A Proper Super Slave [Sketch]
A short writing sketch.
Plugged. Welded Collar. Branded. Castrated. The four marks of a defeated man that had been claimed by another.
Powerhorse. Despite the unimaginative name, it had adequately described you. Fresian stallion. A draft horse with super speed and strength, able to crush nearly everything. You'd been billed plenty of times for stomping too hard, but the public loved you, not only for being the vigilante the city needed but for being the big prize for the "Bulges of Justice" underground.
You were packing.
At least you were before he happened. It didn't make sense, and it certainly was a fucking mystery as to how he pulled it off, but here you were.
Day 1 of your new life. You didn't know how long it would last since only three days ago, it had been day 1 of your new life too, but that was right after you had been captured and before the markings began.
Plugged. "So, you're ready for my cock at all times, Impony."
Welded collar. "The public needs to know who conquered your ass, Impony."
Branded. "Collars can be removed, but brands are forever, Impony."
Castrated. "You're not a stallion, but a faggot. An impotent pony henceforth known as Impony."