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Big Meanie

Big Macintosh was not having fun. Large social gatherings made him uncomfortable--parties, concerts, sold-out sporting events--and the festivities in Twilight's castle had the trappings of all three. The princess had converted a previously unused chamber into a banquet hall, where she was hosting what Ponyvillians were already calling the party of the century.

Honestly though, 'banquet hall' was just something Cadence printed on the invitations in a bid to uphold the royal family's stately image. Mac wasn't nursing an appletini at a bar within a banquet hall; he was doing so in a garish hybrid of brothel, mansion and nightclub, complete with loud music, gyrating dancers in various states of semi-dress, and the baffling juxtaposition of brocade drapes and plastic red cups filled with booze.

The energy in the room was one of a kind.

The music was a semi-organized calamity of drumbeats and electronic pings, meant to be felt more than heard. Not that the dancers minded the madness. They shuffled their hooves and footpaws with the awkward abandon of creatures who spent too much of their lives shaking hands, bowing, speaking in measured tones. They were ponies and diamond dogs and griffons from every corner of the world, and they were creatures of note: politicians, envoys, delegates, peacekeepers, lawmakers, and one general and his insolent pups.

Leaning against the bar, his back to the counter and the chatty barkeeper, Mac sipped his appletini and watched the partygoers have their fun. He needed something stronger than an appletini.

Out on the dance floor, a comically intoxicated Twilight Sparkle laughed as she stumbled over her own hooves, clutching a margarita in one hand and her dance partner's neck in the other. She wore a Rarity original--an ice blue cocktail dress with delusions of evening-gown grandeur--and was bumping and grinding against the second most important crotch at the party: that of Lord Spitz, a diamond dog noble of Clan Direhound, and son of the most dangerous general north of the Crystal Mountains.

Mac sighed, wishing he could emulate Twilight and her dance partner, instead of drinking alone at the bar. He wanted to join them on the dance floor, but the crowd was too big, the music too loud, and the strobe lights too bright and flashy.

"Yo, barkeep!" called a feminine voice, shouting to be heard over the music. "I need a drink for my grumpy buddy here. Something a bit stronger than what he's already got."

"Coming right up!" said Pinkie Pie. She snatched down several bottles from the liquor shelf to her back, then poured a little from each into a glass. "Here we go! Something strong for one grumpy buddy!"

A hip-check sent the glass sliding down the counter. The owner of the feminine voice tapped Mac's shoulder, prodding him to turn around.

"How fun." Her tone was dry, droll. "Is the help in this grass-eating dirt pile of a country always so chipper?"

It took Mac a second to realize she was talking to him. "Nope. That's just Pinkie Pie bein' Pinkie Pie."

"Pinkie Pie, huh? As in the Pinkie Pie, the national hero or whatever?" Mac's new bar mate yawned, displaying a mouth full of yellowish fangs. "Kinda lame. I figured she'd be, I don't know... pinker."

Mac eyed the newcomer, noting her sleek blue-grey fur and bottom jaw that resembled an inverted tractor claw. She was one of those diamond dogs from the Frozen North: direhounds, Twilight had called them. Except for a worn leather vest and jewel-free collar, she was completely naked.

Mac's eyes strayed below her neck, but only for the briefest of seconds. She sneered at that, as if she'd earned a point in a game he didn't know they were playing.

"I bought you a drink, ya big meanie. Don't be rude."

Mac glanced at the nameless cocktail on the bar. "No thanks. Already got me a drink."

"Real nice. And here I thought you pony folk were supposed to be neighborly."

She lifted the cocktail to her lips and chanced a tentative sip. Her face scrunched as if trying to squeeze itself into a single point between her eyes. She coughed and clutched her chest, nearly dropping the glass.

"Mmmm. Tasty," she droned after regaining her breath. "Better watch your pink pal there, meanie, 'cause I think she has it out for you. In fact, by taking the first swig of this piss, I'm pretty sure I just saved your life. Kinda like a royal wine taster. You ponies have those here? Royal wine tasters?"

Mac sipped his appletini. If he stayed quiet long enough, she might grow bored and go away.

"I had a royal wine taster once. Poor guy fell in the line of duty, protecting his fair lady and all that." She clutched her neck dramatically, comically, making pretend choking noises. Her tongue lolled from her mouth, and Mac couldn't help but note the curve of it, the length, the shade of pink.

Her breasts moved with her pretend heaves, and he noticed those too.

"Shame," she went on, "I liked that one. Say, you think I look like a fair lady?"

"Nope."

"That's kinda mean," she said. "You're kinda mean for a herb. I like that. You party much?"

"Nope."

"Well you should get some practice in while you're here, 'cause you're motherfucking terrible at it. This stool I'm sitting on is having more fun than you. Though, I guess I can't blame you too much. This place is full of assholes."

She looped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. The side of her boob brushed his bicep.

"I mean, just get a load of my brother and that poor filly he's conned into rubbing up against him." She aimed a finger at Twilight and Spitz. "You should'a heard this guy during the carriage ride over here. He was all 'princess pussy' this and 'sweet alicorn ass that.' Fucking gross.

"Don't worry, though, I'll rip his balls off before I let him pipe your matriarch. The guy's got all kinds of diseases, and I'm sure Dad would like to avoid an international incident."

"You're White Fang's daughter?" asked Mac.

"Well, I'll be damned. You can handle more than one syllable at a time."

Mac scowled at that.

"Easy, herb. Don't zap me with your friendship magic," she said. "Yeah, I'm the general's kid. Name's Dolly by the way. Though, a proper Equestrian gentleman would've asked for my name by now."

"I'm Mac," said the big stallion, less sullen now.

"Nope," said Dolly, imitating his drawl. "You're Big Meanie from now on, understand? Big. Meanie." She said it slowly, as if talking to somepony who was either very old or very dumb. "You can fight me on it if you want, but then I'll have to kick your ugly grass-munching ass."

Mac cracked a smile.

"That wasn't a joke." Dolly tried to sound threatening, but a hint of laughter crept into her voice. She downed the bitter cocktail that Mac didn't want, then ordered another drink.

"Something that won't kill me please," she said. "I'm still young and haven't gotten a chance to fuck my pal Meanie yet."

Mac held his smile, looking awkward now. He wasn't sure how to respond to that.

The two of them drank in silence for a few songs, watching their fellow partygoers have the night of their collective lives. There was nothing awkward about this silence. It was serene. Comfortable.

Dolly tossed Mac coy glances between drinks. When he grew bold enough to return one, she sneered and chuckled in his face.

The game was still on he realized, and Dolly had just scored another point.

"You don't like being around other ponies very much, do you?" she asked.

"Sure I do. Just don't like being around this many."

"Nah, you're just saying that to save face. You're mean deep down, I can tell."

"Nope."

"Get real. You're too big and stupid to be some fluffy teddy bear deep down. I know you herbs have a name for it here--'gentle giant' or something--but where I'm from we don't spout bullshit like that.

"Ain't no such thing as gentle giants. Just sleeping ones."

Mac set his glass on the counter. "I'm sorry I said ya don't look like a fair lady," he said. "That weren't true. Ya look plenty fair, far as I can tell."

"Nah, you're just saying that, too. Just trying to prove you're not mean." Dolly downed the rest of her drink, hopped off her stool. "But you're the biggest, dumbest, ugliest meanie I know. 'Cause only big meanies forget to wish fair ladies a happy birthday."

Dolly drew a coin from her vest pocket. "Thanks for sparing my life, barkeep." She flipped the coin at Pinkie Pie with her thumb, who caught it and bit its edge.

"Mmmm, chocolate," said the pink pony. "Oh, with caramel too!"

Dolly nibbled Mac's ear and whispered, "This is the part where I saunter off all mysterious-like, and you watch my hips swing as I go. I've been practicing my saunter for weeks. So the next time we meet, before I fuck your country-bumpkin brains out, you can tell me how I did tonight. Cool?"

Mac nodded, his mouth slightly ajar.

"Cool," she said. "And one more thing, Meanie." Her paw cocked back before jerking forward, and the ring of her palm slapping Mac's cheek turned a few heads. "Wake up."

As Dolly left, Mac touched a hand to his stinging cheek. She was scary strong. And she was no liar either: she really had been practicing her saunter.

*******

"Maaaaac, there you are!" called a thoroughly inebriated Twilight Sparkle. "Oh thank Me, I just knew you weren't gonna show up. Not that yer untrustworthy, 'cause you are, you definitely are, trustworthy I mean. It's just... I gave you such short notice, and everything was all rushed and crazy and last-minute, not to mention the whole 'national security' drama Luna won't shut up about."

She leaned in conspiratorially, a hoof pressed to her cheek. "Don't tell her I said this, but I totally see why Celestia banished her baby sis to the moon. Yikes. Drama queen much?"

She downed the last of Mac's appletini, wobbled, then grabbed his arm to right herself.

"Ya okay, Twi?"

"Wut?" She blinked several times. "Pfffff, yeah I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about. You ready, big guy? Huh? Huh? You ready for tonight?"

She struck a parody of a boxing pose, swaying as much from drunkenness as her prizefighter pantomime. She threw an embarrassingly uncoordinated jab, and would've fallen over if Mac hadn't caught her wrist.

"Easy, yer majesty." Still clutching her wrist, he looped an arm around her back to steady her.

"Oooooh, Mac, baby," she purred. "Call me 'yer majesty' again."

Mac deflected an incoming kiss with his palm. He set Twilight down on a stool and asked Pinkie to pour the princess some water.

"No, nope, sorry, we gotta go," said Twilight, suddenly jerking ramrod stiff. "Gladiatorial combat, remember? Come on, Mac, seriously, come on. That international incident isn't gonna remedy itself."

She hopped off the stool, took Mac by the arm and marched out onto the dance floor, her eyes narrowed with almost comical determination. As they waded through the shoulders, elbows and hips of the surging dancers, Twilight said, "That was Dolly of Clan Direhound you were talking to earlier. Did you remember to wish her happy birthday?"

"Nope."

Twilight stopped, wheeled to face him. "Oh, for My sake, Mac! We talked about this!"

Shaking her head, she again took Mac's forearm and finished crossing the dance floor. Then she marched up to Vinyl Scratch, grumbling under her breath.

"Gonna get us all killed, I swear." She got Vinyl's attention and whispered something in the DJ's ear.

The music lowered. Twilight took one of Vinyl's microphones and held it up to her mouth.

"Testing, testing," she said a bit too loudly. "Is this thing on?"

A random voice from the crowd answered her.

"It's on! You're just really shitfaced!"

"Zip it, Spike! If I have to come down there, I swear--"

She paused, cleared her throat.

"Hey there, fillies, gentlecolts and various others! In honor of Dolly and Clan Direhound, I'm gonna need all you sexy tail-shakers to clear the dance floor and get ready for tonight's very special event!"

She spoke with forced enthusiasm, like a radio DJ who had been on the air for six hours too long. Still, despite her lackluster energy, everyone cleared off the dance floor. Twilight smiled and waved at the audience, shot Mac an impatient glower, then went right back to smiling and waving.

She was good at that at least: smiling and waving.

Mac disappeared into one of the castle's nearby guest rooms, where he began stripping off his clothing. He had no idea how the rest of the night would play out, but hoped it would at least end quickly.

********

To better understand the point of tonight's lurid spectacle, Mac had done some cursory research about direhound culture before coming to this party. He learned about their affinity for combat, and their centuries-long history of territorial expansion through war and imperialism, which ended with the Warming and the appearance of the alicorns.

They valued combat prowess above most other things, which explained their utter lack of respect for Equestria and its rulers, namely Twilight Sparkle, whose dedication to 'the Magic of Friendship' made her the butt of many a direhound joke.

Nationwide derision for the princess aside though, Equestria had nothing to fear from the direhounds. They had long since given up their warmongering ways and learned to sate their passion for bloodlust through hyper-aggressive combat sports.

But the other northern diamond dog tribes--The Timbermutts and the Teeth and The Shovelsnouts--considered the Equestrian lifestyle blasphemous in the eyes of their gods, and, with their numbers alone, they posed a real threat to national security.

However, if Twilight could make allies of Dolly and her people, then the threat of combat would all but disappear. Clan Direhound's army possessed the best fighters in the north, and their tribe made its home at the foot of the Crystal Mountains. This made them an ideal vanguard, should the other tribes ever mount an attack.

Twilight was politically savvy enough to know she'd never win over the village elders; they were too old, too mired in their contempt for Equestria. But their children, tribesmen like Dolly and her brother--them she could still sway. Maybe...

Disrespect for Equestria was ingrained in direhound culture, but these youngsters treated the malice like little more than a mean-spirited joke. They were too busy spending their parents' riches to care about their hooved neighbors beyond the mountains, and Twilight was counting on their apathy to aid her cause. She was young herself after all and knew what young creatures wanted. Sex. Entertainment. Style. Fun.

Shrewd on her part, but all for nothing if Mac blew the main event.

Dressed only in his briefs, Mac climbed into the slapdash boxing ring now nestled in the center of the dance floor. A dose of alicorn magic had fashioned its corner posts from ice sculptures that bore Dolly's likeness (each chiseled and generously donated by Cheerilee and several overzealous students), and the ropes were made of shreds of torn brocade curtain.

The briefs were a snug navy blue affair Twilight had picked out herself because they outlined the dimples in his butt cheeks. And, according to her meticulous research, Dolly appreciated a nice firm and dimpled butt.

Mac looked up to find the fair lady watching from a balcony, looking semi-bored and regal in her ivory seat. She leaned to one side and rested her cheek on a lazy fist, her mouth pouty, eyes half-lidded with something steamy and lustful and raw.

Dolly caught Mac staring at her. She splayed her legs and pressed three fingers to the nude splash of pink between her thighs.

Three--the number of points she'd garnered during their little game.

Earlier, while Mac was changing in the guest chamber, Dolly had barged in on him and began flirting in her lazy, semi-disinterested way. She practically ate him alive with her leer. And before she left, she issued a warning for the future gladiator.

"Come in that ring, Meanie," she'd called from the doorway, her back to the big red stallion. "And you can forget about coming in this one."

With that she bent forward, slow and sensual, and pried her ass cheeks apart with both paws. Her back entrance seemed to wink, and the memory of it now made Mac's flaccid cock lurch in its sheath.

"Hey, eyes on me, big guy," said his opponent, drawing his gaze from high to low. "I'm the only lady in your life right now, ya got that?"

Yikes, not another one. Between Dolly's mind games and Twilight's orders, Mac found himself dealing with more headstrong ladies than he could handle in one night.

And now here stood another, a guard-in-training Twilight had said, emerald green and dressed in dark purple panties, with no bra in sight. She was much shorter than Mac and wore the pinched, defensive expression of a mare who'd grown sick of always looking up at others. On a taller mare, her wealth of defined muscles might have looked imposing, but on her they were just adorable, bite-sized imitations of physical power.

"You need a stepladder, herb!" one of the direhounds called from the crowd. "I'd hate to see you strain that pretty neck of yours!"

The other dogs laughed and made jeers themselves, at both fighters, while the Equestrians shifted restlessly or exchanged glances, annoyance evident on their faces. Mac had read up on direhound culture enough to know that a good ribbing was customary at sporting events, especially those involving combat, so, in his typical serene way, he let the insults roll right off his shoulders.

His opponent, however, was not so educated. She hopped up on the bottom rope and leaned her body over the top one, giving the crowd an eyeful of her cleavage.

"How 'bout you climb in here and say that again!"

"Gladly," the heckler called back. Mac gave a start when the direhound actually began wading through the crowd.

Horse apples, these dogs definitely weren't all bark.

Mac moved to intervene, but then Twilight appeared in a brilliant flash of light. She ripped off her top and gave it a twirl before flinging it into the crowd.

The audience marveled at the royal jugs. Mac was impressed, too, though less with her tits and more with her diplomatic skill. As usual, Twi had done her homework. She knew what her audience wanted, and she delivered.

She hovered above the ring--hands fondling her chest, gliding down her belly--then turned to toss Vinyl a nervous wink. The DJ teleported a mic into her hand. She glanced over her shoulder at Mac, flushed with liquor and embarrassment, and made the most terrified, most adorable flying-ponyfeathers-this-is-really-happening face he'd ever seen.

Then a calming breath stopped her hands from trembling, and she slipped back into character. Twilight Sparkle, everypony: the good-times princess.

"Fillies and gentlecolts! Griffons and minotaurs! Direhounds, and creatures from all corners of the earth! Let's get ready to roughhooooooooouuusee!"

*******

Mac was definitely not ready to roughhouse. His knees trembled as he squatted into the fighting stance Shining Armor had pounded into his head. In preparation for tonight, Twilight had ordered her brother to give Mac a crash course in basic striking and grappling techniques.

Their training camp had lasted all of six weeks, so about as long as this never-ending night.

"I hope you know what you're doing," said his opponent, squatting into a lower stance than Mac. "Because if you waste my time tonight, I swear I'm gonna hurt you. Bad."

The bass in her voice, coupled with the juxtaposition of her defined deltoids and perky breasts, coaxed an unexpected twinge from Mac's cock. Arousal was already becoming a distraction. Nervous and semi-erect, he ignored the warmth burgeoning beneath his gut and focused on the task at hand.

"Ready?" he heard Twilight say, her voice barely audible above the pound of adrenaline rushing between his ears. The longest three seconds of his life passed in a kind of quiet limbo. It was so uncomfortable that when Twilight finally shouted "Fight!" the storm was a welcome relief from the calm.

His body lurched forward and his shoulders dipped, arms reaching for the guardmare's short legs. This move, as it turned out, was a mistake. An obvious one.

As he dove for his takedown, just as Shining had instructed, the guard palmed the back of his head and drove his face into the floor with a loud thump, earning a collective cringe from the audience. Pain lanced through his muzzle. While he was down, she ran to the nearest corner, sprang off the turnbuckle and somersaulted through the air.

Mac rolled away at the last second, leaving her to slam back-first into the floor. The crowd laughed, pointed. She sat up, groaning and clutching her lower spine, then grimaced when Mac lassoed her neck with both arms.

Kneeling behind her, his chest glued to her back, he cinched in a sleeperhold and flexed both arms, giving her throat a tight squeeze. She tried to bolt upright, gasping, one hand gripping a thick red wrist, but Mac dropped to his butt and snapped his legs around her trunk.

Her chest bobbed with a sharp catching of breath, and her hand reflexively moved to grasp at Mac's outer thigh. It flared under her palm as he extended and flexed both legs, compressing her ribs, her diaphragm. He eased into the two-pronged hold, slowly, surprised at the sudden deluge of pleasure that flooded his senses.

Phew--this gladiatorial combat stuff wasn't so hard. In his pre-fight anxiety he'd failed to anticipate or even imagine this moment, these sensations: the muscular back adhered to his chest, the trunk snared between his thighs, the twitch and pulse of jugular veins against his biceps.

Free of its sheath now, and longing to be free of the briefs as well, Mac's cock stiffened and poked at the small of the guard's back. With one hand on his own bicep, and the other braced behind her skull, he pushed down on her head and coiled his arms tighter, tighter, so that her throat sunk deep into the hollow of his bent elbow.

Her hand moved as if to tap out, but stopped short, poised less than an inch from Mac's hip.

Down on her hands and knees, topless, nipples stiff and perky with arousal, Twilight, acting as referee, watched the action closely. She asked the guard if she wanted to submit, and received an angry grunt coupled with a slight headshake.

Twilight's nearness, and her semi-nudity, and her rosy cheeks and neck made Mac all the hornier. And the crowd acted on him too, heightening his arousal with their savage howls and whoops. The direhounds cheered the loudest, except for Dolly, who refused to dispel her air of regal boredom.

Still crushing the smaller mare, though tiring now, Mac lifted his gaze to meet the birthday girl's. She mouthed the words "Follow me" from her balcony throne, then once again splayed her legs nice and wide for him.

Mac misunderstood at first, then remembered his research--the conflation of violence and sex in direhound culture--and immediately followed Dolly's order. He broke his scissorhold, braced his shins inside the guard's knees and splayed his legs, putting her crotch on vivid display for Dolly, Twilight, and all the other party-goers.

Dolly lapped at her index and middle fingers, kissed them, took them between her lips and suckled and slurped. Then she pulled them out and traced her slit from base to hood, slowly, her lips parting and fluttering and closing again in the wake of her moist digits.

Mac followed her, as ordered, letting his fingers trail down the guard's belly and slip into her panties.

"No, stop, get off me," she stammered, her hand locked around Mac's wrist. She tugged at his arm in vain. He still had his other arm around her neck, was still flexing and choking her.

"You pig," she breathed, her voice going high and thin. "When I get loose I'm gonna... gonna_aaaahhh_--"

She moaned loudly as Mac fondled her, his fingers swimming inside her entrance. For all her squirms and hushed curses and half-formed threats, Mac felt the slickness of her body's betrayal coat his hand. He probed deeper, his eyes trained on Dolly's pink folds, her stroking paw, the subtle back and forth roll of her hips.

The guard rolled her hips as well, in tandem with the dog's, and Mac moaned softly at the feel of her rubbing against him. Friction warmed his stiff cock. A single bead of precum pooled at the tip of its head, staining his briefs.

By now Twilight had backed off, aroused but visibly uncomfortable, like a teenager reliving her first time. The ponies in attendance shared her slack-jawed expression while the direhounds went on cheering like nothing strange was happening.

Uncomfortable herself, Vinyl decided to do what she did best: just go with it. She cranked the music and dimmed the lights, and soon the dogs were dancing with and dry humping their baffled Equestrian counterparts.

Had Mac or Twilight the presence of mind to scan the crowd, they'd have noticed that their diplomatic strategy was working. The canines and equines were bonding, almost literally, their bodies mashing together, their sweat mingling, their collective whimpers and pleasure-sighs drowned out by loud club music--music that wasn't music at all, but a pulse, a pounding bassline that rattled every rib cage in the room.

Somehow Mac ignored all of this. He went on choking and fingering the guard, though he hardly noticed her either, or Twilight, his attention solely devoted to the bitch up on the balcony. He did to the guard's slit what she did to her own, fucking her vicariously through the small bundle of muscle and frustration in his lap.

Dolly's fingers slid up to her clit, and Mac's followed, making the guard coo his name. Though her hand was still locked around his wrist, she'd given up resisting the pleasing touches. Feminine juices dampened her panties and sluiced down the walls of her inner thighs.

Dolly's free paw moved to fondle her breast, and again Mac unconsciously followed suit. But the second his hand grazed the guard's nipple, she let her head hang forward, now free of his chokehold, then swung it backward and bashed his muzzle.

Blood spurted from his nose, and the sight of the crimson stream pushed Dolly over the edge. Her body shuddered violently. She grabbed the arm of her chair to keep from falling over, her trembling thighs clamped tight around her paw.

To his despair, Mac only caught the beginning of her body's convulsions. Jarred by the blow, he broke his hold and scrambled away, a hand clamped over his muzzle.

He was down on all fours when a fast-flying hoof arced off the floor and punted his tailbone. A burst of pain seized his body and jerked it upright. He clutched at and rubbed his lower spine. As he lingered on his knees, the guard sprinted across the ring, rebounded off the ropes, then sprinted back and dropkicked Mac flush on the temple.

Twilight started as her friend flopped onto the floor, both hands clamped over her mouth. Dizzy, Mac shot her a wink, letting her know he was fine. Then he started himself when two strong hands seized him by the mane.

"Awww, how cute," said the guard. "You worried I'm gonna hurt the big lug?"

As Twilight looked on, honestly more wet than worried, the guard dropped to her butt and pulled Mac's arms behind his back, holding them straight and taut. Then she scissored the taut arms, trapping them in a kind of modified full nelson, one that used her legs instead of her arms.

She palmed the floor and pushed her hips into the air, forcing Mac to sit up. A terrible ache settled into his shoulders and his upper back, but it was little more than a nuisance compared to the throb in his wanting cock.

"I knew you'd like being my bitch," said the guard, panting. "Just look at that poor cock down there, all alone. I bet it hurts, doesn't it?"

Mac didn't answer.

"Doesn't it!"

A sudden flex pinched his shoulder blades together, close--too close. He let out a husky bellow, his head drooping in defeat.

"Ee... yup..." he managed, teeth gritted as he endured the pain. The guard punished him a bit longer, then loosened her grip some.

"Enough," said Twilight. "You've won, now let him go."

"But the big guy's not done yet. And look, his arms are all tied up at the moment. I think he needs a little help."

Mac immediately understood what she meant, but it took Twilight a few seconds to catch up. When she did, her whole face turned tomato-red. She likely would've chickened out at that moment, if not for the chants of "Help-Him-Out! Help-Him-Out!" that suddenly boomed above the music.

She crawled up to Mac. "Is this happening? Oh, sweet Me, this is happening isn't it?"

"Eeyup," Mac said softly, doing his best to make it all okay.

To his Surprise Twilight just went for it--just tugged down his briefs and took him inside her mouth. She gagged as much from nerves as the size of him, then relaxed some and gave up on trying to take him all at once.

His eyes clamped shut when the bobbing started. She took more of him in her mouth with every downward bob, until her lips began grazing his hilt. A slippery cocktail of precum and saliva dribbled from the corners of her mouth. Mac's cock gave her trouble, and he liked that, liked the feel of her throat convulsing as she tried to avoid gagging.

He rolled his hips to meet her bobbing head. His breath came harder and faster. A warm hand moved to cup his balls, to fondle them, to hold them and periodically give them light squeezes.

His head lolled back, his eyelids fluttered open. He would've been lost in bawdy rapture, or at least finally enjoying the party, if only his gaze hadn't crossed paths with Dolly's. She was sitting with her legs crossed, bored again, even as the entire room seemed to shudder and moan along with Mac.

Then her words carved a deep gash between his ears--the ones uttered before she'd left the guest room--and he began struggling and bucking his hips.

"Easy, big guy," said the guard, laughing, drunk on the lust and the supreme agony of it all. Falling to her back, she grabbed his wrist and drew her knees together, straining Mac's shoulders and back all over again.

His bucks grew faster, harder, more desperate, which Twilight mistook for him nearing his orgasm. She spat out his cock and, all at once and without thinking, hopped into his lap, onto his slick shaft.

She took him balls deep, practically by accident, then hugged his face to her chest and began bobbing her hips up and down. Her pace was fast from the start and sped up with every rise and fall of her sweat-kissed body.

She was tight and wet and horny and eager, a princess turned pauper turned whore, and just for Mac, like something wrought from his teenage fantasies. She gripped his cock tight--as tight as the guard gripped his arms--and her fingers clawed into his upper back, deep, as if trying to draw blood.

But as ideal a sexual encounter as this was, Mac shut his eyes and tried to block it out, tried to think of anything but the vaginal muscles squeezing his cock. He couldn't enjoy this now, couldn't let himself burst and fill the royal whore with his seed.

No, crap, no--he shut out the thoughts of bursting and spilling and filling up whores. If he came now, he'd ruin his chances with Dolly. To distract himself, he pictured her bored stare in his head, and her narrow eyes that pulled into fine points at each corner, and the muzzle beneath, the mouth, wicked and overflowing with fangs, but soft too, soft in a way he'd never--

Horse Apples, this wasn't working either. Okay, okay, maybe he could just wait Twilight out. Yeah, that could work, he'd always had good stamina, that could work.

"Mmmmm, Mac, suck on my tit," Twilight moaned, cradling one boob in her hand.

"Wu-What?"

"Suck on my tit."

"Nope."

"What gives, you jerk! I sucked your cock. Quit being selfish and suck on my tit."

When Mac opened his mouth to protest again, Twilight grabbed the nape of his neck and shoved her nipple in his mouth. He fought the urge to suck for as long as he could, but her teat was hard and perky and just begging for his tongue. He gave it a long, slow lick, then tilted his head some and took more of her boob in his mouth.

A unified laugh-roar-cheer-moan filled the room as Twilight's wings flared on her back. The party had devolved into an orgy, with canines pairing off with equines and taking each other right there on the dance floor.

Mac and Twilight had done it! They had accomplished their mission, united two conflicting cultures through public bloodsport and sexual humiliation. Not the most orthodox road to longstanding international prosperity, but certainly the one less traveled.

But now, after all of the night's shenanigans, Mac was still going to blow it. Literally.

Twilight pummeled his thighs with her bouncing ass, and Mac pummeled hers right back. His cock sawed in and out of her entrance with foreskin-chafing intensity, and every short stroke stretched her pussy wide. He bellowed into the nipple shoved in his mouth, the boob pressed to his muzzle, his breathing partially hindered by its volume.

Their bodies knocked together in a rhythm as odd as their situation.

Every part of Twilight that could jiggle did: her ass, her hints of belly fat, the tit free of Mac's mouth. Then the jiggling and the bobbing came to a sudden halt, and the violent shudders began.

Her wings beat at the air as if trying to take flight, feathers falling loose and drifting to the floor. As she came, her pussy clamped tight around Mac's cock, swallowing him from tip to base.

Mac shut his eyes and rode out her orgasm, expecting hers to trigger his...

But it didn't. Thank Celestia, it didn't!

And then, a bit too excited by Twilight's orgasm, the guard flexed her legs as hard as she could. Mac's shoulder dislocated with a muffled pop, and this--not Twilight's fit of spastic pleasure, but a sudden blinding flash of pain--sent Mac following after the princess.

The first jet of hot seed filled Twilight's pussy, making her jump and shudder, and the second and third sent sticky juices leaking down her inner thighs. Mac moaned with more pain than pleasure, and not just because his shoulder was hanging out of its socket.

The guard let go of Mac. He flopped helplessly onto his back, with Twilight laying on his chest.

"That was... a bit more than I planned for," said Twilight. "But not altogether unpleasant. Agreed?"

"Eeyup."

"You okay down there? You look a little winded."

"Nope. Shoulder's busted."

Twilight sparked her horn, seized Mac's arm in her aura, and popped his shoulder back into place.

"Better?"

"Eee... yup..." he said, smiling at the princess through a wince.