Discipline and Reward
“Step out of your cells and stand along the yellow line in single file!” the caramel mare called from the walkway that overlooked the cell blocks.
A cacophony of metallic bangs filled the towering stone room as the guard pulled a lever back in the control room, simultaneously opening all the cell doors on either side of the long, rectangular block. Like well-trained officers, every inmate strode forward and came to a perfect stop along the parallel yellow lines, staring at the pony directly across from them.
The warden grinned a sideways leer out the left side of her mouth. Slowly, purposefully, she descended the steel steps to the ground floor, every hoofstep breaking the perfect silence of the large room. The clanking gave way to echoing clops as she dropped down to the concrete.
The warden, by far, was the most respected (and feared) pony on the premise. Once, an inmate had made a snarky comment about how short she was; he had spent two months in the infirmary. The truth was that she was short, about four inches shorter than the average pony, but that didn’t make her any less intimidating.
She strode voluptuously between the two rows of inmates, the baton strapped to her right leg swinging dangerously, as if begging one of the ponies to step out of line. Her ratty, brown mane hung around her ears and eyes, tickling down the back of her neck, wild, yet working perfectly with her character. Her tail was almost the same way, but was much longer than her mane, hovering only a few inches off the floor. Her hind legs and haunches were nicely toned, powerful, inherited from her earth pony traits.
At lunch one day, a group of twelve inmates had hosted a discussion about the warden: if there was one word you could use to describe her, what would it be? They had all unanimously agreed on ‘short and sleek and fine as a diamond’, even though it was more than one word. Since that day, not one of them had dared to voice the saying aloud, for it would probably prove to be the end of everypony who had been involved in the conversation. They all knew her name; it was Cedar, but unless they wanted a double round-trip to the infirmary, she would at all times be referred to in a formal and respectful manner.
Her cutie mark fit her occupation perfectly; it was a large ring fed through an assortment of jailer’s keys.
Reaching the end of the line, she stopped and made a stiff turn, exactly one hundred and eighty degrees.
“Your cells will be searched!” she called to them all. “You will stand exactly where you are while the guards tear through your cells, and all of your very few personal possessions. Am I clear!?”
“Yes Ma’am!” they all replied stiffly.
She stomped one hoof. “Good! And if any of you move, I will personally teach you just how creative I can get with this baton.”
One of the ponies in line, a blue mare, snorted. She was new here, shipped in only yesterday.
The room went suddenly much more quiet as everypony in line stopped breathing.
Cedar froze, letting her head slowly drift around to the naive mare. With the tiniest hint of a grin, she sauntered over to the mare, shoving her tan muzzle within inches of her blue and staring. “What was that!?” she yelled suddenly, causing the mare to jump a little.
“Nothing, ma’am!” she yelled back.
“Why in Celestia’s name are you yelling in my face, inmate!?” Cedar bellowed back. “This is not boot camp!” she continued. “You will never address me in a voice louder than you would address your marefriend! Do you understand!”
“Yes, ma’am,” the mare said in a normal voice. The tiniest of grins crept across her face.
In one swift movement, Cedar had the baton gripped in her right hoof. Her hoof flashed out and the baton struck the blue mare hard in the stomach. Before the mare even had a chance to react, the baton struck twice more, one blow across each foreleg.
She let out an ‘oof’ and crumpled to the floor, heaving.
“Do you think I’m funny!?” Cedar screamed down at her.
“No,” the mare gasped, holding her stomach.
Cedar returned the baton to it’s designated spot on her right leg. “Anypony else think I’m funny!?”
Silence.
She stepped away from the cringing mare, back between the two lines. Now there was a new feeling bubbling in the pit of her stomach. Before, it had just been amusement, now there was something else behind it, something much more dangerous—lust.
It was a kick of hers, and it was undeniably, pretty weird. Pain, inflicting pain upon others—it was almost joyful; it sent her a little rush of adrenaline that put her on a thirty-second high. It was also a bit of a fetish. Unfortunate for her, the majority of stallions did not prefer to experience bodily harm in the midst of a rutting.
The sound of snickering brought her attention to one of the cells. She hitched forward and trotted swiftly to the cell, where two of her guards: stallions, stood looking at a denim-bound notebook, grinning feverishly at one another.
They were so enthralled, they didn’t notice her approach until she snatched the notebook from their grasp. They both paled, the smiles vanishing from their faces faster than you could blink.
“What’s so funny, she asked, cradling the notebook in her forehooves as she examined the page.
It was a drawing, sketched with what appeared to be a piece of charcoal. She recognized the mare drawn in the book, mostly because the mare was her. The mare in the picture definitely was her, and she was putting on quite a show. The sketchbook version of Cedar stood looking back at the real one, her back arched and hind legs spread slightly, tail lifted, giving Cedar quite a nice look of herself.
It took a moment of Cedar eyeballing the drawing of her tail-end before her train of rational thought was pulled back onto the rails. She wasn’t sure whether or not she should be angry or flattered. Unsure of which to decide on, she settled for both. Upon looking up, it became apparent that the two guards had fled in fear of bodily harm; it had been a smart decision on their part.
She snapped the sketchbook shut and stomped over to the stallion whom the cell belonged to. He was about five inches taller than her, an earth pony, dark brown coat and a tan mane. He was basically the same color as her, only backwards.
Putting on her best intimidating stride, she stalked around him in a circle, balancing the notebook on her back. “Care to explain this?”
“No, Ma’am,” he said quietly, looking straight ahead.
As Cedar circled, she picked out a long scar up his flank, starting at the belly and traveling diagonally almost all the way up to his back. Not bothering with the baton this time, she lunged forward and slew her hoof across his face. The strike stung her hoof, meaning it must have stung even more in his jaw. His head whipped around and spittle sprayed from his mouth, but be took the hit like a real stallion, standing firm to where he was and biting his lip.
Cedar turned to a standing guard. “Shackle him.”
She observed as the guard moved forward and fitted a pair of shackles on the stallion’s forehooves. When he was done, the guard gave a bow, and backed away.
Cedar stalked around to the front of the brown stallion and and gave him her best glare. “You have no idea how much shit you’re in.”
He flushed, and averted his eyes to the floor.
“Let’s go!” she called, standing aside and pointing towards the barred door at the end of the long room.
She walked beside and a little behind him as two guards flanked them out of the cell blocks. She shrugged the guards off once they were into the more decorative halls of the staff section of the prison and led him through the halls and up a flight of stairs to her office.
Being warden came with certain benefits, like a big office all to herself. The floor was polished oak and the walls were painted a dull dark-green, but very little wall space available due to the large amount of framed pictures or other random trinkets hung around the room. A large pane glass window looked over the courtyard, her desk set right in front of it.
She bolted the door behind her and motioned for the stallion to stand before her desk. She crossed to her desk and sat, propping her hooves on the wooden surface. She glared at him for a good minute, and he looked back evenly.
“So,” Cedar said dangerously, “what do you have to say for yourself?”
He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She slammed a hoof on the desk. “Don’t you lie to me!”
“I am not lying to you ma’am,” he said with barely an air of exasperation, keeping his voice level for the most part. “I have done more than one thing in which you could find punishable. I will not admit to anything until you tell me what it is I did wrong.”
“Stop talking like you’ve got a stick up your ass.” She snorted. “So you’ve been in trouble before?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What for?”
“Ponyslaughter, ma’am.”
She sat back and folded her hooves. “Mind explaining?”
He took a deep breath. “A pony tried to mug me, ma’am, killed him on accident. He gave me this scar.” He cast a quick glance to his flank.
She never took her eyes off him. “How?”
“Knocked him off a train platform. I swear it was an accident, ma’am.”
She rolled her eyes. “Everypony’s innocent in here, if you’re not already aware of that.”
He bit his lip.
She waved her hoof in the air. “I remember reading your case. Self defense gone too far... What’s your name again?”
“Cinnamon Stick,” he muttered.
She grabbed up the sketchbook and flipped through the pages until she found herself, then tossed it down on the desk in front of him. “Tell me, Cinnamon, this mare looks really familiar, doesn’t she?”
He swallowed. “She’s just a drawing, ma’am.”
Slowly, Cedar stood and stalked around her desk. Casually, she moved up beside Cinnamon to examine the mare. “I think I might know her.” She let her coat brush against his, seeing how he would react. No matter how hard she tried, she just could not quash the churning in her gut.
“I don’t know what—”
She drew the baton and whacked him across the breast with it. She struck him two more times, once upon the small of his back and another time in the breast, until he stumbled. He growled under his breath, but made no move towards her. “Why don’t you fight back?” she coaxed. “You’re obviously stronger than me.”
He took a long, shaky breath. “Because I’m not that stupid, ma’am.”
“No, and it’s a good thing you’re not.” She leaned over the sketchbook and pointed between the mare’s legs with the baton. “Well, anyways, you misplaced her clit.”
Cinnamon blinked. “E-excuse me, ma’am?”
She threw him a glance. “Well, you see, it’s a little bit lower than that, and take it easy with the folds, it’s a vagina, not a rose.”
His jaw fell open a little bit as he looked at her. “Well, I... I wouldn’t know. Every mare looks different and—”
“How long have you been locked up now?”
He blinked, shaking his head in confusion. “Four years, why?”
She nodded slowly. “Well if you’re going to draw a picture of me, you might as well get it right.”
Cinnamon gave up at denying who the mare in the picture was. “I-is this a test?”
She grinned and strode away from him, looking over her back at him. “What do you think?”
He swallowed. “To be perfectly honest, I’m afraid say anything because I don’t want to get beaten.”
Cedar couldn’t believe how she was behaving. He was an inmate! What the hay was she doing? Maybe the authority was getting to her head. She had a pretty good idea of what she was subconsciously planning for herself, but it was a little daunting to think about. He was an inmate. Either she was going insane, or was incredibly desperate... It was probably a mix of both. Cedar would have played the I-could-lose-my-job excuse, but she was at the top of the pyramid. Who was there to fire her other than herself?
She turned back towards him and slinked behind his back, flicking her tail. “I can’t guarantee your safety.” Gliding up beside him, she reached out a hoof and slammed the denim sketchbook closed. “But I can show you something better than a picture.”
He tensed, breathing coming in shorter bursts, purposefully not looking at her. He didn’t speak, only staring straight ahead.
She drove her knee into his side. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you!”
Looking confused and a little flustered, he looked into her eyes. “I don’t trust you. You’ve sent enough ponies to the infirmary just for looking at you funny. You could kill me for this.”
She trotted a short distance away and lowered herself a little down on her forehooves, keeping her hind legs straight. “What was that position again? She was looking over her right side, right?”
Tongue tied, Cinnamon nodded.
Her heart beat like a drum. Everything she had ever known told her this was wrong, but she was enjoying it so much. Never before in the past had rutting an inmate crossed her mind. Maybe it was because half of them would slit her throat if given the chance. But now, it was starting to make perfect sense. The prisoners were kept strictly to their cells, and weren’t allowed to interact with one another in private, let alone get physical. Why, she could probably have any stallion in this joint she wanted.
Cedar hurriedly struck the thought from her mind. She was desperate for a stallion, but not desperate enough to take free ploughings from inmates... was she? But she had something over them she didn’t have over any other ponies: superiority. These ponies obeyed her every word, and no matter what she did to them, they knew better than to try anything back. But that thought was stupid. She relied on the basis that they had no rights. She was unable function from a normal social standing point. Out of this prison, she was just a normal pony, but here, she was everything.
A sudden, depressing thought struck her. This... this was probably the best she could do.
Slowly, carefully, she spread her hind legs two feet apart and swished her tail. A grin spread across her face as Cinnamon went lax. “You see what you did wrong?”
He nodded slowly. “I used to think my drawing looked pretty good...”
She giggled, then hurriedly cleared her throat. “You’re just about the first pony in this place who isn’t glaring like they’d like to choke me to death.”
“I think I’m the first pony in this place to look at you... I mean, like, see...” He shifted his hooves, the shackles jangling.
She leaned down further, a tiny moan escaping her throat. “How would you like to be the first one to touch?” Pinching her eyes shut, she hung her head, letting out a long breath.
There was the jangle of chains as Cinnamon moved towards her. Cedar swished her tail, trying not to shake. She was actually doing this.
She felt it, his hoof as it lifted her tail aside. Shivering, she shifted her stance ever so slightly. A squeak escaped her lips at what came next, and a shudder racked her body at warm tongue, running up her... She moaned, tossing her head so that her mane fell into her eyes. “Celestia,” she breathed, twitching. “Damn stud... You... you’ve done this before. Right?”
She let this go on for a minute, enjoying his tongue much better than she ever could her hoof, or her baton for that matter.
A thought struck her; he was in control, not her, and she didn’t like that thought. Figuring it was time for a change, she spun on him.
Cinnamon took a step back. He didn’t look worried, but cautious nonetheless. His tongue flicked out and ran across his lips, a movement Cedar didn’t miss.
She stalked towards him, eyes hungry, and he shuffled backwards as well as his shackles would allow him. She smirked. “Why run?”
His rump bumped against her desk. “You’re wearing the look you use when you’re about to hurt somepony with your baton.”
Cedar only laughed. Even if she wasn’t very large, she did possess a fair amount of strength for a mare. Jumping forward, she planted both forehooves on the stallion’s front and shoved him over backwards. He flopped over on the desk, knocking aside a lamp and a stack of papers, cringing as the quills on the desk dug into his back. She planted her forehooves upon the desk and pulled herself up to stand over him.
She drank in the sight of him on his back, his exposed belly and his shackled forehooves. The way he looked up at her with carefully-shielded curiosity almost seemed cute.
“Should I be worried?” he asked calmly. Overall, he seemed skeptical of the whole ordeal, but not closed to it. Cedar particularly like the fact that he wasn’t tripping over his own hooves like a colt on his first date. He was calm, and his impartiality only seemed to strike her as that much more arousing.
“You’re not gonna die if that’s what you’re worried about.” She lowered her face to his and nipped firmly at his ear. “How do you like your mares?”
He formed a smirk of his own. “On the bottom, where they belong.”
She slammed her hooves down on his chest. “Wrong answer.” He tried to squirm as she forced her foreleg against his neck, just below the knee. Cedar lowered herself onto him, grinding her hips against his. He was still sheathed, hopefully not for much longer.
“You like it rough?” he choked, voice hoarse, struggling in her surprisingly-strong grasp.
She put a little more pressure on his neck. “I sure hope you do, because either way, you’re giving me what I want, and whether or not you choose to enjoy it is your choice.” She thrust her muzzle right up against his, growling. “Is that clear!?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he gasped, a devious look overtaking him despite the reddening in his cheeks.
She released the pressure on his throat, letting both forehooves drift down to his sides, rubbing gently. “What do you say you show me what you’ve got?”
He arched his back slightly, lifting her up and rubbing his hips against hers. Cedar felt it. She flushed at the tingling in her lower abdomen. She wiggled her haunches teasingly, and he twitched back at her. Tauntingly, his member slid up her belly, growing hot and thick.
Cinnamon shuddered for the first time.
She slid back and forth gently, rubbing his member along her belly. “How long’s it been since you got to use this thing?”
He shrugged, wrapping his hind legs over her rump. “Take how long I’ve been here and add four months.”
She grinned, yanking on the shackles around his forehooves. “You’d better not blow early on me.”
He yanked his hooves back, dragging her forwards across him as she held tight to the shackles. “That depends on whether or not you’re a good lay.”
Cedar drove a knee into his belly. “Hold your judgement until after you're done crying.” It was clear that this was going to be a battle of dominance. She literally shook with anticipation. She liked it when they fought back, and this one was definitely a fighter.
She pushed herself forward a little more and felt his thick member slip up between her legs. Sweet Celestia, he hadn’t even touched her yet and she was already wet.
Cinnamon exhaled a long breath, lifting his haunches a little, prodding her tight entrance.
“Big guy, aren’t you?” she hummed, pushing against him just a little bit, testing him.
“Too big for you?” She couldn’t see his face, but she assumed he was smiling.
“Let’s find out.” Biting her lip, she pushed backwards, an aroused squeak escaping her vocals as he parted her.
He moaned below her as she slid back, pressing him into her. Cruelly, with a little smirk, he bucked his hips. Cedar cried out in pain and fell against him, trying to breathe off the burning fire in her nethers.
“Jackass!” she swore, shaking.
He laughed. “Too much for you?”
She growled and pushed herself up again. “Not on your life.” Bracing herself, she inched back, shaking her haunches every few inches to guide him, until he bottomed out inside her. Panting, she glared down at the smug stallion, blushing heavily. “You... You really are a stud.” She looked down between her legs and tried not to squeak in worry. She had swallowed him about down to the medial ring, and he had her spread wide, but there was still a lot of him that wasn’t in her, and something in Cinnamon’s eyes told her that somehow, he was going to make it fit.
Cedar tremored, the juices she was producing in her heated state dripping occasionally from her clit onto the dark-brown stallion’s coat.
“Oh yes,” he replied as if he had read her mind. “Now who’s scared?”
She planted her forehooves on his chest and lifted herself up until she felt his head just barely inside her, then slammed back down, crying out in pain and arousal, not sure which one felt better. She meant to lift herself up again, but his hind legs wrapped around her rump and squeezed, yanking her down around his shaft. There was a wet shlep as his medial ring popped inside her and all she could do was open her mouth in a silent wail, eyes popping. He drew back, and slammed his hips forward, repeating the process.
She was completely immobilized. Every thrust he delivered was white-hot agony, only made bearable by the arousal it bore. She tried to speak, but all that she managed was a squeal as he held himself deep inside her. His hoof flashed out and collided with her muzzle, and she went screwy for a moment, head lolling to one side. it hurt, but at the same time, she found some sort of sick enjoyment from the abuse.
“That’s payback for hitting me,” he snarled, bringing his rutting to a momentary stop.
Pulling herself back together, she pulled the baton from her foreleg and held it across his neck. “I’m not that easy,” she hissed, leaning in close.
His hooves shot out and wrapped around her neck. Eyes shooting wide, the baton fell from her grasp as she struggled to relinquish his grip. He grunted, and actually managed to turn her over atop him so that her back was pressed against his belly. His hooves wrapped around her neck and the chain binding the shackles drew tight across her windpipe.
“That’s better.” Cinnamon let out a shaky breath and lowered his hips. Cedar’s eyes popped as she watched his length leave him, slicked with her juices. Letting out a feral grunt, he bucked into her, pounding into the breathless mare held atop him. Every thrust was ruthless, drawing a gurgled scream from the hapless mare.
She could feel his hot breath on her neck, hear his panting in her ear. This wasn’t how she had wanted it to go, and somehow she had to regain control of the situation.
As a last resort, she reached out a forehoof and gripped the side of the desk, rolling them both off with a mighty tug. Cedar fell the three feet to the floor with Cinnamon atop her. Her belly stuck the wooden floor with a thud and Cedar cried out as the rest of Cinnamon crammed into her, rather forcibly.
She was incapable of words. It hurt so much; her entire lower body felt like it was on fire. There was a sense of achievement at having straddled that stallion, and taken everything he had to give down to the sheathe, but at the same time she was slightly concerned for her well-being.
An idea struck her. He was going to keep fighting her, and she couldn’t keep up at this rate. She would let him take top, as long as he wasn’t choking her, and once he was worn out, she would take over. Panting heavily, coughing a little, she managed to roll herself and the pleasure-stunned stallion over and slip her neck out from under the shackles. The chain had left a clear intent in her neck, raw and sore, and her throat felt like a pony had stabbed a knife into it. Hurriedly, she wriggled herself back over so their bellies touched. One thing she wouldn’t again allow was that position; he had too much leverage over her that way.
Leaning down, she whispered in his ear. “Your move.” She went limp.
Cinnamon played into it just as she had planned. He rolled them both over, reclaiming his position of top. She grinned up at him, head tilted to the side and one eye pinched shut. “Y-you’re one hay of a stallion... just so you know.”
He moaned, turning his snout towards the air. The pace he took up was actually a rather pleasant one, one Cedar had not been expecting. He would draw nearly all the way out, then slide in, burying himself completely and gyrating his hips, milking moans from the squirming mare below. He grunted feraly as he worked, nuzzling into her neck, nipping softly at her coat.
Cedar couldn’t believe that something as simple as a nip could send shivers up her spine, to her very soul. As he continued, she found herself clenching more and more often, her breath coming in short gasps. Her entire body ached, but it was a good ache, the sort of ache she associated with a good rutting.
Cinnamon’s thrusts were proving more and more irregular, his breathing ragged. He was tiring, and now was her chance.
Cedar wrapped her forehooves around his back and rolled them both over. He didn’t fight it much. She took over, planting her forehooves on his heaving chest and using it as leverage to lift herself up. Every time she dropped, swallowing him to the hilt, she rolled her haunches, massaging her insides and inducing a sort of eye-flutter from the stallion below her, who seemed to be rather enjoying the show.
Her mane was dampened from sweat, hanging in tangles around her face and neck; Cinnamon fared no different. Her breath heaved in her chest, and while her heart raced and pounded, her body screamed for more, putting her on the edge of pure ecstasy.
She was so close that it was agonizing. Cinnamon seemed to know this too, because an amused grin had spread across his face. “You first,” he said in between pants.
“No... you,” she managed. Trying her best to hold herself back, she worked the stallion below her, grinning evilly down at him. She wrapped one of her hooves under the chain binding his shackles and pulled him up to look her in the eye. He looked pleased, tired, and overall pretty stupid in his primal state. With a playful growl, she lunged forward and bit down on his ear, tugging lightly, all the while keeping her movements constant.
The stallion below her seized up, and she knew what was coming. What little resistance she had crumpled left when she felt him flare inside her. She rolled back on her haunches and raised her head to the ceiling, mouth open in a silent wail as searing hot pleasure blossomed in her nethers, traveling in waves out through her body as she milked ecstasy from the stallion, rolling her hips through the midst of her peak.
Cinnamon arched his back and clenched his teeth, a feral moan escaping his lips as he emptied burst after burst of cum into the smaller mare. She moaned as she climbed down from her high, right as he was reaching his. His warmth spread through her, coating her insides. What her body couldn’t contain leaked out around his shaft, running down his length and staining both their coats.
Cedar let out one last exhausted breath and collapsed on top of the finished stallion. She was tired, and bruised, and abused, but it felt amazing. Though it was a surety that she would be stalking around rather sorely tomorrow.
“Was I good lay?” she whispered deviously.
He nodded, breathing heavily. “Definitely. Small and tight.” He laughed.
“You’re lucky I don’t beat the piss out of you for choking me.”
Another laugh. “You know you liked it.” He bucked his hips, still lodged deep inside her, and she jumped with a sharp gasp. “Besides, I didn’t pull hard enough to hurt you.”
Pushing herself back up to a sitting position, she looked down at the mass still snaking from her insides. With a low moan, she picked herself up, tremors running through her body as she eased herself up. His flared head slipped out of her with a wet pop, a small waterfall of his seed following, trailing off to a drizzle from her insides, layering his coat and running down Cedar’s inner thigh, the warmth drawing a shudder through her body.
“Wow,” she muttered, settling back down upon him. “I just banged an inmate.”
He snorted. “I just bagend the warden.”
“Did you like it?”
“Loved.”
She gave him a friendly nuzzle. “The power struggle was a little much, but it really worked out there in the end.”
He grinned. “Maybe next time we can take turns being in charge.”
She gave him a playful glare. “Next time?”
He blinked. “You can not tell me that you’re only going to let this be a one time thing.”
She laughed and rolled off him, somehow not furious at the stallion for causing her physical harm. “Go clean up and meet the guards back outside my door so they don’t get suspicious. I’ll think about it.” She yawned. “They should be on their lunch break, so you’ll have a good twenty minutes; just don’t go near any of the exit doors or they’ll either beat you dead or add a year to your sentence.”
Cedar flopped over on her side and closed her eyes, listening as he jangled out of the room.
“That was pretty stupid,” she muttered to herself, rolling slowly up to her sore haunches. “That was really stupid... but that was so worth it.”