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Punished for Her Pleasure

Part Four

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by anonymous

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Continued from Punished for Her Pleasure, a three-part series...

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Punished for her pleasure...

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Or maybe for his punishment. Who was to say after Arctic had taken things so far, beyond all comprehensible means? Burned out and lust-struck, he'd been too far gone mentally and emotionally, his arousal beyond anything that he felt he could control for himself, mounting and breeding his mistress in all ways.

Mistress Shy stalked back and forth, the very next day.

Clip, clop, clip, clop...clip...clop.

Her hooves rang out against the wooden floorboards and, for once, it did not bring a rise of pleasure to her heart to know that she was striking fear into his at that very moment. Her mane was combed and soft after a morning at the spa, though she had not sent Arctic for a bath that time. It was not in her mind to consider him at all deserving of such a thing, not after what he had done.

Ah, but he was not to be blamed, not entirely, even if she could continue to orchestrate everything to best suit her. The dominant pony, the one who had, once, been so quiet that everyone passed her by, but had a quiet confidence to her in daily life, after much soul searching. That did not mean that she did not like being quiet either, only that when she chose to speak, everything she said was very deliberate, precise, as if she had considered it for some time beforehand. Maybe she had or maybe she had not. It was entirely up to her, Fluttershy, to disclose that information if she chose to.

Arctic, however, had gone too far. After being pumped full of aphrodisiacs and teased relentlessly, abused in public, he'd lost control and fucked her multiple times, so savagely and raw that she had not been able to do anything at all to stop him. But she couldn't let him get a big head over being "pushed" into being a stud, if only for a time, oh, heavens, Celestia, no! That would not do, simply would not do. It would be wrong for a pony pet like him to think that he was anything about his natural station in life, exactly where he was, where he had always been meant to be.

So, she had to come up with something to put him in his place, to show her pony pet exactly where he was meant to be.

Beneath her, in the living room, though he had only had a cursory clean-up, with Angel, Fluttershy's pet rabbit, staring at him disapprovingly the whole time, Arctic quaked. Still, the pegasus pony's cock was out and hard, not able to restrain himself even then, the aphrodisiacs still in his system, even if to a lesser extent. His shaft flared, the head thick and plump, still drooling pre-cum, though he hastened to clean it up as soon as it was spent, throwing everything that he dirtied in the laundry. It was one of those terrible cases where he feared making a mess and could not help himself from doing so at the same time. Why, even plugging his dick up may have been more appealing at a moment like that.

"Pet."

He froze, suck in a breath, his wings flared out, though the lightness of his pale blue coat would not remain such for long. His mane and tail were still a little damp, feathers soft with moisture, but he was no fool. Arctic knew well enough that he had done wrong, that he had pushed things too far, though he didn't know why either. None of it made sense to him, why everything had spiralled out of control so quickly, his breath catching, flanks heaving, a dark line of sweat marking his flanks where the heat rose to the surface, his body striving to expel it.

Dirty. He was filthy, something to be used, not a "somepony", only a "something" to be abused. And he was fine with that, even as he lowered his head submissively to his mistress' hooves, gulping and heaving, trying not to say anything even as anxiety twisted and curled in the pit of his stomach.

He had not earned the right to say anything, but she snapped a leash onto his collar, which was still in place with her pink butterfly tag, the cutie mark of his mistress, dangling and bouncing lightly where it belonged. Arctic was still hers, would always be hers, even as she dragged him bodily down to the playroom of the basement, which was set up more like a fetish dungeon than anything that any other pony in Ponyville may have held in their home.

Arctic whimpered, but knew better than to fight back against her, to even say a damn thing. He couldn't, not when he knew that he'd done wrong, his mistress saying nothing at all, which was even more terrifying than if she had lost control, ranting and screaming at him. He had to obey, whimpering, whining, trying to be as quiet as possible, not to upset her, Fluttershy shoving him onto his backside with a targeted push of her fore hoof.

"Oof!"

He dropped onto his rump with his hind legs kicked out in front of him - not all that much of a natural position for any pony to find themselves in, but it was of her design, all for what Mistress Shy had in mind. She grunted, slamming a ring gag between his teeth, right up into the back of his mouth behind his teeth. He couldn't close his mouth, not with that in there, the strap locked behind his head, the buckle one that came with a tiny padlock. Not that there was any way he would soon be able to get his hooves back around there to undo it anyway, the lock merely symbolic. She probably didn't have the key anywhere near either, not when it would likely be...well...

That tale would only be told when her pet's punishment was complete.

A posture collar locked around his neck as she faced him down, a curl of mane falling across her face. The ragged edge of it, a flyaway end that needed trimming... Somehow, it only served to make her appear more feral, taking his breath away, the collar tight and restrictive, forcing him, constantly, to keep his head perfectly in place.

For her. All for her.

She locked his fetlocks together, his hind legs awkwardly stuck out in front of him. No rope for him that day: it would be too hard, later, to clean, and she would make him clean up every last little bit of the sordid abuse she still had to put him through. Manacles. Only, cold, hard, Canterlot-engineered metal, all infused with magic to be unbreakable. His forelegs received the same treatment, bent at the knee and tucked up close to his chest, metal binding above the knees and around the fetlocks, though the former proved more uncomfortable than the first.

He didn't need to be locked down to the ground. She would have more than enough in her to keep him in place, right where she needed the dirty little pet pony to be.

"You've been a bad toy."

Arctic shivered, tongue pushing through the gag. Now, he couldn't do anything, say anything, not even if he wanted to. But it was the right place for him, his cock throbbing, aching, pulsing before his eyes. The length of his shaft, hyperphallic to most ponies, even though he was quite a large stallion too anyway for his type of pony, was so long that he could see it even with the posture collar keeping his chin up. So thick around that it would leave a mare not experienced with his kind of size stretched and gaping for days, it was a rod of breeding prowess to be revered.

But not when he was used. Not when he was a pet pony. Mistress Shy stalked him, eyes dark, head lowered, though she was far, far from the submissive in such a situation.

"It's time to show you what happens to bad toys of mine."

He shuddered. No... No, she wasn't going to leave him, was she? Of course, that was never an option on the table, yet it was still the worst-case situation that came to mind, the greatest thing he feared. To be without his mistress would be to not live at all, to not love at all, to not experience life at all in the way that he wanted it.

She threw her head back, a vial between her lips, sensually caressing it, even as she swallowed it all. It was not all that big of a vial, disappearing straight down her throat in only a couple of gulps, the red fluid slipping down easily. Mistress Shy, however, made a show of it, licking her lips, tossing the vial away, an evil smirk pulling at her lips, straining them apart in a kind of grin that Arctic could not have said that he'd ever seen before.

"Yes..."

She shook out her mane, smoothing out the light waves in it, grunting and groaning as the magical potion infused her. Her body swelled, all in proportion, for inflation was not something that she partook in - maybe if it ever pleased her. Until then, she would not concern herself with such a thing, not when there were other things to lean into, like her size growth, her body larger and larger, hooves bigger, bigger than ever Arctic's. Her limbs thickened even more with muscle, demonstrating her strength, even though she was still feminine, towering and looming, a pony mistress that could truly dominate any stallion.

Arctic shuddered, though the working of his jaw did him no good as he stared at her, eyes wide, whimpering - not that that would stop Mistress Shy, of course. Her rump was thicker and rounder too with muscle, yet in a way that he wanted to lay his muzzle over it, adoring it, even if he knew he was there to be punished. She just had that effect on him and even the broadening of her chest, rounding out her sizeable new form nicely formed the perfect picture for him, her flanks lean and her body pristine, shoulders a little more defined up to the more "cresty" rise of her neck, which was almost stallion-like.

The perfect blend of power and Mistress... And it terrified him.

He stared in shock, though not horror, his cock throbbing and bobbing before him, pulsing with arousal despite everything. Even the pegasus stallion could not deny that he was turned on by her, irrevocably so. None of it was anything that he could hold back as the growth potion made his mistress bigger than him, her body the same but larger, more dominating, taking his breath away as his chest tightened in a shudder that truly lacked the presence of breath for such a thing.

"There now..."

Her words should have been soothing but they were low and dominating, a creepy smile tugging at her lips.

"Isn't that better?"

A few feet taller than him, she still fit easily within the dungeon, even if she might have had a little trouble getting back up the steps, having to wriggle back up through the entrance into her cottage. The animals that day might have considered speaking back against her with greater trepidation when she had a few feet greater size on them, all around.

Arctic whimpered, quailing. Well and truly bound, he had nowhere to go, at the mercy of his mistress. He knew that he deserved everything that he had coming to him, even if he didn't want to truly go through with his punishment either. He tried to shake his head, though the posture collar kept him in place, restraining even that. Nerves bundled and stretched in his stomach, teasing through, yet his cock remained hard, wanton, desperate to know, in sexual arousal, what abuse his dear, dear mistress had in store for him.

"You thought you could breed me, pet?"

He flinched, her hoof grabbing his muzzle, forcing him to look at her. As the posture collar dug into the soft part of the underside of his jaw, where it joined with his neck, he wheezed, eyes watering.

"You thought you could fuck me?"

Mistress Shy's eyes narrowed.

"That's not how we play my games, pet."

No. No, it was not. Fluttershy did not need to tell him what she was doing, turning around, shoving her thick, round buttocks into his face. The fleshiness of her rump was layered perfectly over muscle, giving her backside that shape that had lured him to her for the very first time. And, oh, how times had changed since then.

He should have known, should have guessed, but he still gasped, nostrils flaring, as she hosed him down with a hot stream of piss, splattering and coating his face, his neck, his chest. It trickled down, warmed by her body, soaking his somewhat clean fur so that it was no longer recognisable in its usual pale, light shade. No more would it be clean or anywhere near pristine, his fur soaked and sodden, the wet feeling cloying and clinging to him. He panted and whimpered, though could not even wheel, his own weight keeping him in place. If he did tip over backwards, however, the wall was not all that far from him, ensuring that he would merely tip and not fall, supported by it, grunting and groaning, a piss pony to start with as the searing heat of her piss soaked into him.

He tried to squirm away, pretend revulsion - though that was only partly too. There was a part of him that was too turned on by her urine, that wanted more of it, to debase himself further, yet that part was deeply locked up within himself, a part of himself that Arctic was, in a way, still afraid to let out. That did not mean that it was a pleasant experience, however, to be hosed down with piss and he struggled even more as she ground her marehood back into his mouth, his chin tipped up to the fraction that the collar allowed, forcing him to gulp and swallow every drop she fed him, lest he choked on her fluid.

"All of it, slut! I didn't say you could spill a drop!"

There was a harshness biting through her tone that sent equal amounts of fear and excitement into him as he grunted and heaved, the bitterly acrid taste of her piss flowing down his throat, swilling around his tongue. Some marked the corners of his lips, yet all he could do was try to bear through all of it for her, his mistress, his mistress who he knew that he had very much wronged.

But the pain... Oh. That was there, the strain of feeling more and more hot piss flow down his throat. It stretched his throat, his belly, filling him up to the brim. Yet anyone who truly knew Arctic knew that that did not by any means entail the extent of her abuse of him, his body flexible, able to stretch and stretch and stretch beyond the means of any imagination.

Out and out and out. It was not a huge swell, but it was enough for him to feel it weighing him down, as if he had eaten too large a meal, his stomach bloating out obviously, fluid sloshing around messily inside. When she pulled away slightly, the reek of piss already sunk into his fur, his forelock and his mane, he thought that that part was over - and he was right.

It was not over. Not as she lowered her hips slightly to feed him something else, something far dirtier than anything that could possibly have come from her bladder by any means. Her tail hole puckered and pulsed as horror swept through him, his futile struggles twisting him barely back and forth, though, to Arctic, it felt as if he was thrashing passionately, struggling with all his might. He may as well have been an ant fighting the might and power of a giant for all the good it did him as she unloaded her bowels too into his maw.

It was not clean, not in the slightest, and not every bit of her excrement, the filth from her backside, pushed its way down his throat. Some squashed and squelched out the corners of his mouth, where the ring gag forced him to hold his mouth open widely, to take everything that he possibly could straight down his throat. With the throbbing hole of her tail-star crammed into his mouth, behind his lips where he may otherwise have been able to rim her with his tongue, he could not help but take it down.

Logs of scat forced their way down his throat, one after the other, stuffing him full - fuller than her piss could. Dimly, he was vaguely, grossly, aware that her greater size meant that there was even more inside her to fill him up with, Arctic whimpering, grunting, groaning, trying to pull away.

He'd never had it from Mistress Shy before. Somehow, though he could not quite say how, that made it all the dirtier to take it from her, swallowing her scat, taking her filth straight down his throat as he was forced to swallow. If he did not, it only filled his mouth, squashing around the gag, his tongue, reminding him of what he was doing all the more, lumps sticking to his tongue where they should not have. It should have been wet and slick enough in his mouth for the scat to wash itself out, though it was not going anywhere, not in a hurry.

Disgust riddled him, his mistress' backside taking on a darker, ranker sense of being in that moment. It was wrong to eat her scat from her backside, it was wrong to consider her filthy in any way - but maybe that was just why every lump, transforming into traditional, round droppings as her natural waste pushed itself out, had to be emptied into him. He was the scat stallion, the slut who took it all, who could be bloated and inflated with waste beyond anyone's wildest imaginings.

Once someone had realised that about him, there was no going back from it. His belly blew up more, the swell rising, though Arctic could only be thankful that it was only what her body naturally produced, even if she was larger, that he was fed with, the filling of his mouth too much on occasion so that his throat was wedged open, only the push of more and more scat able to grind it grossly and laboriously down his throat.

The filth of it clung muskily to his tongue, a taste that would not go away, not in a hurry. He would remember it, night after night, day after day, shoved back quite unceremoniously into the position in her life that he had always been meant to serve and inhabit.

Some things weren't worth changing.

"Ah..."

She groaned above him, the last splattering spurts of watery droppings filling his mouth, washing down what was already there, marking his muzzle with brown smudges of filth. There was even a touch of green there too, showing where she had been indulging in richer grass at restaurants of later - a delicacy when it was served with a fresh salad, vegetables and fruits that one could not find in Ponyville or near spread out on her plate for display. Arctic, of course, had not been asked to accompany her to dinner at such places.

Yet there was no limit to the scat in her bowels, Mistress Shy ensuring that there was no way that what was stuffed inside him could come back out by strapping a ball gag right over the ring gag. The ball was just about small enough to slot neatly into the ring, not a drop of scat, however watery it was, escaping, which was just how she wanted it to be. Strapping it tight, she pulled the straps harshly, tightening it around the back of his head.

"A start."

She hopped off him, having stood carelessly on his legs to get the gag in place. She didn't care about his comfort, not then, not usually. For the moment, her business there was done, his stomach bloated out as if he had a large meal, or two if she was being more accurate about how much she had stuffed into him.

Fluttershy smirked. As she'd said, it was only the beginning.

Arctic squirmed, painfully bloated, the strain in his belly impossible to ignore as she left, just for a moment. But what Fluttershy had set up for him was already in a corner, reeking, stinking, though he could not smell it over the rankness of his own fur, the stench of thick scat cloying and clogging up his nostrils.

He stewed, panting heavily, his chest shuddering, though every breath was hard to snatch for his own. He needed to gulp down what he could though, to regain what of his strength that he could manage, before she returned.

It was not easy, not by a long shot. Not as she returned, freshened up, her mane loose and flowing, every bit the beauty that he had fallen for. She dragged out the tub from the corner, more easily with her larger size, something sloshing about in the bottom that he could not quite work out.

"This was already prepared with my morning release, but another fresh, hot dose should up the ante for a slut like you."

She squatted over the tub, sighing as she relieved her bladder into it, her hocks slightly flexed as the hot stream of piss steamed as she filled the tub even more. The tub was just about large enough for Arctic to sit in, but that was all that would be managed, watching her with his eyes wide, struggling, trying to fight it. Giving in might have been easier but some things, the wiles of the body, were not so easy to simply set aside.

"You next, pet."

He whimpered and fought, pushing his tongue urgently against the ball gag, though he was too weak to do anything, submission making him weak, his legs shaking. He had to lean into her, take his support from her, though Fluttershy kept him at the length of her foreleg, making a face, disgusted by the state of him, even though it was her that had caused it to begin with.

His manacles clanked as they fell away, the posture collars and gags remaining in place, his legs trembling as she got him back up on all four hooves. Arctic could have pulled away, but his struggles were futile as the larger, stronger pony marched him to the tub, steam wafting from the surface in a way that would have been alluring if not for the fact that he knew what was in the tub, the reek of it clawing freshly and sharply at his nose.

He dropped into the tub with a muffled squeal, urine sloshing up around him, though he could not help but be glad that there was no scat in there, as much as his aching cock still throbbed. It had to be the aphrodisiacs, yes, she thought, that kept his dick hard, but no one would truly be able to find out the answer to that question until he was presented with a similar scenario, artificial arousal out of the question.

She put latex gloves over her hooves, snapping them up her legs and into place, though she had no real aversion to urine herself. Yet it was for the piss pony to get soaked, to learn where he was meant to be, the position that he was meant to stay in, even though he might have, from time to time, thought that he was above such things.

No. Not at all. Arctic quailed and whimpered as she worked piss into his coat, soaking his mane, his tail, down the arch of his neck. His balls throbbed as they dripped with urine too, but he could not spend his cum, the disgust of it all mingling with stimulation to such an extent that he could not get off, though remained hard. His balls were still busy replenishing all the cum that he had spent into his mistress the day before, anyway, but that would all be seen in time.

Maybe she would use his nuts for something else. Arctic had no say in it, so he didn't need to know either.

"Stay still."

The command was snapped and he had to obey as she rubbed it into his mane, pouring it over his head with a jug, though he did close his eyes to keep it out of them. That was one, tiny thing that came to him, something he could control, though neither of them was going to get anything out of getting it in his eyes.

But he could not escape it, his wings even turning a greenish hue as the piss mixed with his feathers, staining every bit of his body through in such a way that could not be ignored or denied. He would reek of her piss more than he ever had before, a piss pony slut that was there to be abused. He knew it, though it had been him that had wanted that, to be nothing, a submissive slut who always needed the iron hoof of a mistress over him.

His fur soaked through with yellow, though the different shades seeped into him, marking every bit of him even as she yanked him, without saying why, out of the tub. There was no nook or cranny of his body that was left dry as he stood there, dripping, his mistress yanking the ball gag only out of his mouth as piss and scat churned uncomfortably in his belly.

Was that it? Oh, of course not - what a fool he was! She shoved his head down, to the release valve of the tub, spending the dirty piss-water into his mouth with a gush, though the ring gag locked around it, despite the uncomfortable angle for his neck. He could only just get his head down into position as it was forced straight down his throat, bloating out his stomach, his belly sloshing about with more and more fluid, belly swelling viciously.

She looked down on him with imperious glee, forcing him to submit even as Arctic weakly squirmed. He may not have been actively bound, but his submission was still there as he grunted and gulped, trying to make it a little easier to bear. Somehow, the dirty piss-water was worse still than urine all on its own, his throat working painfully to take it all down, gulp after sordid, dirty, gulp.

"All of it, whore."

A whore for her. Had she spoken so roughly to him recently? It made sense, however, for him to be like that. He grunted, swallowing hard, though a lot of the fluid was already in his fur, which held more than he had realised it could, tail sodden and heavy with the sheer weight of all of it.

He gulped it all down, so that his belly bloated like he was pregnant or at least comically overfilled. He didn't know what comparisons at all to make with himself anymore, not with so much going on, not with so very much all at once. The stallion whimpered, his mistress dragging him away, the tub empty, the gag keeping his mouth open, though that was all for Mistress Shy's pleasure.

He moaned through the gag, not even able to do anything as she shoved her tail hole into his mouth again. The pucker of her tail-star was no longer something that he wanted to please, in the sense of serving a mare, but he had to take down yet another load of scat from her backside, pony droppings plopping out messily, one after the other. They spattered into his mouth, forcing their way down his throat, as he grunted and heaved, guts shuddering as if the churning mass of his stomach was going to rebel against every bit of dirty waste that had been forced into his strained belly.

He didn't have any choice, but neither did he want to, his cock softening a little, the aphrodisiacs, finally, wearing off. But not completely. His cock was still half-hard, his body as confused as his mind as filth squelched into his muzzle and down his throat, pushing over his tongue, into the back of his throat where he had no option but to gulp it down.

"I'm sure you'll get used to that."

The coldness of her tone was not something that he had heard before, not in that way, but it did not matter. Not as she handled him roughly, as if he did not matter to her anymore, his tail hole screaming as she rammed a thick plug into him, pumping it up.

He was familiar with inflation, but it had been a while since he had had something that grew larger rammed up under there, the old scar pulling and twinging as the thick plug inflated further. It would have locked itself well enough inside him from that swelling alone, if she had left it at that, but that was not the matter that she had her attention on, not at that moment. It was locked into him with a heavy padlock, the straps going around his hips and between his legs, letting him know just how he was to spend his time in there.

The pet cage loomed, a large, physical cage that he was locked up in from time to time, whether for pleasure or punishment. Sometimes the line between them was blurred so much that he could no longer tell the difference between them, his gut lumpy and sagging near the floor when he stood. The additional meal of filth that she had given him hadn't helped his stomach at all, churning and gurgling, his fur soaked with piss and reeking all the while.

Would that last for long? He didn't know what the time was, how long he had been down in her dungeon - he couldn't see it as a basement alone anymore. Time had no meaning while he was serving her, playing his part as her devoted pony pet, always devoted, in all ways. It was all he had to do, all he wanted to do, all to serve her, completely and utterly, forevermore.

That didn't mean that everything was comfortable as his huge belly pushed back against his cock, straining between his legs, so lumpy that he could feel logs of scat inside, bringing a retching rise to his stomach. Only after slapping the ball gag back into place on his muzzle did Fluttershy leave, a flirty flick to her tail betraying her enjoyment of his abuse.

"Sleep well, pet. I'll be back when I feel like it."

Such was the way of being a pony pet, Arctic settling down, however uncomfortably on the lumpy cushion of his own stomach, in an attempt to get some kind of rest.

It would not, so to say, be restful.

Continued in part four...