Dirty Inflation

Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)
Commissioned by anonymous

Arctic was just as nervous being sent to Canterlot castle as he had the two times prior but, well, it was not as if the four-legged pegasus stallion could do anything in that regard to stand up to his mistress. Oh, no, that simply wasn’t something done by a longing and loving pony-pet just like him and he hung his head submissively as he stood before the princesses on their thrones, awaiting their command. He spread his legs a little, trying to make himself seem a little more appealing, breathing shortly and shallowing, flanks shuddering as his tail hung down loosely over his hindquarters, shimmering with a sheen that, on him, was rarely seen.

One thing was good, however, and that was the long, luxurious bubble bath that his mistress had prepared for him beforehand, the caress of her hooves in his mane and tail simply exquisite. They’d worked sensually over his pale hide and his cutie mark, the dark blue of his mane and tail not escaping her attention either, though he had known all the while that it was because he was needed somewhere else. A pony like him, a pet to her with her collar and butterfly tag constantly hanging around his neck, did not get baths like that and attention for no reason, though it was not as if he wasn’t going to enjoy it while it was all taking place in the moment.

No… The stallion knew where to take his little pleasures in life, after all, when they were afforded to him.

“Slave.”

Arctic stiffened. That was a hard tone and especially coming from Princess Luna, the princess of the night. He tried to straighten his back to attention without slouching his weight forward, his head dragging it there as it remained respectfully lowered. But he had to do it, just to please the princesses, everything about him merely to be there in service to them, always and forever. His mistress, after all, had said such to him, though he was perhaps one of very few ponies in all of Equestria that bowed their heads in such devoted kinds of service.

“Come with us.”

He dragged his hooves but followed smartly on their heels as they opened up the spiralling staircase to the dungeons right beside the throne. There was only one place that he could have been taken and his guts churned uncomfortably, remembering the last time he’d been there. He did not know if it was worse or better that he was not to serve those princesses that time, for their worse halves had been gentler the time before that, though things, well… He sighed, in a way that the princesses did not notice. Things were confusing, to say the least of it all.

His cock, of course, was out and on display, as it always was in the presence of the princesses. Arctic could have probably have remained hard without the help of the tight, pink ring around the base of his cock (another reminder of his mistress with the custom butterfly print on it), his shaft jiggling on show, drooling fat drops of pre-cum. Even that little bit that he secreted, dripping to the steps as they descended to where torches lit a more open area, bars to his right, was more than many stallions could cum in a single round, proving his virility and just why he had been prized for it before. In a way, he was prized for it then too but in a different way.

Arctic shivered, shifting his weight from hoof to hoof. The door slid open to the prison of Nightmare Moon and Daybreaker with a rattle and a clatter that sounded like bones being jostled in the pit of the doomed. That, however, was merely his overactive imagination at work and, at least, Arctic could be proud of the fact that his knees no longer knocked together as he was prodded into their abode, a sharp jab on his rear end from one of their horns (he did not look to see which) driving him on.

“I think you know what to do, slave.”

A slave… Yes, to them, all four of the princesses and evil queens, he was nothing more than a slave, a pony that could be used and abused and simply tossed aside again when they were good and done with him. He trembled and gulped, braving their presence as the flickering, flaming mane of Daybreaker caught his eye, clad in her royal jewellery as if to make her pale coat and fiery mane and tail appear all the more fearsome.

“Oh, would you look at that,” she murmured, licking her lips to reveal a flash of sharp fangs. “A snack… And what do you suppose we do with a treat this small, oh dear Celestia?”

Although she was well-used to the jibes and prods of her evil half, Celestia still flinched, raising her eyebrows.

“I expect you may do with him as you will. You know the limits. His mistress will not be pleased, of course, if he is not returned to her in one piece.”

Arctic whimpered, resisting the urge to drop and quail, covering his face with his hooves. It would not have been becoming of him, not as a pony who was in service of them, already slipping down into a more submissive role than ever. He did not need bondage to be present on his body, after all, to feel smaller and more insignificant than ever, his muscle and softly rounded bulk of a stallion nothing in comparison to the alicorns that could so easily wipe him out of existence if they chose.

But they would not do that. The evil ones, of course, because their powers were limited in the magic-infused prison but the princesses because they were inherently good…weren’t they?

Best not to linger on that thought for too long. Too swiftly, Princess Celestia and Luna’s hoof-steps faded, retreating back up the steps, and he was left before Nightmare Moon and Daybreaker, the alicorns towering over him as he felt himself shrink even by the mere nuance and might of their presence. 

“I…I…I…”

“Oh, it’s best if you don’t talk.”

Nightmare Moon snarled, showing her fangs, her nebula of a mane whipping back from her dark hide, suitably adorned too as if she was about to lead a battle. Maybe they had been reminiscing about older days when they had sought to take over Equestria but those were times long gone by, the magic of the princesses more than enough to seal them away down there. Sometimes, Arctic wondered if he had something of a hoof in keeping them somewhat sated also, but that was probably thinking a little too much of himself as a pony-pet and slave-stallion. The terms were interchangeable depending on who was using him at the time.

“Little stallion… Just what are we do to with you this time…”

Nightmare Moon’s magic lifted him and he flailed, squealing and twisting, trying to get free, his flight instinct kicking in. After all, he was still a pony at heart and they were not the bravest of souls except in a herd environment, something that had posed notable exceptions throughout Equestria. Yet he could not help but try to fight her even as he was raised above her head, close to the higher (was it bigger again?) cave roof, one side of the dungeon cell framed with the famed crystals that made up other parts of the Canterlot dungeons. That the cell was larger was disconcerting, his sense of space and perception off, breath catching and struggling through his chest and windpipe, eyes wide as he puffed and panted.

“P-p-please,” he managed to force out, legs kicking wildly, his cock bobbing about all on show. “Don’t…don’t hurt me…”

“Hurt you? Oh, that is a jest!”

Slamming her hoof into the ground, Daybreaker laughed and tossed her head, sending her flaming mane crackling and spitting, yet there were no explanations to come, of course. They had a slave there to deal with their frustrations and to be taken in whatever way they wanted and needed him to be taken – so what else were they to do with him?

The first time he had met them, they had used their magic to change his form and make him stand on two hooves, though that was not to happen during the course of that session, Nightmare Moon conjuring manacles to lock his front hooves onto the wall. In a mockery of standing on two legs and having those strange things called “hands” before, he was forced nearly upright, haunches trembling as they were forced to take even more of his weight. It was not a position that his body was meant to be in and yet her magic did not even afford him the ability to squirm, horn glowing as the blue threads swirled around him, forming more solid metal manacles around his hind hooves, a spreader bar slapped between them to prevent him from even thinking of protecting his dignity.

No… No, that was not what he was there for as a thick, steel posture collar, thicker at the top and tighter than it was at the bottom where it flared, locked around his throat. It covered his leather collar, which was a blessing in that it reminded him of where his heart and his love truly resided, but stopped him from looking around, effectively locking even his head in place. Nightmare Moon’s goads about him whimpering and whining washed over him but not even Arctic could have said that he was at all surprised when she slapped a metal ball gag into his mouth. It rasped harshly over his teeth as he hacked and gagged, pushed in deeper than it needed to go and fixed with a latex band around the back of his head. 

They didn’t need to blindfold him when he could not look around, effectively restricted as his wings too were kept from flapping hopelessly, a couple of stray feathers drifting off as he moulted even then. A latex binder secured those but even that was tighter, the hobbling spreader bar wider, forcing everything to be on show as his nuts hung down full and heavy, though not as heavy as they could have been. His mistress had denied him for at least three weeks and the orgasm before that had only been one of milking (so it didn’t really count) but everything that the demon-queens did to him was harder and harsher, a crueller edge to it than ever before.

He should have realised that that day was different. He should have realised that they had deliberately left most of his body exposed, despite his tight bondage.

Crack!

The cane smacked into his hindquarters and he squealed, though had to force himself with every drop of restraint he had in his body not to bite it, not to dig his teeth into it. It was a furious conundrum for him, in removing something that may have allowed him a touch of release and relief before, twisting and jumping, Daybreaker levelling the cane in her glowing magic to smack into him again and again.

That was the “problem” with alicorns, he thought through a haze of pain, welt after line of welts layered into his hide. With their magic, they had access to so many more tools than earth ponies, able to wield them with greater force too. There was little in the realm that could actually tire them out and he was forced to bear through it, ripping and pulling at his manacles, though all that did was make his fetlocks ache, digging into the sensitive bone and joint under his coat and flesh.

“Think you can run, slave? There’s nowhere for you to go down here…”

He knew what his place was when he was down there but, frankly, they weren’t about to take any chances there, Nightmare Moon taking hold of a bullwhip while Daybreaker cackled, caning a criss-cross pattern into his hide. With her magic, she was not limited to horizontal strokes, able to twist and turn the cane to cause the most pain and even hide the whisk of it through the air so that Arctic did not even know when he was going to be struck. There were so many little ways to add extra levels of cruelty to their abuse of him, beating him down, snarling and spitting, blood trickling down his hide from where one welt had broken, bleeding lightly.

He didn’t know, didn’t care, slipping down lower and lower, though he was still held up and in place, technically, by the manacles. The stallion could hardly even balance on his hind legs, hindquarters quivering with his legs yanked so far apart by the spreader bar, cock throbbing and drooling. His body could not help but respond to the beating, drooling pre-cum from the influence of the cock ring, which allowed a little to leak forth and kept him hard, though no true orgasm could be gleaned from it. That was a toy that he had heard that Mistress Shy had had Twilight Sparkle make for her, though he was not so sure that it was something that a princess should have been working on.

That wasn’t for Arctic to think about or worry about, however, head drifting and spinning, easing into sub-space. Well, he had been forced there with the crack of cane strike after cane strike raining down and layering the meatier parts of his body wherever it could strike, though the bullwhip was what really did it for him. That was more intricate and could be a weapon to treat delicately, singing through the air and then cracking as the tip was pulled back sharply at due velocity.

That one had him screaming into the gag, forgetting himself as his jaw ached, not realising how hard he was grinding his teeth into it, trying to find something above all else that could rein him back in, bring him back to somewhere that wasn’t a blur of pain. His throbbing shaft still afforded some illicit pleasure and strain in a good way but it was hard to even concentrate on that when he was being beaten so viciously. If he had been at all free to move Arctic would have collapsed to the ground and blubbered, begging for mercy, yet all he could do was sweat, his body twisting and jerking or at least trying to. It was all pretty much muscle twitches at that point, barely possessing the energy to even consider fighting back, involuntary reaction absolutely all that he had at his disposal. The stone wall glared back at him, made up of grey, rough bricks that could have been found in a pleasant cottage somewhere. They had to have been laid over the original rough rock of the dungeon wall, he thought dimly to himself, random thoughts floating through his mind without allowing him a moment in which to grip onto them.

They came and went, his thoughts, and the queens slowed their pace, the lick of the bull whip kissing his shoulder. Arctic almost giggled deliriously. That was a thing, was it? A kiss of a whip? Oh, how ridiculous, how ridiculous to think like that when the pain was all-knowing, overbearing, overcoming every last fibre of his being and leaving him nowhere to flee to. There was no remnant in the corners of his brain where he could hunker down and pretend it wasn’t happening to him, tail clamped down, yet even that muscle was forced to relax, for there was no room for tension in a body that the alicorns had demanded give up every last sliver of it.

The whips clattered to the floor as Nightmare Moon’s hiss cut through him and he baulked as his hide all of a sudden burned. For a moment, he thought that Daybreaker’s flames had taken to burning him (they shouldn’t have done so unless she had willed it) but the wet sensation that swiftly followed the burn was enough to let him know that it was more than that. 

Piss. Urine. The heated, spurting flow of it sank into his coat, surely staining it a rank shade of yellow, though he still could not twist around to see, grunting and rocking his hips, striving to ease the burn just a little. It was not to be evaded though as the urine washed away the blood, the alicorns pressing their backsides up close to him and mostly washing his hindquarters in their urine. They could squirt a little if they angled their back ends higher but, really, there would be time enough for that if they wanted it too. 

“Do you remember your place yet?” Daybreaker snarled, the flash of fangs something that could be heard even in the lash of her tone. “Broken…beaten… You’re only here to please us, slave, and nothing about this is for you!”

Oh, he knew that, he really did know that, but there was no way afforded to him to reply with the gag in his mouth, drooling profusely around it. His cock ached for something, anything – anything at all that could have taken his mind off the humiliation and the pain, though that most likely wasn’t going to be something that he wanted to lean into either. He just had to have something else to take his mind away from the burn, the reek, the cloying aroma of piss clawing at his nostrils even as he was doused in it.

In a moment, he was free, he was weightless, he was floating all over again. His body turned, easily manipulated, manacles falling away, although it was notable, of course, that they did not remove the wind binder. The gag was taken from him, leaving him working his jaw and spitting out the stink of bare metal, panting so heavily as to show the outline of his ribcage with every breath. He had to bear through it even as he was levitated, though he did not fight back. Maybe that was what they meant, that time, about breaking him, forcing him down to such a point of submission that the thought of struggling simply was not even in the back of his mind.

Submission could override instinct and yet the easiest way for them to ride him was with Arctic on his back, his cock unleashed from the cock ring in a flourish and throbbing desperately. Nightmare Moon sat down on his muzzle, a length of silvery-blue rope binding his forelegs and his hind legs in turn together, trussed up like an offering for Hearth’s Warming Even on a darker time. His tail flicked and yet all that did was expose his tail hole to the driving length of a dildo, Daybreaker growling thickly in the back of her mouth as she forced it in without lube, ignoring Arctic’s cries into Nightmare Moon’s marehood.

“Shut up… This isn’t going to be the worst of it, so you may as well get used to it, slave.”

It may not have been the worst pain but it was an old pain, anal penetration never being his favourite thing, legs trying to kick out to no avail. Another length of rope wound around and around his tail as if the dock and base were being protected but the foot-long length of binding was only keeping it out of the way, ensuring that he could not even attempt to clamp his tail down to protect himself. There was no protecting himself, after all, when he was just a slave, a toy to be played with.

The only limit was on breaking him…permanently. Arctic was all too aware of what that meant.

They had him right where they wanted him, his balls squashed between his cock and his legs as Daybreaker sank onto him with a low and heady moan. She threw her head back as if trying to get his attention even more, though Arctic’s focus, at least in part, had to be on Nightmare Moon, pleasing her cunny. That was a good sensation, a pleasurable one, the sweep of his tongue between and into her folds as she groaned and rocked back onto his needy tongue more deliriously sweet than anything else. He was there to serve and, at the very least, devoting himself to the art of oral pleasure allowed him to ignore, a little, less enticing sensations. A shaft under his tail namely being one of those things.

But that was just how the alicorns operated, working together to dominate him, head swimming, delirious in the subjugation of his body and his soul. The posture collar had been, fortunately, removed from his neck but another steel collar had been locked in place, the click of it sliding home denoting that there was no way to remove it bar magic. And just what magic did a pegasus pony posses that could be at all useful there?

Nightmare Moon moaned and ground back on his muzzle, using him as a living sex toy, perhaps even managing to somehow forget that he was an actual living pony under her. He huffed and panted hotly against her twitching folds, striving to get his lips and tongue over the engorged nub of her fleshy clit, yet she was too active for him to hope of being able to do that. No, his body was merely there to please her as she humped urgently back on his muzzle, horn sparking off with shots of magic that lit up the room – not that Arctic got to see any of that with her huge rump crushing his face. He gasped for breath but even that did not come easily with her sweltering heat crowding him, juices staining his muzzle but at least taking the reek of urine away for a moment.

Daybreaker was not idle either, not even as the luxurious cries of Nightmare Moon filled the cell, the queen of the night rocking fiercely as she got herself off on his muzzle, soaking the pony with a gush of her arousal. The flaming queen’s mane danced as she pounded herself back on his cock, close to Nightmare Moon but, thankfully for them, not quite touching, the sway of her hips hypnotic with their driving force. Not a drop of magic was needed, in that moment, to enhance her natural, physical power, tail sweeping high over Arctic’s balls, although the brushing heat wafting out from her tail could not help but tickle him with sensation.

It was coming, her orgasm rising, trembling through her, aching for her lust, Daybreaker all but roaring as she reached her high. But the problem there was the pony left under her as she plunged herself back down on his cock, his release pushing up urgently. He had been denied any kind of true orgasm for so long that it had to blast forth, her clenching, rippling marehood pulling him right up to that edge and holding him there, tenaciously there. Arctic tried to hold back, hopelessly holding thoughts of his mistress and the punishments she would lay upon him in his mind, but there was no sense in pushing back the inevitable.

The true might of his balls, what made him so suitable to be a stallion-slave, was seen there, Daybreaker commandingly resting a hind hoof on his nuts as if she was actually the one that owned them. As they climaxed together, her hoof pressed demandingly down into his balls, massaging and manipulating them roughly, spurt after spurt of thick, creamy seed flooding her pussy. Her body claimed every last drop of it even as it tried to leak out around the length of his throbbing cock, though he was not in the moment with her, flooding her as her stomach plumped out, inflated with his seed.

“Come on, little slave…” She hissed. “If you’re not worthless, you’ll cum again!”

Her hoof roughly dug into his balls and he yelped but she had him right where she wanted him, shoving him roughly through another orgasm until her belly bulged pleasantly with a good load of cum. The dildo under his tail, of course, helped too, though that was something that he was still trying not to think about too much, breath coming in short, sharp pants, drooling what felt to be every last drop of arousal that Nightmare Moon could have had to release. That may not have been true but he knew too that there was more to come even if he may have wanted a break, a rest, a respite.

There was to be no interlude when it came to pleasing the alicorns, using his body for their pleasure and their pleasure alone.

They swapped places, moving in unison without words as if those were no longer needed between them. Spreading her legs, Nightmare Moon debased him before mounting him, releasing a hot stream of aromatic piss to mark his belly and balls, a darker shade than what the trussed-up pony may have been expecting. The reek filled his nostrils as he gasped, but her pussy devoured his cock in the next moment, swallowing up his overly thick, massive length as if it was nothing at all. Of course, he could feel how tight she was but his huge cock, so much bigger than what most normal pony mares could take unless they were practised, sank in, all the same, buried right where she wanted it.

Nightmare Moon rocked and ground on his cock, the living sex toy back to please the true mistress of the night – a title, absolutely, that only she could claim. His tongue dug up into Daybreaker’s marehood, feeling how she twitched and flexed around his tongue, though she was not above mixing in her juices, deviously, with a little bit of piss, just to make sure that he didn’t enjoy himself too much. He was a slave, after all, and such pleasures were reserved purely for the ponies that deserved them. In her opinion, that was only her (not even Nightmare Moon) but that was hardly something that Arctic was going to be at all privy to.

“Harder, slave.” She hissed. “Don’t you want to please your mistresses, your betters? We’ll think you don’t know your place... Fill us!”

He had to do it, Nightmare Moon rocking and bouncing on him as he practically climaxed on command, Mistress Shy had gotten him that well-trained. Her belly bloated with his seed and she did not hold back her moans in the slightest, crying out her pleasure through orgasm after orgasm, abusing his cock as she forced him to stay hard. There was no option of getting soft for a pleasure-slave like him (at least, that’s what he was being used for at that moment) and his cock pushed up against her innermost barrier, filling her perfectly, despite the difference in their sizes.

Yes... That was the best thing about having a stallion like him under them, the four-legged male bound and locked down, whimpering into a pussy as he swirled his tongue around Daybreaker’s kiss. His world sank into them, the alicorns everything and nothing for him at the same time, things no longer making sense that should have, despite the twists and turns of it all. He moaned, losing himself, yet only got his muzzle ground down on all the more viciously, Daybreaker releasing a stream of piss straight over his muzzle and into it too, forcing him to splutter just to highlight his own helplessness at the height of it all. 

They toyed with him like that, occasionally standing to release a jet of urine over him, marking him, the stink of him rolling in his own reek, though he should have expected that. The welts throbbed with pain but even that was a backdrop to the lust and servitude of it all, Daybreaker even spending some time working and manipulating the dildo under his tail, swapping it out for an even fatter one, without lube still, making him cum over himself repeatedly and fill Nightmare Moon too from anal stimulation alone. It was a purely mechanical thing that he could cum from that manner of stimulation, hating it and lusting for the submission of it all at the same time, his mind pinging between pain and arousal, caught up in that twisting path of lust when he thought he could take no more.

“Now… It is ready.”

Arctic shivered. Not even a “he”. Just an “it”. Some part of him loved the term though. He wanted to be that, less than anything else, something for them to use without even a name. It was funny what thoughts came into his head when he was in that realm of sub-space, floating and parting his lips, tongue pushing out, as eager to please as any slut should be.

His bonds fell away, something pushing over him, sealing him into the reek of cum, piss and mare arousal soaking him, though his head, thankfully, was left outside it for the time being. The shine and pull of latex could not be mistaken for anything else as he wriggled in place, levitated again, giving him the odd sensation of being as light as a rag doll, a foal’s toy that could be tossed about without having any say at all in what happened to it. Yet he was not so fortunate as the latex slid down his legs, covering everything except his head, Daybreaker levelling a hood for his head in a distinctively pony-shape.

“Goodnight, whore,” she crooned, but somehow managed to sound as uncomforting as possible. “I hope you’ll enjoy being our latex fuck-toy.”

He had no say in the matter as the hood covered his face, locking him away from the real world into one of sensation only. A gag, something thick and round, pushing into his muzzle, forcing his lips open, the tight seal around his neck ensuring that it was a perfect fit, though he did not see the hose dangling from the gag. He didn’t need to, his hood perfectly in place so that they could allow him to see or hear as they pleased or, well, not as it was. They didn’t need a latex pony-slut to be able to see anything when he was perfect for their abuse just as he was.

The ear-holes of the mask could be muffled but the tentative noise gave him little indication of Daybreaker slipping on a pair of latex panties, though they were not just any usual panties. They were connected to the mask via a fat hose, a smirk on her muzzle being the only other thing she was wearing as she bared her fangs. Without any pause in the ceremony, she shook her hips, a gurgle rumbling up from deep in her gut as she let loose a blast of wind.

“Unnff...”

Although it was evidently a relief to Daybreaker, it was not to Arctic, juddering and twisting in the tight latex, though he still had some element of movement to it as he grunted and tried to evade her gas. It was intoxicating, a reek that dizzied him and sent a roll of nausea leaping up from his stomach, wanting to escape, to evade her, and yet finding himself completely unable to. Nightmare Moon, however, took care of that for him, using her magic to suspend him from two looped chains behind his respective pairs of legs, legs forced wide and attached via chains and manacles that rattled and clanked wonderfully to the opposite walls. Such as it was, he was left partially spread-eagled in mid-air, to the extent that the tight, stiff latex allowed, his tail shoved up and pushed over his back to ensure that his tail hole too was accessible through a handy hole in the suit. His nuts were covered and his cock too but they could be accessed as they pleased, Nightmare Moon donning a similar pair of panties that shone with a devious gleam, both pairs covering the udders of the mares too for another dose of delight to intersperse the disgust.

For Daybreaker had no intention of allowing only her milk to flow forth with a little magical help to massage her heavy, full udders, oh no – that would be too easy for their broken whore. No, he would have to do far, far more than just that to please the two of them, Daybreaker’s guts rumbling as she released blast after blast of wind. Her belly ached to spend it but she might have just had an inkling of an idea that they were due a visit from their favourite slave and, well, it was more fun to spend that sort of bodily need in eroticism rather than merely as a function of one’s body.

Arctic did not think so as the gas turned to thick logs of excrement, forcing each one into his muzzle, his cheeks trying to bulge out as some part of him still, instinctively, resisted the urge to swallow. There were tiny holes for his nostrils, tubes to funnel it out, yet there was nowhere for him to go, hopelessly suspended and dangling, not even able to rock his body at all. The manacles were tight, so very tight, straining his legs wide, everything giving him a feel of restriction despite the fact that he was hanging, suspended like a mockery of the pegasus that he was. But the reason for him being hung for their pleasure (in more ways than one with his cock bulging through the latex obviously) would come to light as he was filled, forced to swallow, thick logs of scat worming their way down his throat like tentacles.

He tried not to think about it like he’d tried not to think of the dildo under his tail, which had left his hole strained and gaping, but it was impossible not to. Every few logs of filth were washed down his throat with a hefty dose of piss, though he did not dare, even in the comfort of his own mind, ask himself where she was getting them all from. It had happened before and part of him leaned into the submissive subservience of it all while the rest reeled, horrified by the disgust that they put him through. Shit stained his face even as it was forced in to fill his cheeks, the tight seal of the latex around his neck nowhere near enough to stop Daybreaker from forcing them to take her filthy load down his neck.

“You’re just a filthy piss-pony, a scat-stallion,” she hissed, though he barely heard her as another blast of wind rippled through him, infiltrating his throat and spilling down into his bloating-out guts. “You want this, this is where you fucking want to be. We have more than you ever imagined, more than those prissy princesses!”

There was something darker and more meaningful behind her words but he didn’t have the time to consider it as piss-soaked his tongue, causing him to hack and gag even as more and more logs squirmed down his throat. They came in different consistencies again, each one with its own brand of disgust attached to it, sloppy and streaming, her guts gurgling and forcing out more and more. The long ropes of shit that ended up feeling like tentacles coiling all the way down into the pit of his stomach and deeper still were the worst of all, his belly bloating up to take them, though it had little true shape to it with all the lumps of filth pushing out from the inside.

Something was wrong though, something strange, his hide aching, tingling, another sensation clawing its way in that he could not have said that he had been expecting. It was a cooling feeling in a way but he had no way to look and tell even as Nightmare Moon used her own pair of panties, connecting to the suit with her own hose firmly in place, to fill his suit with her filth. The milking of her udders gave him a gentler, lighter start than he could have otherwise have hoped to get for himself but that was all she had in the realm of niceness for him, letting loose a hot blast of piss, filling his suit as the belly dragged down. The design of the suit was such that anything that she dumped into the panties, every drop of milk and every filthy log of scat, would smear all over him but, alas, gravity was at work there too, pouring down his back and soaking his hide entirely.

Arctic grunted and tried to fight but he did not even twitch in his restrictively tight bondage, as locked in place like a statue that could very well have been simply placed there for their amusement, perhaps to look at as a pretty thing well they partook in their evening meal together. A fetish image, a kink statue: there was nothing more than that to Arctic as scat was funnelled down his throat, even forcing its way back into his intestines when his belly did not feel that it could hold it anymore. Suspended as he was, however, there was plenty of room for his stomach to bloat into, especially as Nightmare Moon let it rip with a ruthless load of gas, filling his suit and forcing it to balloon out to contain everything she had to give him.

He’d have to take it too, the suit something infused with their magic so that it would hold through their abuse, the slick, gross feel of scat smearing into his coat impossible for the stallion to shudder away from. He was there for the long haul and forced to take it, scat coiling and twisting against his stomach as it broke, sliding down his flanks, meeting the gravity-led pool swelling out the underbelly of his suit. It was almost a blessing that there was gas too to make room in the side of it, the latex straining and squeaking lightly as it took everything, trying to make room to the exclusion of all else.

Arctic’s head spun, lost in a fuelling twist of gas and piss, the reek of dirt too much to contain. He thought there may have been a drop of arousal in the fluids forced down his throat but he was hardly even able to taste that with how the tube-gag was forced into his mouth, denying even him that pleasure but still the potency of the scat as dribbling splatters filled his mouth, bulging out his cheeks. He imagined shaking his head, denying it, but all he did in reality was gulp down everything he was offered, lowering himself right down to his role of scat-stallion all over again.

But was “scat-stallion” even right? He didn’t feel like much of a stallion when he was bloated out with filth and mess, smeared into his coat so that it would take weeks on weeks to even hope to wash it from his hide. His tail had been covered by the latex too, however it was pushed up like a latex sex doll to expose his hole, dripping with piss with lumps of Nightmare Moon’s scat clinging to it, solidifying in the hair even though it was not afforded nearly the tiniest dose of an opportunity to harden up and dry with so much to wash him down with. Milk flowed forth, the warming touch mixing with piss to create a colour never seen before – and, truth be told, it would only be seen when the suit was ripped from him, his hide nothing more than a vessel for everything that they wished to dump into and only him, a whore for their pleasure.

His guts gurgled, hide expanding to ensure that he could take every last drop of the filth that he was offered, though it hardly felt like the gift that at least part of it could have been. Milk, the sweetness of a mare… Even though he knew that he had become nothing more than a living toilet for the evil alicorns, he still wanted those little touches of sweetness and lightness that he had become accustomed too, not so broken that he could not think of them. Yet there were so many other sensations, like shit smearing into the broken welts on his hide, piss washing them into a burning blast of throbbing, dull pain, to overpower that, forcing down his will into nothing more than brutally forced submission.

“Not enough for you?”

Of course, there would have been more. He would have been a fool to expect otherwise, the logs of scat filling his cheeks suddenly due to the speed of them, not because he was not gulping them down quickly enough. They came too thick and fast with bubbling spurts of more liquid excrement to manage them, as much as he fought and struggled, eyes streaming. That does of moisture was nothing in comparison to the lumpy scat and piss filling his suit, though it was hard to tell the difference between everything. It was all just a mix of disgusting filth, even turning the sweetness of the mares into something sordid and repulsive, covering his body completely as piss even trickled into and soaked his mane. With the positioning of the pipe connecting him and Nightmare Moon, he’d evaded that for the moment but there was a second that she attached with a particularly wicked smirk, ensuring duly that no inch of his hide would go without a hefty dose.

“Poor piss-pony… Did we break you yet?”

A spurt of milk suddenly shot into his mouth, though he wasn’t quite present in the moment, swallowing it without feeling any of the pleasure from the creamy dose. It was just something more, in that moment, that he had to take in, take down, eyes closed in the darkness of the hood, a broken soul locked in for their pleasure. The heavy, metal collar covered his one that Fluttershy had locked onto him but he didn’t even feel like a pony anymore, his back end quivering still as he wondered what more was in store for him.

After all…there were holes and parts of his body, horrifically so, that had not yet been sullied. And he knew them well enough by then to know that they would use him until he was panting and gasping, lying in a mountain of their filth, piss and milk puddling around him, some part of the stallion’s deepest, darkest soul begging for more. All to serve, yes, to slurp down another log of scat as if it was the finest treat in the world, though it only made his stomach lurch and tip. He had to drink down their piss, let them mark him with it, let them debase him, please them, satisfy their needs. That was all a slut of a stallion like him was there for, still some strange, locked-down part of him that loved the humiliation, of being reduced to nothing more than a living toilet for their waste and sordid abuse.

“Take it, fucking whore…”

“Useless for anything else… You force us to use you…”

“Another load coming for you – open wide!”

There were more humiliating things too coming from their lips but their words washed over him, blending into a cacophony of lust that could not be taken in any other way. Beaten down, bruised and taken for something other than the pony that he was, Arctic could not even whimper as his muzzle was blasted with pulsing wave after wave of gas. It should have dissipated quickly if he had not been wearing the hood but the evil alicorns pummelled him from both sides, filling his suit and forcing it down his throat, hacking and gagging and yet unable to stop the gut-wrenching onslaught.

His belly gurgled and bloated, swelling out so that it was larger than the pony that it belonged to, though they were going easy on him in that regard. It was only the mix of their scat and fluids, of course, that made it a slow burn, the bulge of the suit rather than his stomach alone distorting his image. He could have been something from a horror show, a grotesque image of a pony very much on the edge of “popping”, but Arctic could not see that as his stomach sagged heavily through the suit, lumpy outlines of logs of scat visible through it even as the gas and fluids sought to often the edges. There was no smooth bloat as his stomach grumbled and turned over, threatening to rebel, even his tail trying to lift to release some of the pressure in there.

But that wasn’t for him, his head spinning, neck aching, the pain from even his beating fading. He could not move, could hardly be, existing there merely and no more than that. Dimly, he was aware of more and more logs filling his suit rapidly, forcing their way down his flanks, his sides swelling awkwardly, though it did not look as if it was natural in the slightest from the outside. Manipulating their udders and marehoods so that they climaxed over and over again with headier and headier moans, the alicorns forced their own bodies to respond to his filthy abuse with waves of delight, sending sweet arousal down where it would never be tasted.

Their milk flowed forth thick and sweet to mingle with the wreckage of his belly and the suit, swilling between coils of scat even as they worked their way down his throat and around his body, thick and heavy. The definition of his hide was long lost as the suit was forced to hold everything they had to give and more, the rush of piss that followed only derived between orgasms, though it could have been forced out if they had really wanted to do that. Pleasure and release came in opposition to one another, in that regard, though there were ways for them to take everything at once, grinning wickedly as their horns alit, together, with a glow of alicorn magic.

He felt his guts rumbling before he realised what was happening, his mind snapping abruptly back to reality. It was easy for Arctic to drift away when he was their toilet, their scat-stallion, as they called him, but impossible to forget all that was happening. He didn’t want to forget either, guilty about his strange love for it that was as entwined with the hate as his skin and hide were stuck to the suit still. His stomach groaned as it bloated out, coiling twists of scat funnelling down into the pit of his belly, gut forced to hold it, washed down with piss and milk and all manner of filth that the alicorns had to give. His hide was treated to the same, his hind end lumpy with scat but also swelling out in odd patches with gas, the suit holding everything in a strange way. Truly, however, as well as it had been crafted with magic, it had never been designed absolutely for that manner of alicorn abuse.

There did not seem to be any end to it, his suit bulging and popping out as he was treated to rippling blasts of gas, filling the suit, pulsing down his throat. There was nowhere else for them to go but inside him, his throat bulging more and more as scat was forced down, one log after the other. Daybreaker laughed out loud even though he barely heard her, the stuffing in his ears and the hood muting everything around him.

A slut like him, after all, did not need to see or hear. All he needed to be was the perfect vessel for them, a receptacle for their waste and no more than that, never any more than that.

“Such a filthy stallion...”

That had to come from Nightmare Moon, grinding her buttocks back as she cackled, eyes glazed over with wicked glee. He didn’t need to know who was talking, however, as their words washed over him, one after the other, an endless drone that served to backdrop his humiliation in the best and worst of ways. Quivering as more liquid offerings slopped down his legs and pooled around his hooves, gravity pulling them into place as they eased and trickled their way back up his legs as the suit was filled, Arctic could only allow it all to happen.

“Your mistress will never take you back in such a state.”

“You’ll just have to stay down here forever with us.”

“Always serving, always taking...”

“You’ll always be used.”

“Filthy.”

“So dirty.”

“You can take more.”

“Is that a challenge?”

They had to pair off against one another, facing off, challenging each other to bloat him out as his stomach rounded out through the suit, fat and squashy. There was no firmness to it as it battled with the swelling of the suit for precedence, the reek of excrement thick and cloying in his nostrils, even something he could feel in the back of his throat when there were not even any logs pushing their way down.

No, the alicorns could best him time after time again and he would never be able to fit back against it, his anal ring clenching down, even then, fearfully, as a stream of piss suddenly flowed down his throat, the acrid taste painting his tongue. He gulped it down as obediently as he ever had but the pegasus could not deny the stinking reek of piss soaking into his coat as Nightmare Moon did the same to his hide, filling the suit with her rank urine while Daybreaker did her best work, letting the panties and the funnel tube her piss straight down into his stomach.

He groaned, his belly rising, pushing out against the floor, his belly spilling down and down and down. Still, there was no smooth swell that he may have been used to under other circumstances but a lumpy grind of swells and bulges. How high he was, even suspended in his bondage, was not something that he could tell in that moment, huffing and grunting around the tube locking his jaws open, his entire life narrowing down to that one moment in time. There was nowhere for him to run to, nothing for him to turn to, only a life before their hooves, piss flowing into him, sloshing over his coat, drenching his mane and tail and reminding him, unequivocally, of his place in the world.

If they said anything, he did not hear it, yet he hardly even noticed as that hot stream of piss turned to milk, his stomach sagging grotesquely, squashing against the ground. The taste of scat lingered in the back of his mouth, something that not even the most expensive toothpaste in Equestria could wash out again, and he moaned around the tube, eyes half-lidded in the darkness of the hood. His gut gurgled, intestines forced to work as warm milk, lactating from them, poured deeper, his body still trying to work out in that moment just what needed to be done. But it was not for him to worry about even as Daybreaker ensured there was a nice, thick dildo shoved up under his tail, a thick plug of sorts, muttering something about it leaking from. If that was possible in such a state it was not something that he could have said that he had experienced before but it certainly felt possible as his belly ached and strained, moan after moan muffled by their fluids.

However big he was, however, could be added to still, the suit blowing up over his back and sinking the weight of the droppings in it over his hindquarters. They changed to scat again, letting loose what he could only hope and pray was the final deluge from their guts, even if he would, indeed, have had to have been quite a fool indeed to ever think that. That was not true of them, not how they were – and if they ever did run out of excrement or anything else to fill him with, there was always that inter-dimensional portal that alicorns used to avoid using the facilities during days... Arctic shuddered at the memory, though only partly in revulsion. There would always be more there and he knew that they would not hesitate to use it if the timing suited them.

Or maybe it would be saved for another day. Who knew?

It was not for him to know, every spurt of piss that splashed down his throat coming with a raw heat to it as if it was a hoof scraping its way down his burning pipe. He was just a vessel though and all pipes led to the same place, stomach bulging, limbs straining, though, for once, they were kept well out of the way of his inflating gut. The suit and strain over his hindquarters, however, as scat made it appear, briefly, that he had a lot more junk in the trunk than he possessed, could not be ignored so easily. Thick ropes of scat pooled and squashed into his hind end and even between his legs, marking and staining his cock and balls, every part of him sullied and dirtied, marked in a way that made the latex suit feel even tighter and more restrictive.

How long would it hold out, however? It was clear that the tight seal of the hood around his neck, the suit and the hood two separate parts, would keep it where it needed to be, stopping the scat from creeping up his neck and around his jaw. Indeed, for the time being, the only part of him that was not marked and dirtied was his head and his forelock, a little portion of his mane too having escaped the debasement. Yet that did not mean in the slightest that the humiliation of it all was any lesser for the presence of such a thing, his head spinning, reeling from the pulse of his heart, though it was harder and harder to tell that apart from how his guts grumbled. His body made so many noises within the tight confines of the suit, ears trying to twitch and even finding that restrictive, panting and gasping though not managing to get all that much breath into his lungs.

Maybe he didn’t need it, not really. Maybe it had never been for him. Maybe his only role in life now, forevermore, was to gulp down more and more scat, every drop of piss he was offered and more.

Maybe that was all that he had ever been meant to do.

Oh, but there was sweetness too – from Daybreaker that time. As Nightmare Moon filled his suit with blasts of gas, rocking her hind end as if that would put even more force behind the blasts, he groaned, the sweetness of a mare’s essence trickling into his mouth. It was cooling, in a way, even though he did not get to taste very much of it at all before it was gone, desperately tonguing the tube as if that could get him just a tiny drop more down his throat, into his muzzle. It was where it belonged, after all, in his mind, wanting more, wanting that sweet tartness, the musk of a mare that was far more intoxicating than being used as a vessel for their waste.

Maybe it was his place but he could not deny the shapelessness of his form as the suit was filled and filled, his belly squashing out even more against the floor, though he could not guess accurately as to the size of it. It maybe spanned two pony-widths on either side of him but sagged the full height of a stallion of his size, his gut gurgling, churning. They were in no rush to fill him and it was the distribution of fluids and solids inside and outside him that made the inflation deliciously slow, though even the thinking of that came with a wash of guilt. 

He wasn’t supposed to like it, the feel of another thick log of scat replacing the arousal of a mare in his muzzle. Maybe Daybreaker had had an orgasm but it was not for him to revel in when he was just there for her pleasure, a toy to be used, broken, thrown away. He was not so easily trashed, however, even if he knew he would be discarded, the final humiliation of all coming in the thick coil of scat twisting down his throat, bulging out his neck, coursing down into the pit of his belly. It slid over his tongue as he shuddered and still moaned for it, moaned for a little something more, hating himself at the same time and yet unable to help it.

“I think it knows its place now.”

Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe they’d really have to drive the point home.

After everything, he barely realised that there was a plug under his tail for, to be fair, it was comparatively small when it came to everything else happening to him. Even then, it did not tug at the scar and that was a small thanks to him as he tried to rock his hips and found himself, of course, completely immobile. His legs stretched out in all directions as milk and piss bubbled around the head of his cock, the suit funnelling different excretions and sensations oddly as gravity strove to do its work. He tried to rock from the ticklish sensation and was rewarded by Nightmare Moon with a rippling, pulsing fart, blasting wave after wave of gas into the side, sending tremors through his hide.

“Yesss...”

It was the last, at least for the moment, Daybreaker hissing through her teeth as the thick, long logs of twisting scat tapered off to bubbling half-solids, slipping down his throat as he gulped and gulped. He had to work to get them down, of course, or else they would bulge out his cheeks and fill his mouth – and he didn’t want that, did he? No, he wanted to be a good piss-pony, a good scat-stallion, a piss-pegasus and sorry excuse for a slut that could only be used as a dumping ground for everything that the alicorns no longer had any use for.

Eventually, even he would become something that they no longer had any use for. And that very thought alone had his cock throbbing, pulsing, drooling pre-cum in the worst of ways. He didn’t want to think about that, what they would do to him if they realised just what part of him was enjoying the abuse, as conflicted as he ever had been about it and whether, truly, he was being forced to do it or not.

Not everything, after all, had to have an explanation attached to it.

The tube in his muzzle twisted and he gasped as it was finally removed, though panting and heaving only seemed to set his stomach churning all the more, turning over viciously as if it was about to expel and force out all that had so “lovingly” been delivered unto him. Filthy and heaving, inside and out, the hood shifted on his head, his body abused and debased, his head trying to hang and yet unable to: his bondage was simply that tight.

And it was all as it was meant to be as he was lowered, the sense of something shifting around him catching his attention. Something still flowed into his suit – a liquid, he thought – but that was not for him to worry about while he was there to be used and abused, panting lightly, trying not to let the thick taste of waste fill his mouth too much. As much as he tried to lap out the inside of his mouth, twisting his face in revulsion beneath the hood, it was a futile endeavour.

His tail hole relaxed as the plug was taken from him, leaving him oddly empty. He didn’t have it in himself to be thankful for it anymore as his belly weighed him down, tail trying to twitch. His limbs may have been able to fold in a little more on themselves by that point but that did not mean by any stretch of the imagination that he was to be freed.

He was no fool. Yet there was still some part of him that longed for it.

Light, however grey and dim after his imprisonment, filtered in through the hood as Arctic groaned and blinked, trying to come back slowly to some sense of reality. The chains rattled free but all that did was send a deeper sense of foreboding into his soul, wriggling faintly but only managing to make the huge mess of piss and scat inside his suit slosh about. How long would it take to get that out of his hide? He still remembered how his cheeks had been left fat and bulging with excrement last time they had abused him, though it had been Luna and Celestia too that had had a larger hoof in that entirely.

The suit stayed but the chains disappeared, lowering him to the ground with magic, though he was perfectly immobile in his current state, only able to see a little – not much, only a little. They didn’t want to give away too much as he was taken to a dark, hidden corner of the cell that he had never seen before, their expansions driving back into the fabric of the dungeons, the rock and crystal that made them as secure as they were. The alicorns, however, were by no means trying to escape (world domination took an awful lot of effort, to be fair, and they were comfortable there with their needs met) but had made some, ah, adjustments to their area.

“It’s time…”

Nightmare Moon smirked as she pulled Arctic’s head into a hole in the wall, large enough for his face when encased in the mask but not much more. A touch of magic rammed a thick tube into his muzzle, the latex unzipping to swap the pantie-tube for one that they preferred, forcing his lips to gape to a point that his jaw was strained and shuddering. Arctic whimpered at the pain of it but that was about to be the least of his worries as it was crammed deeper and deeper, down his throat so that his neck was forced to bulge around it, the suit straining even there. Scat squished aside within the suit to make room for it as Daybreaker positioned the second tube, one very obvious part of his body having yet to be seriously abused.

Oh no… Arctic quailed, though he was stuck in place, his teeth locked onto that ridged tube as it wedged his mouth open, a black hole into which he could not imagine what was going to be dumped. More like he didn’t dare imagine it, the horrors of his abuse, his sordid mask of debasement. The pipe that shoved its way up under his tail into the hole that had parted there with a touch of Daybreaker’s magic to help it along was not lubricated, of course, and he screamed without making a single noise as it rammed up there entirely ignorant to his pain or any pleasure that may, in a dim part of his mind, be gleaned.

Anal could be pleasurable…if it was done in the right way. The alicorns, however, did not do anything in any kind of right way, something rumbling and clanking, though all he could see was the fat tube and the wall before him. It didn’t make sense, none of it did, not even as more and more bondage was layered on top of him, his wings soaked in excrement, the binder so tight, so very tighter, even more restrictive than before on his delicate feathers with the weight of the suit and its filling bearing down on them with every passing second. Rubber manacles ran up his legs, three on each side, though they locked him down into the ground rather than proving themselves to be chained to the walls.

No, his bondage was to be different there, a different kind of restriction that dragged him down and down, made him weightier and heavier than ever before as his grotesquely bloated suit heaved down. There was no shape to him with all the filling that had been dumped in there, his head pounding, neck aching, even down the line of his spine protesting at the strain. His forelegs were pinned to the wall and sucked down with more rubber manacles still, his image of being like a fetish-statue not entirely off-base when it came to how he was posed there, reared half-up to the extent that his weighty gut and the suit allowed, which wasn’t all that much at all.

“Open wide…”

Oh, that could only be mocking but it was as it was meant to be, the rumbling growing in intensity until it exploded. Yet the explosion came into his, indeed, open mouth, something thick pouring forth, sloppy and drooling, yet it bypassed his mouth entirely as it flowed down his throat. It took him a moment to realise what it was but the shudder of revulsion was taken up by his bondage, sweeping over him as he understood that more excrement, but not belonging to the alicorns that time, was flowing into him, bloating him out as his guts protested by heaving and grumbling.

“You see, we’ve done a little remodelling.”

Nightmare Moon was, apparently, so proud of their feat that she had to openly brag about it.

“The pipes from the castle – yes, the whole castle – pass through here... Oh, I’m so very sure that you already know what that means but do allow me to finish!”

She threw her head back and laughed at her own joke for, of course, the scat-stallion who was currently taking everything that had recently passed down the troughs and toilets (toilets were more common for the elite, he had had to use the bathrooms up there before) of the castles down his throat was in no position to talk back to her. When had he ever been against an alicorn of ancient evil and darkness?

“Everything,” she hissed, eyes alight with terrifying fervour, wings mantled fiercely over her back. “Everything will come into you, filling you... You think that filling already was enough, that you had taken enough? Stallion, slave, we are only just getting started with you.”

It was then that he struggled and they were quick to act, layering rubber bondage over him, another suit that stiffened and became as rigid as a statue: perhaps on that count they had taken their inspiration from the evil-doers who had been turned to stone statues in the past? Arctic howled out some kind of broken cry as his guts were filled and his hooves were sucked down into the ground in layer after layer of rubber, locked there as if he had become some kinky feature and statue, a mark of their dominance over all of pony-kind. Of course, it was only him there and would only ever be him as he whimpered and groaned, the rubber suctioning his front hooves into the wall so that he was forced to stand and pose there, as if he would be raised back onto his hind hooves to all eternity.

The rubber seemed to weigh him down, even though it was hard, truly, to tell whether it was his bloated suit and stomach that locked him in place or the implements that were laid upon him. Arctic did not even know whether escape of any kind would have been a far out possibility if he’d been free to act and move, turning his head sharply back and forth inwardly, thinking the motion without actually being able to act on it. The second suit that solidified over the first locked in his shape and yet still allowed a beautiful swell to his stomach, controlling how he bloated out more smoothly and roundly, all for the pleasure of the alicorns as his gut crushed lightly to the wall. He didn’t feel it, of course, through the suits, yet there was a sense of restriction laid upon him unlike anything he’d ever felt before that had him weaker at the knees than he had any right to be.

“Give in...”

“Take it all...”

He was at absolutely no liberty to fight back and still some primal part of him tried to get free as thick slop and excrement from the castle plumbing flowed down his throat. The pipe was wedged deeply enough that he did not have to taste it though he was unsure whether that was a blessing or a curse as it was forced down and down and down, always deeper than before. He didn’t want to imagine what was in there but he could not worry about that when it was all the usual, yet there was something cool there too. If he had even been at liberty to make that expression, his brow would have furrowed. What was that?

Ah, of course... There was more to fill him from the castle bathrooms, of course, because it was not just piss and scat coming down there, straight down his throat and into the bloating expanse of his ravenous piss-pony belly. No, there was toilet water too, what was used to flush away waste so that high-class ponies did not have to think about it any longer, cool and sloshing about heavily in the pit of his stomach.

Arctic moaned and his stomach churned. It was too much, so much, yet he was rigid and stiff, his back aching, even though that was a sensation that did not feel like it had any place there. No, there was so much else for him to worry about that a few little residual aches and pains had no bearing on him, even if there was still a lingering ache and burn in his welts from where Nightmare Moon’s piss had seeped into them. They would need to be treated, later, but that was not a tenderness that would come from the alicorns. Doubtless, there would be something in the castle to ensure that he suffered no ill-consequences on that count, no worry in his mind.

No... No, there was no room to worry, that pipe filling his mind even as something pressed up under his tail. The plug was gone? An opening allowed something else in and he imagined struggling even if he could not in the moment, sloppy scat pouring into his gut, which gurgled in tentative acceptance of every last offering it was given. There was no rejecting it, after all, and he slipped into an even deeper state of submission, muscles trembling, denied even the simplicity of movement as stillness unlike anything else was forced upon him.

Yet there was no denying what pushed up under his tail as Daybreaker’s laugh echoed off the walls, a spine-chilling sound that could not be ignored. He should have known what he was doing and yet Arctic still reeled as his rectum was filled. Scat and piss washed down the harder solids as he tried to buck his hips and remembered, as always, that he was there to stay, locked in and trembling with a whinny tied up in the back of his throat.

“Yes...” That was Daybreaker, though it did not matter that much which of the alicorns was talking as his stomach bloated, rumbling and bulging smoothly, the latex as shiny on their toy as they could ever have liked it. “The barracks too, little whore-stallion. They need to relieve their needs... I’m sure you remember that from the days when you weren’t a locked-up sorry excuse for a slave-pony. Do you know what they do in the barrack bathrooms? There’s a different kind of relief that goes down there too...”

Oh, how Arctic knew. He could only be grateful that he could not feel or taste it, repulsed and moaning in horror, as what a stallion spent in erotic thought was pumped into him too, well mixed into the mess of piss and more. He could only imagine how slimy and slick it was, old and fresh semen, yet did not want to think about how badly it would mix with all the other fluids in his guts. It swilled around the piss and milk, turning it into an even viler cocktail than it already was, his belly bloating as horror coursed through him. There was much in there already to churn and rumble in his guts and he tried not to think about it too much, as hard as it was for a piss-pony slut like him to think about anything else at all. That, after all, was what the evil queens wanted him to think of, his body merely there to be abused in a harsher, rougher way entirely for their pleasure.

It was more debasing than he could ever have given it credit for. And he’d been through some humiliating nights at Mistress Shy’s hooves...

“The mares too, whore,” Nightmare Moon whispered, her sly words curling into him. “They’ve had to do more in those troughs too. You think mares like that, up in the barracks, get time to relieve their needs. You’re being filled with that too.”

Daybreaker chuckled darkly and, if he’d been free to move, Arctic would have shuddered.

“Do you feel it? I’m sure you can...”

He thought so, but it was merely them taking his mind to it, how the slick essence of a mare could, at that very moment in time, be churning in his belly, through his guts, mixed in with piss and scat and more. His head swirled, spinning in delirious delight, but he could not tell where the line of disgust ended and ecstasy began, caught somewhere in the middle and forced, humiliatingly, to acknowledge both sides of the coin at the same time. The mares... Oh, he could imagine it. He could imagine them squatting, relieving their needs awkwardly, whether with magic or a hoof pushed all the way around to their marehoods, rubbing and teasing, getting off. They could never have suspected that it would work its way down through the pipes to an unsuspecting stallion below, but perhaps that was the beauty of the position that they had locked him up in. 

Standing as he was, there was nowhere for Arctic’s stomach, already pressed up to the wall from his standing position with forelegs straight and braced, head ducked between and hinds out at an angle, to go but out. It had to squish out, bloating and swelling, the latex gleaming. There were no thick coils of scat to twist up his anal passage, for which he could only faintly be thankful for, though the sloppy mix of waste was hardly any better. Washed down with toilet water and piss, it swilled about uncomfortably within his gut as his belly gurgled and swelled, taking more and more from both ends, although it took some time for it to work its way through his guts back to his stomach from the backdoor entrance.

The alicorns moaned and, dimly, he was aware of them climaxing, enjoying his humiliation, though he could only see the stone wall before him, most of the pipe blocking out his vision where it sank into the depths of the castle dungeon and wall. It was a cruel jest indeed to remove his hood as piss slopped about inside of him, curdling and bubbling, his guts groaning. If he listened intently enough, he swore too that he heard his hide squeaking, though that had to just be the latex...didn’t it?

No, no, no... He didn’t want to think about that, could not bear thinking about that. That was not for him to worry about, his belly bloating, swelling, aching, straining. Everything about the sordidness of the whole act was a strain, forcing his body to accept it, intestines bulging around thicker logs, more solid logs of scat... It didn’t make sense how it all came forth but it no longer felt like it was at all his place to care or think anything about that, grunting and wheezing, nostrils flaring as he desperately tried to such in enough breath to sustain him.

He was not aware of it happening as his gut blew out, forcing itself into the room, shoving aside the alicorns as they tried to manoeuvre around him, laughing madly the whole while. They ground back against him, marking his latex hide with smears of scat and piss and even milk, lifting their hind legs to let it spurt onto him. The creamy droplets could have been tantalising if used in any other situation and yet it still was very much not something that Arctic could take pleasure from, unable to even feel them grinding on him through the suit. They knew what it was full of, of course: they had made him so. Yet putting him in that place set the fires of their lusts alight in such a way that could not be ignored.

The tube from the barracks seemed to force down more than from the castle itself, yet he did not pretend to know how the plumbing worked. Even as more scat poured into him, bloating up his insides and forcing, deviously so, his internal organs to accommodate it, he knew that he was there to stay, some part of him accepting his fate. He could only be glad that the slick slide of piss and scat into him was not something that he had to feel as it ground over his tongue, the pipe ensuring that that was not the case, though there were other wastes mixed into what was flushed away. Ponies, after all, tipped away liquids that they no longer wanted, bubbling into his belly, and Arctic moaned around the pipe, as helpless and as hopeless as he had ever been.

Arctic trembled in place, their moans filling his ears, though they did not drive him on to anything. There was nowhere for him to go, nothing for him to do except to be. And that was all that was required of a dump, a dump for everything and anything that the alicorns wanted to turn him into, his body useless for anything else. They hadn’t even wanted to make use of his muzzle and cock for all that long but that part of him was squashed up to his belly, throbbing and aching, pulsing with pre-cum that simply served to mix in with the rest of the mess. As his legs ached, belly straining between his hind ones, Arctic wondered how long the bondage would hold, or if he would be first to pop rather than the magic-infused restraints, so heavy and weighty that they could have pulled him down into the ground all on their own.

The alicorns used him, however, delighting in the sheen that their piss left, smears of arousal teasing in its wake. With their tails flagged, they were better than simply placed where they were to take their leave and liberty of him, groaning and moaning in an over the top manner, yet they were always, in one way or another, striving to outdo each other. It was the way of them, their little-big competition, pushing out all the droppings that they had left to tar his hide, though they slid off the latex. It was not for him, not in that regard, everything that was done for him done in an act of debasement, pushing him down, shoving him into his place and forcing him to stay there.

That said, he would have trembled and relished in a strange sort of way to see how their piss trickled and gleamed across his head, head rolling back, lips parted in a breathy moan. Arctic would have liked it even better if his muzzle was crammed up into one of their cunts, seducing them, pleasing them, doing the very best job he possibly could as a pony-slave for them. For, to them, there was nothing more to him and his body than acting as a slave, regardless of how his belly rumbled with more and more scat, the loads never-ending.

Arctic whimpered around the pipe, trying to twist, the need in his body rising, though it was a freedom of constriction that he needed. It could not go on forever, he was sure of it, though he just didn’t know what to think of it, what would happen next. He did not have to gulp as piss streamed down his throat (maybe someone was actively taking a piss in the castle to give him a fresh load?) but he felt how it scraped by hotly, demanding entry. It was an entry, of course, that he had no choice but to give as it sloshed and splashed into the curdling pool of his belly, though even that was strained to bloating point, not a spare bit of his over-full stomach wanting to take it. That was why his hide strained out and out, bulging and squashing, finding any tiny gap that it could as scat marked his hind end, the alicorns taking out their delight on him even in the midst of climax, horns sparking off in all directions.

It was there he was, eyes closed, not even bothering to look at what was before him. No, there was no world for him to escape to, not there, not as he was treated to an intricate sensation. The water from the barrack bathrooms filled his backside and he could only imagine the stallions all standing over the troughs up there, relieving themselves in one of the most carnal ways possible, even if it was, in that case, a communal activity. He didn’t want to think of the semen joining it as they relieved themselves, males with needs due to be met, but it would be in there regardless, his guts filled with liquid as more and more was forced back up into his belly, going the wrong way for his digestive system.

The suits groaned. They could only take so much. 

His body expanded, his bondage straining, though it was the extra padding from the grotesquely filled suit, squishing with scat and bubbling with piss, that really got into all the nooks and crannies of the alicorns’ cell. Nightmare Moon and Daybreaker locked themselves back in a corner, cackling maniacally, as a force-field surrounded them. Tucked away in their own personal bubble, they were treated to a first-hand view of his hide expanded, his stomach bulging around his bondage, swelling and bursting, though they loosened the rubber locking his hind hooves down just a smidge to heighten their enjoyment of the show. Where was the fun in not letting things go “bang” from time to time, after all?

Arctic did not know that it was their magic and manipulation at play as his hooves suddenly sprang free of the ground and a whinny screamed from his throat as he dug his teeth into the ridged pipe. With his hind legs sprung up and flung out of the way of his bloated, oversized stomach, his belly expanded with relish, bloating out and out, filling the cell, no longer crushed around his bound body. The aches relieved lightly in the absence of at least one part of his bondage and yet fear curled itself around his heart, tightening its grip. If his expansion was so great that it could rip apart alicorn bondage as if it was nothing at all, how much would it grow and rip him apart? His body was still locked in place, the suits only expanding for his gut to bloat and not allowing his limbs to move at all, seeming to float along on top of the shiny, growing round of his stomach.

If there was furniture in the way, his stomach shoved it away, into the wall, knocking into a bookcase, a table crushed into splinters that he did not even feel. All Arctic felt was more and more logs of scat – more solid ones, more recent ones – pouring down his throat and crushing their way up under his tail, squashed and squished together grossly as they found their way up deep inside him. With the pipes only pointing in one direction, it was inevitable as to where they were going to end up, his stomach filling the room, the inflation seeming to even fatten up his hide, but that was merely an illusion from the over-filled suits. It was all lumpy and distorted, harder than ever before to find the shape of an actual pony in there.

The alicorns laughed raucously as he filled every last corner of the room, half-destroying, surely, so very many of their belongings, though that was of little concern to them when they could magic up anything they desired. They were locked up to prevent Equestria falling to them again, not because they were truly a threat for wanting to play with a pony-pet or spy on other ponies via their television set, whatever entertained them and got them through day after day in imprisonment. They could replace things but it was the entertainment of having a pony-slave to play with that truly kept them alive and well above all else, quivering as they watched him press up and squeak over their protective bubble. Even with more and more excrement pouring into him, of course, there was no way he could break it, and yet they were hungry still to see his body reach the true limits of its expansion. 

“What in Equestria is going on here?!”

Celestia and Luna stormed into the dungeons with their horns aglow with magic, though there was little for their illumination magic to actually light up with Arctic filling the cell. All they could do was skitter to a halt and gape as Nightmare Moon and Daybreaker straightened, eyes wide and innocently, conveniently encased in their bubble which backed onto one corner of the actual magically enforced cell bars.

Somewhere above, behind, all around them, Arctic groaned, his hide creaking, the latex shining, debasing him as a fetish toy for all to see. There was nowhere for him to hide his humiliation even as piss and scat trickled down his shiny suit from where the alicorns had marked him, unable to do anything about it. No... No, it was there that he was to stay as the pipes rumbled and creaked urgently above him, telling him that there was yet another load coming even if the piss-pony whore was not ready for it. It had never mattered whether he was ready for it or not, only that he was receptive to it.

“What?”

Daybreaker half-shrugged with her wings, one eye latched hungrily onto Arctic, not wanting to miss a moment even as Celestia sternly glared her down.

“We’re still locked in,” Nightmare Moon added, as if that was, in fact, any kind of a helpful thing to say. “You showed us that there were fewer limits than realised last time, so we were simply testing the expansion of them.”

“Yes, how far they had grown...”

Arctic’s suited body bulged through the bars, threatening to bow them out even if the magic would, indeed, hold them, the poor pony encased within not even aware of what was going on, of all that was happening to him. He was just there to be used and abused and no longer had any thoughts of his own, slipping down so very deeply into sub-space that it had turned into a darkly luxurious place of debasement from which he never even wanted to return. 

Licking a hoof, Nightmare Moon turned over a page in a magazine, as if that was all that she had been doing the whole time. The pair of latex panties, however, even if they were devoid of the tube at that point, told a different tale.

“Did you see what Fancypants has been up to lately? That colt always thinks he can win over high society...”

Celestia spluttered, eyes wide, hooves flailing.

“What... Why... I don’t want to hear a heaven-forsaken word more about Fancypants! This isn’t conventional! You weren’t meant to take the pipes from the castle! Don’t you see what you’ve done?”

Maybe they did or maybe they didn’t, but they were too good at playing innocent to care, shrugging and turning back to Arctic with a devious hunger in their eyes. Arctic moaned. No one heard him or even paid any attention to him beyond what the slave-stallion and his body could do for them.

“Don’t you want to see how big he can get?”

Arctic whimpered. No... No, he didn’t, not straining against the walls, his stomach bloated, gurgling, rumbling as if he was about to blow, even though he was duly plugged from both ends. Even then, he was acutely aware that his cock and balls had not been used and he knew too that they were a vessel for so much more, if only the alicorns remembered that they were there.

He wasn’t going to remind them. But, funny thing was, he didn’t have to.

Because he wasn’t going to be let out of the cell anytime soon, regardless of the royal sisters coming down to see what was happening, why there was such an outpouring of magic and lust unlike anything that they had expected to find from sending him to sate their needs. Not to mention the castle plumbing thrown into disarray, moans warbling up the pipes and terrifying the guests at the castle, though the guards seemed to think it was “a right hoot” in the barracks. In some ways, they had a better sense of humour than most ponies.

The fact of the matter was, however, that Arctic was stuck down there, bulging through the bars, his hide and the latex suit straining for release, locked in so many layers of bondage that he doubted that there could ever again be any true freedom from it. He was there to be used and most likely abused, his buttocks squashed into the corner of the room as more scat squished down into his hide, his pale coat soaking it all up. The pet-pony could only wonder at what state he would be returned to his mistress in, whether she would send him to be cleaned down at the farm again or try to care for him herself. He could not tell what would be more shameful in the end.

His belly gurgled, logs of scat swirling, mixed in with half-solids, and yet he felt them all in detail, his head strained, neck aching, every muscle in his body stiff with tension. His tail hole was stretched and broken and yet he could not even be sure anymore whether there was any pain there, whether the scar was throbbing. No, his body was more concerned with taking it all, his intestines flush with toilet water and piss, funnelling thick logs along, more and more filling him. Where it was all coming from, for he had to have emptied what was making its way down the pipes, he did not know, but it was there for his body to take as he trembled and whimpered, a broken shadow of the pony he had once been. 

He was where he needed to be. Arctic didn’t know if he wanted to go yet.

The alicorns conferred. Arctic’s moans trembled forth, broken and beaten.

He didn’t have a choice in the matter.