Twilight's Submission

> You've always been afraid, really.
> Since your earliest memories, you can remember it.
> Sometimes the fear was hanging just out of sight, waiting in the corner of your eye to creep up if you didn't keep your guard up.
> Crouching to pounce the moment you let go of your self-control.
> Sometimes it was right there, though, front and center.
> The test, in your fillyhood, to hatch Spike's egg - fearing you would do nothing and become nothing more than an ordinary, boring filly.
> When Celestia had sent you away to Ponyville, thinking for certain you had displeased her and was being... cast aside.
> Facing Nightmare Moon - an Alicorn! - with nothing but five ponies you barely knew.
> Paradoxically, that last one lead directly to the first time you could say without question you felt no fear at all.
> When the elements' power flows through me - it's not like normal magic.
> Normal magic comes from within; you have to keep a tight grip on it or it slips away - defies your will.
> The powers of harmony, though - they were different.
> Once they are called on, there's no controlling them.
> They simply - are.
> You were an agent, a conduit, a vessel; success or failure was not yours to choose.
> And to your utter horror, you found it relieving.
> No, you thought to yourself.
> You must've been mistaken, drunk on the power.
> Every second you had to remain on-point, focused and aware, or you would lose control.
> Then it happened again, when you again wielded the elements' power and sealed away Discord.
> Each time you again let the energy course from the relics through you, an ever more undeniable truth came with it.
> You might have come to terms with it on your own time - maybe even to the same conclusion you had eventually, though not so soon.
> But before you could, the worst thing imaginable happened.
> ----
> A swift swat across your rear puts those thoughts out of your head and brings you back to the present situation you found yourself in.
> Crouched in a tight bow, chin nearly resting on the floor - a table balanced atop your outspread wings and upthrust hips from which your master would occasionally sip a light drink.
> Mentally you curse; wandering thoughts was no excuse to forget your position.
> Though the thin line of pain traced across your haunches was already fading, it had been a sharp enough thing to drive your thoughts back to the present.
> Steeling yourself, you force your wings back up to the correct height; moments later, a lighter touch of his hand comes to rest on you.
> Cupping your haunch, gliding lightly over your starburst mark - sending your heart thudding.
> It is not even a truly sensual touch - not really.
> Too casual for that; instead, it was one of ownership, of control.
> A reminder that he could - will - touch you in any way he desires, like one might stroke a canine companion.
> The attention newly-refocused on your current state, however, is less enticing.
> Sight, hearing, and speech had been taken from you - unworthy as you were - for this, but scent left more than enough open.
> And scent was more than enough for you to know what was going on around you, as the overwhelming stench of arousal assaulted your nostrils.
> Yours, yes - as if the dampness increasingly seeping down your thighs was not enough to tell.
> But also another mare's sickeningly sweet stench; in a way you were thankful for the senses denied to you, as they kept you from knowing exactly what was being withheld from you.
> At the same time, however, uncertainty also left your mind free to wander - what was he doing to whoever else he had there?
> What pleasures was he inflicting on them?
> Left to run freely, the visions you imagined did nothing to dampen your own arousal either.
> For every whiff of the scent your flaring nostrils caught, you could feel yourself wink - legs and wings alike going rubbery and forcing you to concentrate and keep them up.
> Admitting you had touched yourself in the time between this visit and the last had been a mistake.
> Well, so had doing so in the first place.
> But openly admitting it, and then protesting that it wasn't fair to be punished for it?
> It had seemed logical to you, but he had only twisted it:
> If you had needed that release so badly, it seemed, he would instead favor somepony else first.
> And dropping your master's drink now would only invite and even greater retribution than the one your existing misdeeds had earned.
> For now, it was your duty to be nothing more than his cup-holder - no matter how much you would be desire to fling it aside and relieve the desire building in your nethers.
> Searching for something else to drag your mind's spotlight from that need, your thoughts begin to wander again...
> ----
> Before you'd had any chance to come to terms with what you were feeling, you became a princess.
> Overnight, the fears that you'd held before increased exponentially.
> Once, you needed only to worry about the opinions of those who knew you directly.
> Now - now every pony in Equestria would know of you.
> Know, and expect me to become a Princess, with a capital P, by the very next day.
> As if, in the time you'd vanished from the Golden Oaks Library and reappeared with an inexplicable extra set of appendages, you'd somehow had the time to read 'How To Be A Princess, First Edition, Volumes One to One Billion'.
> In a matter of days, you were expected to know things you had never imagined needing to study.
> Required to make judgments that you had no business deciding.
> Expected to hold yourself to a higher standard than the average pony.
> Implicated into the strategic games of the nobility, reduced to a playing piece at the same time you were given authority you'd no means of preparing for.
> The time when you'd thought knowledge like that could be culled from a book alone was long since passed.
> Nonetheless stallions and mares alike raced for you favor, treated you as - as something special, elevated, at the same time they looked on me as nothing more than a resource for their plans.
> Simultaneously looked up to royalty and bearer of all three tribes' powers, and disdainfully regarded as an upstart who had no place holding the title you did.
> You hated it.
> No - hate is too simple a word.
> Somehow you thought you should have been happy, and indeed there were many moments of unadulterated joy to be counted since your coronation.
> But so, too, did darker thoughts began to fester in your mind.
> You turned myself inside out trying to deal with all of it, push it back and keep it down.
> Every day the voices crowded away in the back of your head grew, growing and picking away at your defenses.
> Merely bottling them away wasn't going to work; you needed to be able to let go of your fears.
> A method of release was needed.
> ----
> A new, tender touch lifts your head.
> At some point the weight had been removed from your back, the tray taken away.
> Once more your heart quickens; was it finally your turn?
> Daring to raise your head, you again become aware of the weight of the heavy collar about your throat.
> When you finally shift your hooves - aching muscles being at last relieved of the position they had held for so long - you are again reminded of the shackles that circle your ankles.
> What a sight you must make - a princess of Equestria, bound and bowed.
> Your rump lifted in the air, tail constrained by the cloth that bound its first few inches and ensured you were on full display.
> "I want my prize to be in sight, in case I decide to use it."
> Those had been his words.
> 'His prize' - your existence distilled down to something to be claimed by him.
> As if responding to your thoughts, his touch again traces over the curve of your flank; this time, it continues even further down that he'd allowed it to prior.
> Your breath catches as his fingers make contact with your nethers; a new surge of juices gushes from you even at the feathery touch.
> Though no sound reaches your ears, you can just imagine his soft laughter at your desperation.
> Of course, he gave no thought to relieving your desires - fingertips tracing your lips, briefly dipping within, but never giving anything near release.
> ...stars above, you were horny right now.
> It really was best he had hobbled you with the shackles, or you doubted any measure of self-control would have been enough to keep you from mindlessly hurling yourself at that teasing hand.
> Perhaps he'd even realized that when he'd bound you.
> Certainly magic was no option - the suppressor anchored firmly about your horn had reduced you to producing little more than foal-like sparks.
> Even as it is you quickly find your hips rocking as best as they can, basely grinding against the touch as you desperately sought any contact.
> Before you can think about the implications of what you are doing the touch is withdrawn.
> Vainly you struggle in your bonds, pushing your rump ever higher to try and reach for the touch again.
> But inside you already know it is far, far to late.
> You'd given in to your urges, tried to take what he had not yet seen fit to give you.
> When the lash crashes down across your hips, it is not exactly a surprise; you had expected some retribution for losing control of yourself.
> That does not keep you from jumping in your chains; expecting that something was coming did not make it any easier to respond to.
> Only when it falls again just as hard and quickly did you realize the full scale of what was coming, though.
> This was no mere swat to correct your misbehavior; he was going to truly punish you for the mistake you'd made.
> Detachedly, you reason that he was already punishing you; evidently he felt that it was fair to deliver an even heavier one for your continued failings.
> A few strokes on, however, you are beginning to question that logic.
> Already your haunches had been turned to glowing lines of pain by the lash; despite your best efforts, small sounds of pain were beginning to leak from the gag lodged between your lips.
> And yet, at the same time, you cannot deny the extraordinary thrill coursing through your blood.
> The tremors of excitement as each stroke delivered a stark and clear message:
> You were nothing, and had dared to try and take what only your master had the right to give.
> ----
> Release.
> Finding a way to release the emotions increasingly building within you after your coronation had been a conundrum at first.
> You'd chewed through the palace's collection of self-control and meditation books, but your mind was simply too active for those sorts of things.
> Every moment spent trying to put all thoughts out of your head only seemed to be a moment that could have been spend productively.
> With each attempt, all evidence circled back to one worrying conclusion:
> Given the choice, you would always default to nervous examination of decisions.
> The relief you'd felt when wielding the elements power - it was a lack of such choices that had made it so appealing.
> You needed to have the luxury of choice taken from you.
> Despite some good-natured ribbing from your friends, you had not been ignorant of sex nor the aspects of it some ponies preferred to relish in.
> While aware of it, the idea of being... restrained as a part of sex was never something you'd particularly thought about before.
> And as a good researcher, though, you would not reject any option out of hoof without testing it first.
> A little exploration quite conclusively proved that yes, in fact, it was something you... reacted quite positively to.
> Several sets of bedsheets hastily washed before Spike could inquire as to the mysterious scent emenating from them was testament enough to that.
> Increasingly, however, you became certain this was something you desired.
> Discreetly you researched and reached out to similarly-inclined ponies, as you had read it was proper to do.
> Just as your solution had seemed to be in sight, however, once again your new status rose up to steal it from you.
> Ponies would do many things to each other to satisfy their lusts.
> Some benign, some questionable, some inexplicable, and some that you were fairly certain to be illegal.
> But ponies did them anyhow.
> You were not just a pony, though.
> You were a princess.
> Just as they had expected you to spontaneously gain the knowledge of a princess, so they also treated you with the reverence of one.
> Princesses did not get enjoyment from being brought down like that.
> Princesses definitely did not discuss their fetishes with others.
> And princesses very definitely did not ask ponies to tie them down and treat them as worthless scum.
> The reactions to all of those you had reached out to became predictable.
> Shock, followed by a nervous backing off accompanied by please that no, no - they certainly couldn't do /that/ to a /princess/.
> Even the... professionals you had turned to in your desperation still could not reconcile their esteem for royalty.
> The reaction of the other kind of pony - those who treated you as an upstart usurper, unwelcome in the domain of royals - was not one you even wanted to imagine.
> Frustration turned to humiliation, and then to anger.
> At least until, with a considerable force of will, you forced yourself to admit that had Celestia come to you and asked you to do the same to her - you would have been similarly incredulous.
> And with a bit of shame you realized that neither could you bring yourself to dare raise the matter with her.
> It was simply too embarrassing.
> Cadance, then?
> The idea is discarded as quickly as it arrives; the princess of love she might be, but her relationship with your brother simply made such a discussion too awkward.
> And so you had, for a time, wallowed in your misery.
> Further... experimentation with yourself had gone on, only cementing your certainty that while this was something you enjoyed.
> But - lacking.
> Loss of control was not true loss when you were the one controlling it.
> And then, one day, the letter had been slipped in.
> Thank Celestia that Spike had not decided to open it for you, as it quite frankly discussed you inquiries.
> And at the bottom waited a tantalizing offer.
> 'I could not do what you asked of me, and for that you have my deepest apologies, Your Highness. But, I have recently heard of someone who might be able to grant what you are seeking. He can be found in the town of...'
> ----
> The lashes have stopped now.
> Exactly when, you aren't sure; just that your hindquarters are now a solid mass of aching agony and must be a truly splendid mess, could you see them.
> That's okay.
> Even if you can't, you're certain your master can - and that is enough.
> Again lowering your head to the floor in a deep bow, you wait for his next move - your lesson learned.
> No more trying to take things without his permission.
> It is an agonizingly long wait, but at last his hands go to work.
> Your shackles drawn close against the wide strap that circles your barrel, pinning them folded to your sides; you hindlegs, forced apart by a bar placed between their cuffs.
> And then you find yourself lifted from the floor and brought to rest against his body.
> Quickly you realize that is not the feel of his clothes against your coat; he is very definitely nude as well.
> That is a mere footnote, however, to the fact that he has set you down in his lap with your back resting against his torso.
> It is a position you know well, and one that sends a ripple back through you:
> With none of your legs able to gain leverage against him, you are trapped by his arms.
> Pinned, unable to flee no matter how hard you struggled.
> Even if your limbs were free they could only hopelessly tread air; shackled as they are, you could not even try to wriggle free of his grasp.
> Yes, your wings were still free to expand - but not nearly enough to drive him away.
> Magicless, helpless, and with your belly fully exposed; it is a position that sends an instinctive tremor of fear through you.
> A base equine reaction passed down through innumerable ancestors, that screams out to be alarmed by your vulnerability.
> ...you love it.
> Even the lances of pain issuing from your lashed hindquarters only add to the emotions flowing through you.
> Unprovoked you roll your head back against him, a moan equal parts pleasure and terror issuing from your throat.
> A that was now exposed for him to grip tightly, pulling your head even further back to meet his body.
> Blind, deaf, and mute as you were it is all you can do to wait for him to take advantage of your defenseless state - no warning of his actions even coming.
> And he does not disappoint:
> Running fingers trace lightly over the velvety coat covering your belly; new ripples of panic bathe your mind.
> The way you were held, he could subject you to pain or pleasure with equally minimal notice.
> That hand tracing your belly might deign to send new waves of pleasure through you... or it might dig mercilessly into your stomach, or twist cruelly at a teat.
> For a time he takes advantage of this uncertainty.
> Up and down traces his hand, unwilling to let you gain any measure of certainty as to his intentions even as his death-grip on your neck held still.
> Even had your eyes not been blindfolded you are certain they would have been closed as you relish in the feeling, your breaths coming deep and strong.
> When his hand finally leaves you, it is not to apply pain or pleasure, however, but to remove the fabric deadening your ears.
> Free of their confines, they immediately set about twitching; suddenly you are very, very aware of his heated, heavy breath rushing over the delicate structures.
> "Well then, my little slut. You've certainly made it abundantly clear what you want tonight."
> With the gag still tightly fixed between your lips, a groan of assent is all your can manage.
> How long was he going to keep your waiting?
> Would he - not give you anything?
> Refuse to allow you climax?
> The thought flickers through your mind with a sudden clarity.
> Stupid, stupid!
> How couldn't you have thought of that before!
> "Is that something you deserve, little slut?"
> Quickly you answer - a muffled mm-mmm denial.
> "Are you sure? Because you seemed awfully certain earlier. Very insistent that I grant you pleasure."
> His head shifts somewhere behind you, lips moving in to brush against the tip of an ear.
> "Are you really, really sure? Maybe - maybe, I'm just thinking - you thought that you should just have it, because you're better than everyone else."
> That wasn't fair!
> He'd - he'd had some other mare in there with you!
> Been rutting her practically there, judging by the smell!
> He couldn't expect you to just ignore when he finally decided to touch your nethers, grant you any stimulation at all after-
> "I'm not hearing any no's, 'princess'."
> Instantly you fill the room with vocal refutations, your head shaking a wild negative that sends your mane slapping against the side of your neck.
> All it seems to produce is more laughter, though, and more words.
> "Tell me, 'princess', is that what you wanted? To be treated like something... special? Pleasure on demand, whenever you want?"
> Your continued denials are as much a function of fearing that he would actually deny anything further to you as an admission that no - you don't want that control at all.
> "Are you sure? Because really, under all that fancy exterior, under all that knowledge and pride, I think there's just a whore looking to pleased whenever she wants. Is that what you are?"
> The shuddering assent that issues from your throat is, even to your mind, unclear as to how much is fantasy and how much is truth.
> Because, sometimes, you thought that's all you were.
> A whore, looking to be somepony else.
> ----
> Finding the address the letter had described was not hard.
> Gaining entry was rather more difficult.
> The pony at the door had insisted that no, the owner of the house would not see you without an appointment.
> Yes, he did know you were a princess.
> No, the owner would still not see you yet.
> Perhaps that was what had convinced you to stay.
> Not see you - yet.
> The first creature in a very, very along time aside from your closest friends who had dared to deliberately inconvenience you, knowing full well who you were.
> And so, four days later, you had found yourself invited into the house at the owner's grace.
> The identity of said owner was only mildly surprising.
> Moreso was his directness in discussing the situation with you.
> "Princess Twilight, I will be blunt: No one comes to me because they want a few smacks around the behind during a romp in bed. They come to me because they want something deeper."
> His cup of tea is set down as he leans forward in his seat - a great, oversized thronelike thing that dwarfs even his tall frame.
> "They want me to take everything from them. The choice not to be struck, of how and when they lift their tails. They want me to demean them, turn them into less than nothing."
> One finger rises to point to a the door you'd entered through - an immensely thick oaken thing, certainly enough to stop a charging pony.
> And, as you would later learn, to excellently muffle the sounds of certain activities.
> "If you come back again, you'll stand on the other side of that door. And - I want to be clear about this - if you step through it again, you will lose everything until you step back out. You will belong to me."
> One after another, points are ticked off on his fingers.
> "I will seal your magic with a nullifier ring - yes, those work on alicorns - and take your senses from you. I will bind you in positions you will not believe your body can support. I will make you moan, scream, or wait as I please - and you will have no choice in it whatsoever."
> The hand falls, and his back returns to resting against the chair.
> "You will, of course, always have the option to end it at any moment - you're familiar with a safe-phrase, I am sure. But understand, I don't do things in half measures. That choice is the only one you will have have; everything else will be mine."
> Calmly his limbs fold in his lap, regarding you with careful reserve.
> "I will, of course, figure out how far I can push you. Figure out what makes you tick, and what makes you desire. But even before I do that, I have to know: Is this what you want?"
> It is all you can do to keep yourself from leaking onto the seat he had provided for you right there.
> But even so, you stop and consider.
> What he was offering... it was far, far more than your nighttime explorations had ever gone.
> Was it really what you wanted?
> Was this what you were looking for?
> Cautiously you raise your eyes to match his own - both your faces illuminated and shadowed by the late afternoon sun reaching in through the room's enormous windows.
> There's no dismissiveness in them, no suspicion that you were insincere in your intentions, nor even lust at the prospect of having an alicorn subject to his whims.
> Just honest questioning - a true desire to know just what you were seeking.
"I... agree. This is what I want - where else would I go?"
> ----
> The shock that runs through you when his fingers at last slip into your sex might as well have been an electric shock.
> All of your limbs, bound and unbound alike, seize outwards as muscles spasm.
> Not a climax - but not far off, either.
> His soft laughter echoes in your ears, amused at what the simple insertion had drawn from you.
> Quickly, though, his fingers begin to drive a terrible, familiar dance with your tender, sensitive passage.
> There is no hesitation, no playfulness in the touch; he is quickly bringing you to what you are certain will be a staggering climax.
> And that sets alarm bells in your brain.
> Hadn't he been holding off just a moment earlier?
> He wouldn't simply grant you the pleasure of a climax - not without some catch, not without drawing something from you first in return.
> Does he intend to deny it at the last moment?
> It's something he's done before.
> Your head resumes is dancing shake, desperate pleas to stop emerging from your throat.
> No - if you were going to be given release, you wanted it to be real!
> Not with some trick, something he would take for you in return!
> But at the same time you are quite aware of the futility of the action.
> If he was going to force this on you, there wasn't a thing your could do to stop it.
> Certainly, your body would not hold back however much you might wish it would.
> Tears leak from your eyes as you feel each thrust of his fingers building the heat in your belly, clitoris winking madly against his hand as if seeking the pleasure with a mind of its own.
> When the orgasm comes, it arrives with every bit of force you'd expected.
> Convulsions wrack your body, his fingers squeezed tight by the walls of your passage as you dribble out onto his hand.
> Just as your breath is catching, however, he lifts you again.
> A questioning squeak from your throat turns to a squeal as he impales you on his shaft.
> Now the cries that are driven from your throat are not only in protest but actual shock:
> His grip on your hindquarters has re-awoken the flaring pain his earlier lashing had left there.
> Worse, your last climax had not yet faded, and your hyper-sensitive button - still darting from its hood to wink against his shaft - responds to every touch with a powerful, almost painful burst.
> In a second, he had turned your pleasure to an instrument or torment, just as you'd feared he would.
> Mockingly, his voice echoes in your ears as he bounces you atop his shaft.
> "What's wrong? I thought you wanted to be pleasured? Isn't that what you were begging for?"
> You want to say no - not like this, not at all.
> But your mind has long since given up any real attempt at coherent responses; instead your gagged lips resonate with a coarse, rhythmic noise that is equal parts whine, pant, and moan.
> Already the hypersensitivity is fading, near-pain returning to the familiar rising slope - another orgasm quickly building.
> Neither is your master far from his own climax, if the noises he makes are anything to judge by.
> By this point, even trying to put up a modicum of resistance to what is coming seems futile.
> Laying back against his body, you let your mind float on a cloud of pain and pleasure mixing in equal parts.
> When the second climax tears through you, clamping you viselike against his shaft, you are simply reduced to allowing him to use you - control you - as he pleases, a passenger to the experience.
> As your orgasm again fades he hilts himself deep up within you - and erupts in his own climax, a new warmth filling you as he empties himself in a series of long, powerful bursts.
> For several minutes, all is silent but for your calming breaths.
> Finally he rises, lifting you from his lap and withdrawing himself from your nethers.
> Still your muscles are like jelly; you elect to curl, foal-like, in his arms.
> The sound of the door opening barely registers; it takes the hot water rising against your coat to pull your mind back to reality.
> One by one, the night's implements are removed from your body.
> Shackles undone, their locks clicking as he releases them.
> The gag, pulled from between aching lips.
> And, at last, the blindfold released from your eyes.
> All that remains is the weight of the collar about your throat; before that can go too you raise a hoof halt him.
"Just... leave it? Please? I want to be yours... just a little bit longer."
> His smile is warm and welcoming as his hand withdraws to stroke through your mane, massaging at your ears still sore from their time trapped beneath the mufflers.
> "Thank you..."
> With that you allow yourself the gift of relaxation again - sinking back into the water and eyes rolling up in pleasure as it works its way into aching muscles.
> Hands join to aid the waters in their efforts moments later, massaging muscles from your neck to wings and rump with gentle, calming motions.
> "Do you need anything for those lashes?"
"No, I'll be fine, Anonymous. I can hide the effects, and, um... I'll leave them a bit. A, uh, reminder."
> "If you say so."
> His lips fall to rest atop your head, placing a kiss between your ears and drawing a low coo from your lips.
> "You certainly held out admirably there. I wasn't quite sure if you were going to make it."
"You..."
> Pausing, you lick your lips as your still-hazy mind constructs the proper phrase.
> Lifting a hoof, you touch it to the collar circling your throat.
"You know just what buttons to push on your slave and just when, master."
> "Good. In the end, we both matter here."
> Smiling, you let your hoof fall again.
> You'd been wrong about one thing when you met him that first day.
> There was a lust in him - a powerful, burning lust that he set loose just as equally as you set free your consuming one.
> But you'd also been right about something else.
> Where else would you go, to find someone who could demean and care for you so deeply in equal measures?
> Nowhere else at all.