accommodate his girth without any buildup or warmup, barely able to fit half his length. It didn't take long before he blew, grabbing her ears and holding her in place as he shot volleys of cream straight into her stomach, grunting as each pulse rippled through his shaft, ejecting thick spurts into her unready gullet.

"Is that what you're going to do to me, master?" Zemballa asked hopefully as Mac stepped back, retracting himself from Applejack's maw. Thick strings of saliva came with him, bridging the orange mare's muzzle to his pipe, snapping as his swaying cock moved too far and fast for them to keep their integrity, splatting against the orange earth pony's throat and chest. She gasped for air, hacking and coughing, tears rolling from her eyes at the brutal treatment. In spite of it all, when she wiped her muzzle with her wrist and looked up, she was beaming, loving what she'd just been exposed to.

"Nope," the stallion answered, striding over to the zebra. "Get on the edge of the bed, on your back. As much as ah love your dick-suckin' and amazin' ass, ah've got another plan for you. Spread your legs. Gaia, stand over her."

The two mares smiled, happily jumping up and obeying his commands without question. As he stepped towards the bed, a hand touched at his hoof, and he looked down to see his sister trying to regain her breath, her chest rising and falling in heaving gasps.

"An' me, m-master?" she asked, her voice rough and raspy. "Where do ah go?"

"You don't," he answered. "Sit an' watch; you're gonna learn what a good whore does, an' if ah feel generous, maybe ah'll give you another go."

"Y-yes, master." Her disappointment was palpable as she let go of his leg, but she didn't try and argue, instead looking on dejectedly as she was refused proper participation.

"You really like watching her eat me out while you slide your fat dick into her cock-pocket, master," Gaia observed, her words slathered with lustful approval.

"Ah do," he admitted, unceremoniously guiding his messy, spit-coated crown to the striped mare's thick black teardrop and pushing into her, pulling a whimper from her as he did. "But that ain't what we're doin'. Not this time." Sheathing himself fully, he set a rhythm and let it run its course, swivelling his hips in a smooth, automated cycle, his attention almost entirely on the griffon. Pulling her in close, his lips sealed around one of her stiff buds, the stallion suckling shamelessly at her teat, his cheeks hollowing from the thorough effort he was putting into his job. With his free hand, he grasped her unattended boob, groping her pliant pillow with a familiar certainty, his fingers sinking into her flesh as if it were foam. The presence of the rings was far too distracting and tempting for him to not pay any attention to, and he made use of their presence to tease and toy with the griffoness, tugging on the metal with his teeth and his fingers, switching from pulling and biting at her engorged points to exert his power over her through her jewellery. There was something exciting and powerful about adding inanimate material into the dynamic, keeping her just that little bit removed from him, a symbol as well as a practice of his control over her.

If Gaia had been sitting on Zemballa's face, the griffon would've been the loudest of the two purely from muffling her only competitor, but with her standing upright, the zebra's voice was free to fill the room. Squeaks and squeals, huffs and hums, gasps and groans, all from Mac's repetitive, unending rotation, his confident pace fast enough to make her feel his every movement, and steady enough to not wear her out too quickly. His size reached every part of her, stretching her around him, firing up her nerves and caressing her insides with a passion that exuded control and tenderness at the same time, and she let everyone in the room know just how wonderful it was. Some of her exclamations were sentences and words, or simple utterances of 'master', while others were just noises which conveyed as much - if not more - than anything language could achieve. Her legs wrapped around his waist, begging him to not remove even an inch of his glory from her, desperately trying to pull him back in as he sawed and pumped.

The climax was a slow burn by comparison to yesterday's rapacious sprint towards release, but it was still a satisfyingly simple journey to get the mare over the edge. Her voice grew louder and heavier, her excitement filling her tone, and her contractions became regular and rhythmic, signalling well in advance that she was on her way to finishing. When she peaked, it was a normal, run-of-the-mill panting squeal, and then an elongated groan, her marehood rippling and squeezing his pistoning pride. Mac felt it was a good milestone by which to judge his activity, and pulled his mouth away from Gaia's breasts for the last time, giving both a final smooch to summarise the play, and kissed down her belly to her pelvis.

Gaia gasped and chirped as the pony's lips sealed around her clit, his suckling no less enthusiastic than when he'd been playing with her chest, his tongue lashing at the pierced organ with a controlled precision that shone through in spite of the strength and speed he displayed. Like he'd done before, he tugged at the ring, evoking a squeak from the griffoness at the intensity of the movement, the simple act sparking the spot he'd touched. Greedily, he wrapped his arm around her upper thighs, squishing the flesh of her butt as he lifted her towards him, exposing her loins for him to taste and feast upon. He was relentless, slurping at her muff with abandon, reaching from one end of her slit to the other before returning his focus on her pleasure-centre, his all-encompassing technique soon driving her to a quaking climax, her claws running through his mane as she sung his praises.

Zemballa finished three times before Mac did, and Gaia was so close to her third that his grunting and groaning was enough to send her over with him. Like the zebra, his climb was linear and predictable, a set journey with a known arrival time, and so his end was standard and unremarkable, even if it was still amazing. He thrusted throughout, spilling his load into the gasping zebra and smearing the hot gush against her walls with the same pulsing piece pushing the cream into her. With his muzzle pressed against the griffoness' twat, his exhalations and instinctive, rumbling groan was felt in full, the vibrations stimulating her sensitive little clitty and nudging her into a leg-shaking release, fresh juice dribbling onto his lips and tongue. The three of them remained in place, joined together until all of them were satisfied.

"Good girl," Mac huffed, letting go of Gaia and leaning down to kiss the zebra, his tongue sliding past her lips to give her a taste of the feathered woman's nectar. Zemballa whimpered, tightening her leg-lock around him, delighting in the taste of her friend mixed with her master's. Mac himself was reluctant to break the kiss, but knew he had to - it was his responsibility, after all. "Damn wish ah could slide my dick into your throat an' bust a fat load down there, or play with your ass until I ruin you forever. Ah reckon you wouldn't take long to make me nut, would ya?" 

"I-I hope not, master," the zebra answered, blushing adorably. "Is my butt really that tight and f-fuckable, master?"

"Ain't no mare ah'd rather take," he told her, biting her bottom lip playfully. "An' your throat technique is like bein' sucked by a goddess. Unfortunately, we ain't got time to give you the chance to show off. Budge up. AJ, get over here, now!"

"Is it my turn, master?" she asked, eyes brimming with excitement and hope. She appeared at his side immediately, desperate for his attention and approval.

"No," he told her, watching her face fall. "You get t'see just how a good mare takes it. Lay on your back in the middle of the bed. Gaia, on your knees, head 'tween her legs."

"Oooh, a good choice, master," the griffoness complimented, taking Zemballa's place in front of the stud, presenting her rounded ass to the stallion and waiting for the newest addition to their group to do her part. "Z's better at this than I am, on account of her muzzle and lips, y'know? But I'll give it 200%, master! It'll be the best muff-munching she's ever had!"

"Ah've never tried it before," Applejack admitted as she crawled onto the bed and turned onto her back, blushing a bright red even as she smiled. Gaia gasped in excitement, eyes gleaming with anticipation and her smile bright and wide.

"What an amazing opportunity!" the griffon squealed, nuzzling the pony's calf. "Spread those legs for me, babe. I'm so thirsty."

Applejack's gasp came just as the stallion parted the griffoness' slit with his glans, pulling a groan from the feathered slut that Mac felt was timed perfectly. As he slipped inside her, gliding easily into her ready passage, she focused her attention on fulfilling her master's orders, attentively running her small tongue up and down the dark labia in front of her, the scent of horny mare undoubtedly thick in her nostrils. It couldn't have been easy to continue with her duty, but she stuck at it, valiantly licking and lapping like a good girl should, tasting the newest female with an obvious delight as her master filled her with his abundance, his sheath pressing demandingly at her mons and his hands gripping at her waist, holding her rear end up so he could delve as deep as he could into her depths. He didn't stay still for long, exactly as she'd wanted; as soon as he had the angle and the penetration set, he drew back and began a rhythm, rapidly accelerating to something heavy and harsh.

"Master," Gaia whined happily, the single word broken over several syllables by his unrepentant hammering, his groin slamming noisily into her natural padding and using it to slow his momentum. The rest of her words were spoken into Applejack's pussy, muffled and incomprehensible from his position, but still audible enough over the fleshy slaps of their bodies to show how much she loved his roughness. It didn't matter what she said; it was clear she wanted, needed, him to keep pounding her like she was nothing but a sex toy, to truly use her for one of her only purposes in this world. As long as he was taking her, treating her as an object for his enjoyment, she was fulfilled and happy. He did exactly that.

"She eatin' good?" he asked, directing the question at the writhing mare in front of his cocksleeve. From the way his sister's hands were roaming over Gaia's head, running through her crest and gripping at her urgently, it was already apparent what the orange pony's answer would be.

"S-so good," Applejack answered in a groan, sucking in air to keep her constant whimper and moans going. "P-please, p-play with my-" She broke off into a squeal as the griffoness turned her oral attention to the mare's clit, lapping at the sizable protrusion, deftly flicking her muscle around the metal of the piercing and swiping at it directly. "K-keep goin', sugarcube, ah...oh, please, please...PLEASE!" She arched her back, gyrating against Gaia's face, her pleasure peaking swiftly. Several seconds later, she came hard, groaning and squeaking as the orgasm rolled through her, enduring the ceaseless licking as she throbbed and pulsed, her vulva and dense bud winking in time to her contractions.

"Such an easy slut," Mac grunted, laughing at the display. "Still ain't as good as this slut here." He puctuated his point with a resounding slap to Gaia's ass, knowing she could handle the impact. It was heavy, her jiggle feeling solid from the speed and weight of his palm walloping into her globe, and she let out a short scream from just how hard he hit her, but the squeeze of her honeypot, and the beads that rolled down his nuts, told him just how much she loved it. "She's tight, she's willin', she's capable, an' she's got a killer body. Proper meat on her bones, cushion for the pushin', everything a mare should have." The words came easy, sounding natural to him, a perfect fit for the depravity of what he was doing. Saying them gave him a rush he'd never felt before, a sort of freedom and pride he'd only have been able to imagine before now. "Damn, this ass is just- fuck!" He spanked his slut again, grinning as she whimpered, and quaked.

"Sh-she's perfect," his sister agreed. "Sh-she's...f-fuck..." The rapidity of Mac's fucking pushed the spitroasted slave against AJ's mound, her beak slipping into the open gate sometime during the endless ravaging. The griffon's tongue reached out, swirling around the dripping walls surrounding her beak. "You feel so g-good..."

"She's damn good," Mac agreed, spanking the griffoness again. His long, swift strokes sent his balls swinging full-pelt into her clit, beating her tiny bump and drawing more juices from her cute grove, their loins soiled with the affluent product of their vigour. "Takes cock like a champ. Much better than you do. From what ah see, she knows how t'use her mouth better, too. Is there anythin' you can do, Applejack?"

"Ah..." She trailed off, pouting at the accusation. "Ah'm sorry," she said at last. "Ah c-can do better. Ah promise."

"You'd better," Mac warned, bring his hand down sharply on Gaia's butt again, and again, repeating his slaps on one cheek and then the other, alternating with as much fluidity as he could. His effort were rewarded with the climbing pitch of the griffon's squeaks, her stifled vocalisations ascending to an urgent, desperate level, signalling to him that every strike was raising her towards her release. A final hit sent her over the edge, her cunny clamping down and her whine escalating into a shriek as he dug his fingers into her waist and upped his pace to a blur, driving her orgasm onward. The trembling set off his sister, her second orally-induced climax arriving with a simple groan and an arched back, her hands pulling Gaia's head closer against her mons.

How the winged whore could keep servicing the orange pony after her brutal affection was an arousing mystery to Mac, who followed up his jackhammering with a series of slow, aggressive thrusts, his hips crashing against her rear with an ear-splitting SMACK that overshadowed the power he'd put into his spanks. She screamed in joy at his effort, uttering a delighted 'master' after every spark-inducing thrust - at least, that's what it sounded like with her head still buried between his sister's thighs, dutifully tonguing the groaning mare. Between the two females, there was enough utterances, verbal and non-verbal, to understand just how good they felt. Ten harsh slams were enough, he decided, and so resumed his long strokes, starting slower to vary her experience, interspersed with far shorter and faster flurries of pussy-pounding. It didn't take her long to cum again.

The big red stallion deliberately waited until Applejack was getting close before he allowed himself to finish, slowing down and tugging at Gaia's tail to keep up their play without driving himself over the edge, or reaching down to toy with the ring hanging from her overly sensitive nub. When all three of them were either on the rising crest of an orgasm or on the heels of one, he barked his sister's name, making sure she was looking at him, and locked eyes with her, gritting his teeth as he pulsed and pumped his nut into the wailing griffoness. He didn't stop moving even after he'd stopped throbbing, his stream drying up to a dribble, slowing down gradually until he'd properly spread his jizz over her walls. She couldn't hide her lust at his actions, falling back into the throes of climax right after it began to fade, and another after that.

"All th-three of you," he announced, wheezing a little, but quickly regaining his breath. "Hands an' knees. Facin' away from me." Pulling out of his cumsleeve, he waited impatiently for his property to arrange itself, the three mares adjusting to better suit his wishes. Gaia was a mess, her cunt gaping from his recent ravaging, the pink flesh covered in goopey white effluence, her walls trying to pull back together into a more natural resting state. Zemballa had had time to recover, and her inviting garden looked particularly appealing to him, her tail raised onto her back to give him a proper, unrestricted view. With his junk twitching at his immediate, involuntary decision, he stepped over to her, his hooves clacking loudly on the floor as he strutted over with purpose.

He didn't try to be gentle, pushing in as soon as his crown met the widest part of her teardrop, the elastic, leathery black giving way to satin-soft pink. His messy cock sheathed itself in her twat once again, at home in her sodden depths, and she cried out softly in wanton delight. With his hands on her hips, he sawed back and forth, picking up his pace until he was satisfied that it was right. Her body reacted with approval at his movements, squeezing down encouragingly, her breaths shoved from her as he battered her box, his groin smashing against her vulnerable, athletic butt. It was far less padded than Gaia's, offering her little protection from his rightful wrath, but the way she whined and moan and whimpered and uttered her praise for his glorious, magnificent cock made it clear that his roughness was always welcome, now and forever.

The stallion grasped at her braids, tugging her head back as he pounded the small, lithe mare, her pert backside suffering the full impact of his body-battering thrusts, her quim hugging his shaft as it rocketed into her depths and ground against her passageway. She was jolted forward with every slam of his groin against her butt, rocked forward and pulled back into him so he could shove her forward again, ravaging her wonderfully tight but oh-so-accommodating hole, shaping her canal with every drive of his hips into a mould of his cock, and feeling her velvet walls squeeze lovingly down on him as he did. Her wailing, already loud and constant, rose to a tempest, the noisiest the meek mare had ever been, and her tunnel clamped down on him more tightly and insistently, until her tension unwound and she screamed out his name, quaking and splashing his muscular thighs with her nectar.

Leaving her to collapse onto the bed as her orgasm diffused, still shaking, Mac pulled out of her slippery grove and moved to his griffon, grasping her buttocks and squeezing roughly, feeling the give of her supple, well-rounded rear. She shook her ass for him, offering a little bounce as he let go so he could see the jiggle her padding afforded. His response was a heavy smack, spanking her loudly enough to compete with her yelp. Guiding his plateau into the shadow of her caboose, he sought out her slit, finding the soaked groove without any difficulty, and sliding in with the same casual demand as he had the zebra. Gaia shuddred, her back arching as his full length bottomed out inside her, shaping her vagina to perfectly ensconce him, the watery remnants of his last spillage pushed with a soft, wet bubbling around his sheath.

His hammering began immedaitely, the force of his blows ripping through her rump and up her curvaceous body, showing off the strength of his pounding to anycreature who couldn't figure it out already. Of course, the sound alone was enough to demonstrate his unbridled power, the whap-whap-whap emnating from their colliding bodies without so much as a pause between the wallops. A broad hand closed around her tail, grasping it like a leash, and he pulled her back to deepen the penetration, wordlessly demanding she do more. Obediently, the griffoness rocked backwards, taking over most of the effort and impaling herself over and over on his shaft, gladly clapping her cheeks against his abs and moaning whenever he impatiently yanked her back to coax her to move faster and harder, unsatisfied with merely a spectacular job; he wanted her best.

Between the sharp twinge in her lower back with every harsh tug of her tail, the feeling of his unyielding body against hers every time he bottomed out, and the sheer sensation of being filled by his meat, Gaia found herself peaking quickly. She slipped a claw under herself, flicking her bean in a hurried attempt to drive herself over the edge. A punishing swat to her rear stopped her, the stallion moving his own rough fingers between her legs to do the job for her. Returning to her claws and knees, the griffoness whimpered, panting heavily and letting out chirps as her master strummed her diamond-hard pleasure centre, her climax rushing towards her like flame roaring through a tunnel. With a bellowing caw, she came, her body tensing and her wings shooting out to the side, tremors wracking her body. A splash hit Mac's fingers, making his toying that much easier and sloppier. By the time he was done, her arms were shaking, barely holding her up.

One more to go.

"Eyes forward," he barked at his sister, growling threateningly as she turned her head to watch his approach. She snapped her head forward again, casting her eyes downward in shame. "Y'ain't got the right to look at me just yet." His palms slid over her rear, feeling the soft curves of her ass. He hadn't gotten a good look at them before, never feeling the need, but he'd distinctly remembered her friend's butts from the amount of time they spent around one another; Pinkie's was huge and jiggly, Rarity's was round and respectable, and by comparison, AJ had seemed normal, at least to him. Again, he'd never felt the need to look - but now he could appreciate just how much better it was like this. The orange mare yelped as he swatted her ass, a slap to each of her pillows, and the stallion snorted in disdain, kneading her flesh and drawing a series of stifled whimpers and needy moans.

"Ah ain't even done nothin' yet," he admonished her, spreading her cheeks wide to give himself a better view of her treasure. "Gaia here took a hit ten times harder than that, an' you're squealin' like a pig already. Zemballa had t'put up with me splittin' her in two with basically nothin' to lessen the impact, an' she ain't moanin' like you are. Hay, you're already whinin' like a filly goin' through her first heat, an' all ah've done is touch this fat ass of yours." He swatted her again, chuckling at her squeak. "What does that say 'bout you?"

"That ah'm really sensitive, master?" she suggested. "Ah'm new to this, an' you're just so good, an'-" Another blow to her reddening rear shut her up quickly, and she fell silent at his unspoken command.

"All wrong," he informed her, tracing his thumb over the circuit of her labia, following the track from her ponut to her clit and around again, letting her shiver at the gentle touch. Her large nub winked at him as he passed, her parted tunnel dripping with need and stringy effluence, her femlube thick from the sheer desperation, the imperative to be taken and claimed by a strong male. "It tells me you're a mare who's always had it easy, thinkin' you could just go an' do whatever took your fancy, while ah had to do all the work."

"Th-that ain't fair, master." She howled as he spanked her hard, refusing to hold back. The pain took a while to blossom into pleasure.

"You ran off on adventures with your friends," he growled at her.  "You treated me like ah was just some safety net so you could do whatever took your fancy, while ah had to plow the fields an' take care of the house! Ah wasn't asked, ah was told to shut up an' do what was best for the family, while you set your sights on bein' a hero! You didn't check to see if ah was okay when ah was up all night harvestin', while you an' Apple Bloom galavanted around the farm tryin' to find the Great Seedling! You never had to grow up, an' ah had to be the loyal, quiet brother gettin' everythin' done! Ah had to shoulder the responsibility, an' you got all the credit!"

With an angry grunt, he speared into her sopping snatch, sheathing himself fully in her sinfully tight hole. As she clamped around him, surprised by his rough, sudden intrusion, her body heat seeped into his shaft, warming and comforting him. Snatching her tail, he started pounding her roughly, without any compunction, fueled by his fury and compelled by how right it felt to take her like this, her body welcoming his violation as if he was the most welcome guest in the world. His sister cried out, struggling to remain upright as he furiously pumped away, technique lost to the simple need to throw his groin forward, to bury his cock as far and fast as he could into her pocket.

"Gaia's ass is better," he sneered, yanking the blonde tail in his grasp. "She's a better fuck than you are, she knows how t'move. Zemballa can suck a dick like nopony's business - what're you good for?" He heaved her tail sharply towards him, pulling her back into his crotch with a loud WHACK and burying his trunk in her cunt, striking her cervix and sending a jolt through both of them. Applejack screamed, spasming at the strange pleasure and the resulting climax, a rush of fluids messing the fur of Mac's groin and legs.

"Ah-ah'm s-sorry, m-master," she answered as soon as she was able, gyrating involuntarily against his entombed member, the aftershocks of her release still passing through her. She whimpered as her sensitive walls squeezed around his turgidity, doing nothing but sparking her nerves as they came into contact with his concrete hardness. "Ah-ah'll get better, ah p-promise."

"Yes, you will," he emphasised, grabbing a fistful of her mane and pulling her head back, the mare grunting in discomfort. His hips began their rotations again, his shaft dragging against her recently-recovered walls, filling up her ardour once again. "You've been a pain in my plot for years, AJ. You've been rude to me when ah've tried to help, you've been rude t'others who've tried to help, you've refused to see what you're doin' wrong, an' most of all, you nearly sabotaged our meetin' here."

"Ah said ah w-was sorry," she groaned, trying to sound sincere as the stallion ravaged her twat. "Ah'm sorry, master!"

"Ain't good 'nough," he grunted, upping his pace again, letting the sound of slapping bodies fill the room, joined by the mare's squeals and moans, the noises mixing into a lewd mess that reached towards an innevitable conclusion. With a final exhaling groan, Applejack clenched tight around her master's cock and shook, femcum streaming down her legs and adding a wetter sound to the already sloppy slaps. When he let go of her mane, she fell onto her face, harmlessly bouncing off the bedsheets.

"Ah-ah'm a silly pony," she huffed as she was pulled back onto all fours, the firm hands roaming over her chest and copping a feel of her bust. "Ah'm a dumb, stupid pony who needs to do better for you, master. Ah-" Her statement was cut off by a squeal as his finger and thumb trapped one of her nipples, pinching the dark, thick bud and rolling it possessively, pulling and tugging with a careless, experimental interest. Bringing his other hand around to her unattended tit, he cupped her bosom, holding her mounds and kneading them as his movements started up again, the slide of his drenched dick frictionless against her walls. He grasped and groped, palming and playing with her pierced puppies, leaning over her to better feel what he now owned.

If his mammary massage was magical, then his fingers dipping down to brush at the pearl between her legs was divine. Her eyes rolled back, and she couldn't hold herself up any longer. As she fell to the bed, he followed her down, his weight settling atop her, a comforting and domineering presence that did as much to fill her with an ecstatic warmth as his throbbing tool and his attentive hands and digits. She huffed and panted, her face flushed from the myriad of sources of pleasure, the feeling of belonging as she was stimulated and just treated like an object - albeit a cherished one - sending her soaring to new heights, climbing higher and higher. His thrusts were short and sharp, hitting all of her spots, his loins smashing her big bouncy butt, and-

He growled hotly in her ear, pinching on her nipple hard and working his fingertips across her clit furiously for a few seconds before he drew his hips back, grasped hold of her, and delivered several ravishing thrusts, finishing his marathon with a sprint. His flare stretched her wide, his nuts retracted towards his groin, and he tensed and let out a loud, feral grunt, burying himself as deep into her as possible and letting his tool pulse and pump, his seed surging along his cumvein and erupting into the helpless mare beneath him. His hips jerked, small rotations to try and eek out that little bit of extra pleasure, his body working on autopilot as his mind flashed with lights and shapes and colours he couldn't put names to. He felt oddly detached from his body, the intensity of his orgasm seperating his attention from his ejaculation and the vice-tight wringing of his slave's own finish, her juices saturating the bedsheets and his own coat. The heat of it all, the sticky pool he ejected into her, all of it was dwarfed by the satisfaction of how right what he'd just done was. He rode that wave longer than his cock twitched and oozed thick, virile jizz deep into Applejack's womb, his chest against her back and their crotches joined intimately.

"Master?"

He registered somepony was speaking to him, and opened his eyes, realising just how out of it he'd been. He became aware of his deep breathing, his capacious lungs drawing in great drags of oxygen following the momentuous end of what was undoubtedly the best session he'd ever had in his life. The voice had come from right next to him, and he noted the hot breath on his cheek. Turning his head, he saw the flushed cheeks of his sister glancing at him, her eyes tired. Maybe it was his imagination, but her pupils looked a little like love hearts.

"AJ," he greeted, nuzzling her cheek softly. "Good girl."

"Ah love you." She kissed his cheek adoringly. "Ah truly love you."

"Ah love you too," he told her. "An'...ah forgive you." He moved his arms to ensconce her, wrapping her in a loving embrace. "Just remember your place from now on."

"Ah will," she promised, sighing in contentment.

Smiling, the stallion rolled the two of them onto their sides. "You two, get over here. Y'ain't gettin' out of cuddlin'."

"Wouldn't dream of it, master," Gaia commented, happily laying down behind him, her breasts squashed against his muscular back. "It's not every day I get to cuddle with three other gorgeous creatures."

"It's nice," Zemballa agreed, joining on the other side, face-to-face with Applejack. They smiled, exchanging a soft, affectionate peck on the lips, and intertwined their limbs, wanting to be as close as they could. "I feel...loved."

"Me too," Gaia agreed.

"Me three," Applejack chuckled.

"Y'all are," the stallion told them, sandwiched between his three slaves. "Ah love y'all. When we get home, maybe we'll make it official. Who knows. Somethin' to think 'bout." He yawned, pulling Applejack and Zemballa closer. "Ah say we have a nap, figure it out later."

The others agreed, his yawn setting them off too, their soft murmurs of appreciation fading into a gentle silence, the room filled with the ambience of their soft breathing. The sheets were soaked with their fluids, the air was thick with the smell of their activity, and their minds were at peace.

Sleep came easily.
> Afterwards
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mac was diligent, signing the cheques properly and in advance, and so all that there was to do was to hand them out when the Friday rolled around. It was something his employees liked about him; he promised to pay them on the last Friday of the month, and he delivered, without exception. Each pony thanked him, wishing him a happy weekend, and departed, taking their money to the bank, or to the tavern, or wherever else they so pleased. He didn't intrude on their personal lives, other than to keep tabs on their birthdays or other similar events that required some level of awareness. That's something else they liked about him; he truly treated his employees like family, gifting them shoes or clothes or bonuses, or whatever else they most needed whenever their day of the year rolled around.

"Thank you very much, sir," Filthy Rich commented, taking the cheque with a small bow of his head. "I look forward to seeing you next week."

"Likewise," the towering red pony agreed. "Is Diamond still okay to look after the kids?"

"Of course, sir," the former business pony answered, tucking the cheque away in his pocket, right next to Sweet Apple Acres' business cards. "She's more than happy to have them, as soon as she's done cleaning the house."

"Tell her not to worry 'bout the house," Mac told the older stallion. "My sister can take care of it later. Tell her she's free to go now, nothin' cut from her wages. Ah'll pick up the kids tomorrow at midday, an' she's still entitled to her foalsitting bonus. Your wife, too."

"That's awfully kind of you, sir," Filthy responded gratefully, bowing his head again.

"Cut out that drivel," Mac chortled. "It's Mac to you, y'hear? Ah ain't some plump aristocrat sittin' on a throne. Unless you want me callin' you pa, of course."

"I think we should avoid that," the other stallion agreed, chuckling quietly. "Have a good weekend, Mac."

"An' you too." They shook hands, as they always did, and with a nod, Filthy left the office, closing the door behind him.

The office was an early addition to the house, a necessary extension as Sweet Apple Acres expanded its business venture and the administration became a much larger part of their day-to-day functioning. At first, Apple Bloom had taken over, offering her time to help contribute to the logistics and the like while Mac did the manual work. Applejack pretended to help too, but her role was largely consigned to menial tasks, like washing the produce. She wasn't cut out for lifting and bucking any more, but Mac still ordered her to act like the stubborn tomboy she'd once been to avoid any awkward explanations.

Mac smiled a little at the memory of their return from Saddle Arabia, the cautious questions about the new arrivals and the bridles they wore from the rest of Applejack's friends and the townsponies. He'd prepped them on the train on the way back, telling them what they were to say and how they were to act, that the zebra and the griffoness were two women he'd happened to have struck a chord with during his time away and that they were tentatively dating, and that Applejack had grown attached to the fashion of that kingdom. After a few days, everypony shrugged and accepted the new state of affairs, especially Rarity, who gushed and repeatedly complimented the earth pony's new figure and sublime fashion sense.

The money began to roll in after the first shipment was sent out, Mac's workload increased, and he found himself toiling in the fields from dawn to dusk, ensuring he could keep up with the demand. Thankfully, he had his slaves to relieve his stress at night, and to motivate him in the morning. As the lucrative deal showed fruit, he invested in labour, reducing the strain he put himself under, and upping the production he could ship out to other kingdoms, which in turn increased the amount he could invest in his business. He made sure his workers were well compensated for their effort, expecting a lot from them and paying them accordingly, in addition to the bonuses he threw in for exemplary work or because there was a celebration to be had, even if most of those were Mac's baby showers. The town had initially been confused when he'd introduced a griffon cub and a zebra foal as his children, but he'd just told them genetics was random, and with the scarcity of interspecies pairings, they'd believed him, never considering he'd chosen what his offspring would be. As for the half-sister that Applejack had birthed, well, the town still didn't know who the father was. It was just a one night stand she'd told them, explaining nothing more than that, and the apparently absent father didn't mean the foal wasn't raised with love, as if Mac himself had conceived her.

He smiled at the thought of how well everything had gone. Looking out of the window, he gazed over the numerous buildings he'd constructed with his own two hands, along with his labourers, a swell of pride forming in him even after the long months since their completion. The distillery was his favourite construction, being the one he'd put together piece by piece with parts he'd machined himself, but the others were necessary for the continued running of his business; the packing plant, the warehouse, the maintenance bay, and the rest he had to oversee on a daily basis. He'd have preferred to be working out there, but the sheer diversity of the workload was beyond even him, and he had the presence of mind to know it was his duty to lead, not to be stubborn out of a misplaced sense of pride. His workers - the farmers, the mechanics, the transporters - all relied on him to keep their jobs running efficiently, and insisting he join them rather than ensuring they had a job the following day wouldn't be right. That's something Applejack would've done, before she'd learned her limitations and been readjusted.

The staff filed out of his house, leaving in high spirits, chatting and laughing as they headed home or to whichever activity they felt like doing after work. It wasn't even evening yet, so they had a lot of time to kill. Seeing their contentment was part of the reward for him, knowing he'd brought something to their lives. Before he'd taken over the administration of Sweet Apple Acres, Apple Bloom had estimated that they directly employed five per cent of Ponyville, and increased the town's value by upwards of tens of thousands of bits per year from commerce. He wasn't vain enough to check, but he still allowed himself the satisfaction of it being a possibility.

When the last of the workers had gone, Mac turned from the window and left his office, locking it thrice behind him, before walking unhurriedly to the house's forth bedroom, letting his anticipation build with every step of the slow walk. Outside of his business, the newest bedroom to be added was his favourite construction project, and one of his most decadent but fiercely guarded secrets. He'd told everypony to stay out of it for their own safety, warning them of various hazards inside, and most ponies listened. Apple Bloom had agreed to stay well enough away, and his staff had enough respect for him to not raise any of the questions they innevitably had. His children were easily the greatest obstacle; once, he'd caught Gallant lifting Violet up to the lock on his shoulders, his daughter trying to find a way to open the forbidden door. When he'd asked them what they were doing, they'd stumbled and fell, and after he'd caught them, he demanded to know why they were deliberately disobeying him. Gallant had stepped in to defend his sister, claiming it was his idea, and that he'd pursuaded her to try and see what was inside the room. Mac had warned them in no uncertain terms that they'd be grounded for a month if they ever tried that again, then hoisted them up in his arms and took them out for ice cream, reiterating how much he loved them.

He only ever used the room when they were away, for the simple reason he knew they were curious. Respect or not, they were kids, and they wanted to know why they weren't allowed in that room. Diamond Tiara's foalsitting helped him a bunch, giving the three mares of the household a break from looking after five boisterous children day in, day out. Without a doubt, Gallant was the most mischievous, cooking up all sorts of plans and pranks to entertain himself, and most of the effort in raising children came down to keeping him out of trouble. Maybe it was because the griffon cub was the only male among his siblings, and so naturally felt protective, but he was endlessly supportive of his sisters, jumping to their side to help them or protect them whenever the barest sign of trouble became apparent. It didn't quite mitigate the fact that he dragged his sisters into his mischief, but it made Mac proud regardless, and Gaia was beside herself with joy at having given her master a strong, brave, handsome son. He had her eyes, too, shimmering teal orbs that glimmered with intelligence, curiosity, and charisma.

Reaching the door, he shook himself from his paternal pride, focusing on the task at hand. Raising a hand to the middle of the dark, smooth wood, he pressed his ring finger against its surface and slowly, deliberately, traced a winding shape downwards. He'd needed Princess Twilight's help to contsruct it, requiring a pony he trusted who was capable of magic of this sort, and while she'd been embarrassed to learn what he intended to use it for, she agreed it was appropriate given the presence of children and workers in the house. A lock could be picked, a password could be overheard, but a symbol and a spoken statement which only had meaning to its intended occupants was about as secure as they could reasonably make it.  As the meandering, serpentine trace reached its midpoint, he whispered the words clearly.

"Takin' a bite of the apple ain't no sin."

Finishing his gesture, he stepped back, listening to the arcane mechanism within clicking and unlatching, the stalwart barrier slowly undoing itself for him. With a widening grin, he watched as the final metallic click rang out and the door creaked inwards, opening to him. Taking a breath, excitement tickling his sesnes, he stepped inside, slowly closing the door and waiting for it to complete its locking sequence before he turned around. The silence settled, and he bided his time, stretching and letting the wait drag on for as long as he wished. After he'd cracked his arms and shoulders, he permitted his attention to fall into the room, drinking in the beautiful sight.

Mac had never been one for ostentatious decoration, and so the room was austere by most standards; the walls were tarnished oak, as was the ceiling, and the floor, sturdily built, but aesthetically bland save for the aromatic candles, if he were to ask almost any architect or interior designer. That was never the point, though, given that the walls muffled sound far moreso than the rest of the house, and the walls were adorned not with artwork or carvings or any other monotonous, pompous decoration, but with racks and shelves, all holdings of endless sorts. There were whips, paddles, handcuffs, lubricants, dildos, vibrators, plugs, probes, gags, rope, and such a variety of equipment that he couldn't help but smirk in smug satisfaction, especially when he noticed that three particular pieces were missing. They were cleaned and organised daily, so an absence was a clear sign that one of the pieces had been deliberately removed. In this instance, he knew exactly which three pieces were missing, and turned to the centre of the room.

The round bed had a retractable bedhead for when it was needed for tying, but today it was tucked away, leaving them a plateau of resting on which to conduct their activities. The sheets were pink silk, the pillows stuffed full of the finest down he could purchase, and his three slaves were presented as he'd told them to be, with their heads in the sheets, their rears raised, and their tails flagged. They'd chosen their plugs well, the stones imbedded into the base of each suiting them perfectly. Gaia had gone for an orange, a vibrant display for her feisty personality no doubt, while Applejack had gone for sapphire, and Zemballa for ruby. Each of them shone without detracting from the rest of their sumptuous bodies, the instruments sealing their tailholes a fraction of what they could offer.

"Y'all look good today," he commented, running his hands up and down their butts, gliding down their glutes and generally feeling what was his. "Is there somethin' y'all want?"

"Nothin' much," Applejack teased, swaying her tush slowly from side to side. "Maybe just a little time with our magnificent master..."

"Anything you want," Zemballa added, swishing her tail for him. "Anything, master."

"I want to be fucked into a coma, master," Gaia told him bluntly. "I'm so horny I could burst, but if you want to continue denying me any pleasure, that's your right, master."

The stallion grinned silently behind them, knowing they couldn't see him breaking his stern facade; he'd trained them too well to dare look back at him without his permission. He loved the griffoness' candour, her bluntness melding surprisingly well with her knowledge of her place. She never overstepped her bounds, or dared suggest he was doing something he shouldn't be, but she wasn't afraid to express herself in terms of how she felt. He'd ordered them to not touch themselves for the last week, waiting until they had a free morning to allow them all night to indulge in their perversions, and they knew what that meant. The knowledge would only add to their desperation, he knew, and he'd set an example by refusing to masturbate for the same duration. All four of them were steeped with need, and with the moment before them, they were itching to cut loose.

"Here's what we're doin'," he informed them, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. He could see from the prick of their ears that they could hear him, and their tails swished excitedly. "Ah'm layin' down, an' y'all are takin' turns to see which of y'all is worthy of havin' my next foal. You've got until you cum to make me bust a nut, an' if you don't, then it's the next creature's turn, an' so on. Winner gets bred all night. Simple rules, simple game."

The wait for him to undress was torturous, every second stretching to an eternity, their lust roiling and snarling inside them as they obediently waited, refusing to give in and jump him then and there. They began to twitch as his belt hit the floor with a thud, and the soft, almost imperceptible sound of his trousers being shrugged off and tossed to the floor was met wth shivers and winking pussies. When he stepped around them, their eyes followed him, burning into his back, tracking him intensely as he languidly lay down on the bed and shimmied into the centre, resting comfortably with his head against the pillows and his back against the as-of-yet uncrumpled sheets. They weren't fooled by his facetious delaying, he knew - his erection was proud and tall, bobbing in time with his heartbeat, and with how full and burgeoning his nuts were, it was clear he was in as much need as they were. Still, he took his time, living up to his responsibility as master of these mares, the one who was supposed to embody control and discipline. Finally, he settled down, letting silence fall for long, dense seconds. The anxiety grew in the air, excitement seeping in so thickly that the room seemed to buzz.

"Go."

There was a mad scramble, the females leaping towards his junk only to be pulled back by one of the others, each of them desperately trying to impale themselves on his glory. There was some snarling, and even some biting, but each of them looked excited, thrilled, to be competing to be the first to seat themselves on his monument, to have him stuff them full. Finally, after nearly a full minute of hard-fought contestation, one of them managed to shove herself onto his cock, engulfing enough of it that the other two pulled back respectfully, understanding their place. They watched as she took their master deeper, bouncing with abandon to fully swallow down his meat. She bounced, gasped, groaned, praised, and indulged in the simple pleasure from which she'd been denied. Within minutes, she was squirting, finishing her turn and being removed even as she wrung his cock.

The next was just the same, managing to last merely a few minutes after mounting and slamming herself down, riding him hard and fast until she too added to the musky juices matting his fur. The third was, predictably, no better, splashing his sloshing nuts with her effluence, shuddering as he drove her to climax without doing anything. The first was barely ready again by the time her turn came around, and it was only the threat of not having his cock inside her - or worse, disqualification - that spurred her to take her place and ride him. She lasted a little longer this time, but still squirted without receiving his desired release. The cycle repeated, the three of them soaking him over their many attempts to get him to put another foal in them.

Mac lay back and revelled in the simple, lazy satisfaction of females - his females - breaking themselves to please him, to get something from him that only he could provide. They tried so hard, pushed themselves, and even when they failed, they refused to give up. All because he'd told them to, because he knew what they needed as well as they knew themselves. It was a long competition, the trio trying everything they could, from making out for his viewing pleasure to turning around and riding him reverse cowgirl, showing off their plugged butts and juicy, bouncing booties. He drank in the sights, but didn't give them what they wanted, not until they'd earned it. Finally, innevitably, one of them moved the right way, squeezed down, did something well enough that he lost the battle with his will and flared, blasting her cervix with ropes of steaming jizz, the cream boiling as it ejected from his cumhole. Roaring like a feral beast, he grasped her hips, his instincts taking over as he unloaded a week's worth of nut into the victorious slut, the girl in question cheering and whooping proudly.

His orgasm lasted several seconds, but that was the only amount of time he was out of commission; immediately afterwards, he pulled her down to his chest, rolled them over, and levered her legs towards her head, letting them rest on his shoulders. Bent at nearly 180 degrees, she was in the perfect position to be bred, his cock delving deep into her valley, his length taking up every available inch of space. He rutted furiously, driving her into screaming orgasm after screaming orgasm, his brutal batterng making her crotch a fountain, her eyes rolling back as he melted her mind. Her anal plug popped free from her asshole, pushed out by the pressure of his girth against the toy, leaving her slightly agape and the lube-slick implement to be picked up by one of the others, who sucked whorishly on it. The other two females licked and lapped at the spilled femcum, tasting their mindbroken sister, vicariously living the unrelenting fucking she was willfully enjoying. Their tongues reached Mac's nuts and pucker, lapping at his cum-tanks and wrinkled rotunda, urging him onwards and begging him to push a huge load into their slave sister, their fellow breeding slut, to use her for her purpose of giving him - them - children.

The fact he'd already busted his largest load of the week didn't matter to his second ejaculation. It surged through him like a tsunami, erupting from him like a burst fire hydrant, and flooded the slave's fertile, receptive womb, saturating her breeding chamber and bringing her to another howling climax. His mind danced, but he didn't care about the colours or the images that flashed across his vision, not when he was filling a female, his female, with his seed, keeping every drop of his ball batter sealed safely in her most important organ. He wasn't going to let her risk even a miniscule chance of not getting pregnant, not when he was owed another son. Gallant would be so happy with a little brother, and Mac was going to do his damndest to provide for his family.

"M-master..."

"Ah know," he told her, grinning as they kissed. "Nice an' full?" She nodded, and he deepened the kiss, sharing tongues and letting their passion renew. "Ain't done yet, slut. We've got all night, an' ah know you've got at least five more hours in you after ah made you wait this long for it."

All of them were happy to hear it, even the two who were delegated to rimming their stud and lapping at his balls as their contents was spilled inside their luckier slave sister, refusing to stop until they'd drained him and their own energy reserves had been fully expended. Finally, they collapsed, exhausted, sweaty, and satisfied, the sheets soaked with the results of their joy and their hard work, cuddling in a tight mass to doze off to a well-deserved sleep. Mac ruminated on his luck, hugging his harem close, his hand resting on the belly of the next mother of his foal. He smirked, unable to manage a full grin as his eyes drifted close, the smell of his lovers filling his sinuses and his mind as he sank into the comfortable embrace of sleep. The workers would be happy to hear they'd be having another baby shower, an evening of celebration and generosity from their boss, but he'd be happier. He had everything he wanted, and life still gave him more.

What a lucky stallion he was.