> Heavenly Press
>  by Troublesome Beast
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Heavenly Press, Part I
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Several years before Twilight's Thrones let alone Hunting Season





Whumpf.

A lithe-- mostly-- blue body went flying, the air whistling like a train engine, soon to be slammed into the ground hard enough for a full-bodied spanking.  Rainbow Dash's usually divine reflexes were simply outmatched by the speed with which she'd been thrown, and she landed flat on her back, cutie marks first.

The sting and pleasure of it nearly made her forget the humiliation of how easily she'd been tossed.  Unfortunately, the arc of the throw and the force of impact also slammed Dash's lovely D-cup tits into her own muzzle a few times.  On the way down, and after impact.

Dash very firmly decided to blame the aching stiffness of her nipples-- and the quivering of her pussy-- on her treacherous cutie marks' response to being slapped down on the mat.  Briefly decided, anyway; decision, like any coherent thought of defense or retaliation, was rapidly knocked out of her head.  It was like her cutie marks were yelping and screaming in orgasm, all at once, and she was swept away just as surely as she'd been swept off her feet and onto said marks.

The loving sadism of that aim was hard to appreciate in the moment, though it was everything she'd begged for.  The mat's slap rocked her toned rump cheeks sternly, but that yearned-for swatting was overwhelmed rapidly.  Her hypersensitive cutie marks struck her senses like the bolts they portrayed.  Pleasure spiralled towards her brain, wrapped in the gorgeous pain of her glutes accepting their just punishment.

Then the mat's slap spread.  Thighs and wings and back and calves were abruptly rocked, sting and impact radiating out along her body.  Somehow, though, despite the loving brutality of the throw, her wings were merely beaten, not broken.  Her taut, tough arms and rugged shoulders slapped about, not shattered.  Any defense greater pain might have given her against the insistent demands of her still-smarting cutie marks was gone.

So she came, squealing, like the little slut she was.  Oh, in most contexts, even with other hyper mares bigger than she, Rainbow Dash, Princess of Loyalty and commander of the Equestrian Aerial Force and Martial Weather Divisions, was simply too powerful to be a little slut.  Even some of the big nine-footer earth pony muscle-bitches, the rarest of the rare couldn't hold a candle to her.  Quantity was not always quantity; her thirty-five inch biceps packed more punch than most mares with quads bigger than her whole body.

She couldn't see.  It wasn't the pain, it wasn't the fact that she'd been knocked silly by the back of her head impacting the mat.

She couldn't see because she was cumming too hard for her eyes to communicate with her brain.  From being thrown.

Here, quantity and quality ruled her so thoroughly she didn't even have the wherewithal to realize her fingers were making clitty-love motions despite her arms being spread as far out on the mat as her reach could manage.  Couldn't tell that her knees were instinctively spreading and her toes curling and digging into the mat as best they could.

Hence, though she didn't know it, Dash's amazonian seven-feet-tall form was spread and arched to give her sparring mistress a gorgeous view of her abs clenching and pussy gushing in climax.  Her every scream of half-tormented pleasure music to the severe giantess standing over her.

Not that Dash could remember, for the moment, who'd thrown her.  Her world was ache and orgasm now.  Her everywhere stung.  Still, she wasn't injured, per se.  The terrifying muscle-mare above her had thrown her with such intricate micro-control that the sting was all the hubristic little subbie suffered-- so far.  She struggled a bit, hips still rutting like she was being studded, to try to get back to her feet.

Or at least her knees.  But she never even got off her back.  She simply pushed herself into more of an arch, like an obscene table stretch, perpetually perky melons slapping her chin a few more times.

Then her vision went darker still-- no light to brighten anything was left to reach her pleasure-blinded eyes.

She thudded uncontrollably back into the mat beneath the weight and might of her gargantuan sparring partner.  The weight forcing her down alone would have outmassed two stallions.

Made of pure gold.

Wham.  Her ankles and lower calves were squeezed and gripped like manacles meant for a dragon lord were shrinking around them.  She didn't even dare think of some awesome way to otherwise put her situation.  

Not even in her own mind.

She.  Was.  Fucked.  No escape.  No daring burst of last minute speed could help her now.  Honesty as solid as Applejack's rock-hard flexed asscheeks was driven into her brain the same way her ankles were driven back against her wrists.

An indescribably beautiful, strong smell had its way with her nostrils and conquered her lungs just as easily as the musky body above had casually defeated Rainbow in a simple sweep.

Because it would please her lover, she flexed her long, toned legs.  Tried to put on a display of sculpted quads and calves that-- in other, less laughably overmatched scenarios-- she'd call powerful.  Scenarios such as when she'd hefted and carried Ember's dad after Maze socked the poor emeritus dragon lord with a sleep spell.  Yes, Bulk, she thought muzzly, her blue head spinning.  I lifted with my knees.  It was easier than picking up Tank!

Every breath she took, every grunt and groan that was forced through her chest, filled her lungs with that scent.  And she was heaving.  Rippled abs and taut, corded limbs were as useless to her as a stud with a chastity belt, a feather, and zero oral experience.

No, she was helpless, picked up by her impossibly strong partner and flipped around like a pool noodle.  Thrashed this way and that, her beating paused only when the massive mare fuck-fighting her made sure to shove Rainbow where she could get further whiffs.

It was elysium, her few glimpses of sight showing gorgeous white nether lips, plump and drooling, framed by the most colossal, cart-sized-and-change, hurricane-thunderstorm thighs in existence.

And it was tartarus, the pin leaving her unable to even brattily taste that aphrodisiac dew, let alone properly worship princess pussy or maretriarch muscle.

Brief paradise and brief incarceration, at least; before Dash could even cry out at the sheer beauty of all that power on display, she was shoved around to some new angle, some new hold, and some new punishment.

Not that she needed to be forced; it just seemed to please her opponent, and while pleasing this fighter was always Rainbow's delight, the scent left her with little choice.  It pushed oxygen out, and as Rainbow thrashed fruitlessly with strength that could shatter hills and shiver mountains, it burned liquid heat and liquid sex into her very brain.

As her well-trimmed, rainbow-furred pussy gushed, she remembered: she was commanded to fight.  So, pleasure and submission's temptations aside, she struggled with herself, then fought back all the harder, trying to at least kick some space to get her feet away from her wrists.

None of it mattered.  At seven feet tall, she wouldn't have been very big for a hyper.  She was an aerobat by design, a fencer and javelin-mistress by training, and her muscles were dense, tight and taut and tough.

Wimpy, featherlight, spindly, and weak in this context.

Though, for her height, her thirty-five inch biceps and the proportional girth and peak that matched it from tricep to quads to calves-- legs again hee, thought Rainbow as something huge, two somethings both huge and sloshing smacked her prone form around-- were pretty sweet.  Taut sixpack, not a four, and this trick she could do with her belly rolling and something bendable like hard-forged mithril…

Yeah, some part of Rainbow Dash, some ultimately irrepressible Dashness, knew she was a toughy.

But she was nothing compared to the form above her, and knew that, too.  Loved it, just like she'd love to lick every rippling, muscled square inch of white hide, from shoulders that seemed broad enough to hold up the world, to hundred and ten inch fully flexed biceps, to-- that ass.  That enormous, perfect, plump gorgeous rump with so much strength beneath it that Dash's entire body would have been beaten back by just a flex of a single glute, let alone the full force of The Booty Supreme.

No, Dash felt like a contented little nothing here-- wasn't she receiving minutes of what most switch bitches in the world sell their own fathers for even ten seconds?  She was nothing beneath her mistress, and loved it.  Loved enough to squirm and fight, but she had no hope of even disturbing the power put against her.

Not on power within nor power displayed.  The increasingly vibrant colors of her rainbow mane were pale shadows of the glow above her.  It was sheerest mercy-- or a mistress' whim-- that by gracious blessing, that glow made her pert, punk manecut look even -more- badass as it curled around her outstretched horn.

Well, should have been badass, if she wasn't taking such a hiding.

She was naked and sweaty, just like she'd been after she'd fucked the whole Wonderbolts in a single night.  For some reason, it flipped through her brain right after she was flipped around horde-bearing hip and put on the floor again.

It had been sweet.  The night after her apotheosis.  When they'd fallen on their knees-- even Spitfire-- and asked for a second go.  All because of the dripping outline of her potent form.  "Like an orgy and a workout," Spitfire had said.  Add to that Rainbow's luscious handful D-cup melons, pert and perky by alicorn might, toned hips and-- if she said so herself-- a nice, fuckable booty, and she should be hottie badass general that Luna had named her.

But that was pride.  If there'd been a full wing of Dash-clones swarming the giga-musclezon her, the result would have been the same, and Dash was put through the wringer yet again.

Wham.  Mat again.  Her beaten butt battered again.  Another-pain-pleasure climax wracked her, and then yet again, she was slammed hard beneath the superior mass of her sparring mistress.

Was this any way to be a badass?  The scent had done its work, and she had an answer, even with her ears ringing and her whole body throbbing.

Nope.  Absolutely not the way to be a badass.  There was a moment's breath, and she tried one last time to at least give a good show of being a sparring partner and not a combination dakimarekura-cum-punching bag...

Nope, Rainbow giggled to herself as her body remained bent for all her sinews strained to pull her out of her captor's grip.  Nope, not a badass.  Good little fucktoy!

This bit of punch-drunk silliness was going to cost Rainbow.  As one of the younger alicorns of the (don't call it divine or you'll make Celestia sad) monarchy of Equestria, the once-pegasus had learned to multitask.  But when the world's mightiest monarch-- mightiest muscle mare-- the world's dominant everything-- bodyslams someone, they get knocked for however many loops she wants.

Rainbow certainly couldn't blame the droolworthy titan of muscle and curve above her.

Dashie-- she was definitely down in the blissful fuzzy-subspaced mind of Dashie-- literally had asked for this.

Well, she thought with half-fear, half-arousal, I'm not sure what she's doing with this stupid new bone on my forehead, but I don't think I asked for that!

It didn't matter.  Her mistress was on fire, now, just barely short of literally.  A long, low grunt escaped the titanic ten-foot-eight amazon, sending her gigantic ZZZZ-cup ultratits bouncing ahead of arching her own back as she loomed over Dashie.

The floor shook, and somehow, it shook just enough to FWUMP Dashie's poor, sensitive itsy-bitsy D-cup-titties into her stinging muzzle yet again.

Celestia wasn't stomping.  She wasn't pulling a Twilight, using arcane calculations of force and motion to beat Dashie with Dashie's own body.  Always fun, that, but no, that wasn't the Princess of the Sun's aim, and no golden glow at Celestia's horn was there to suggest this might be telekinetic tit-torture.

No.

Celestia just wasn't bothering to restrain herself.  The whole world was obeying her every step, her ultra-dense muscles setting the world pounding.

Dashie's own tits were beating themselves against her muzzle from the vibration because Celestia found Dashie's humiliation and Dashie's punishment sexy, and the very world itself conspired to obey that lust.

Lust.  Dashie swallowed heavily as the thundering stopped and her Princess loomed above her.  Oh…  Her…   I thought I knew what lust was!

Celestia's eyes were the only thing Dashie's orgasm-hazed vision could make out at first.  They were bugging slightly, not with rage that would have made Dashie near die from fear.  Instead, the magenta was burning to red, and both eyes filled with a most-unprincessly lust.  They somehow opened even more frighteningly wide-- flared.  

Stare not too long into the abyss of unsatisfied horniness that is Celestia's, lest…

Dashie couldn't remember the rest.  It shouldn't have been this hard.

Yes, Celestia was the oldest alicorn on Epona.  But it wasn't like Rainbow Dash wasn't an alicorn.  She was!  Even this mind-fucked, she could at least remember the Symbolic spheres that she commanded and belonged to.  Loyalty, Evocation, and Storms.  She was a princess, she embodied one-sixth of Harmony, and she had practiced by fucking (okay, being fucked by) Luna and Twilight first.

That preparation was even more useless than the strength to crush castles.

Dashie's mind was violated.  Ravished.  At, yes, her own request and therefore theoretically with her consent, but she had pushed too far and now Celestia was giving her exactly what she asked for.  She couldn't help but obey those eyes, that lust.

The haze of her climaxes and beating cleared from her sight.  Not because she was recovering, though thankfully her earthpower kept her regenerating.

(After all, if Dashie had been in danger, Celestia would have stopped immediately, and that was a worse terror)

No, she could see clearly now-- in crisp detail, even!-- because Celestia was posing, and wanted an audience.  Celestia wanted to be seen, so Dashie could see now.  Had to see now.  Just above the glory of the Celestial Pussy, those big white palms were pressed together beneath and forearms bulging up against utterly succulent mountain-boobs with a combined diameter nearly as long across as Dashie herself from head to toe.

Those elegant, strong fingers laced, and Celestia squeezed.  Suddenly, Dashie realized that what she'd been forced to view was simply her godd-- her mistress at rest.  Reality showed off the rest now as Celestia swept her wings back slightly and bowed her knees.  Titanic muscles, many bigger than Dashie's whole body, tensed in a wholly unnecessary but nip-stiffening, resolve-breaking sexy display of perfect princess pony potency.  Barrels and barrels of quadriceps, heart-shaped calves big enough to love the world, and of course, those enormous biceps-- it was all too much.  Dashie lost her will to continue obeying her mistress' command to, "At least moderate your untamed cunt!"

Usually, when Twilight or Luna responded her Infinite Please Technique and threw Dashie around the salle a bit, she was able to meet her mistress' demand for self-edging.  As a pegasus, from a fairly randy if disciplined culture, Dashie didn't entirely understand denying the rewards of pleasure, but it was a whole Royal Herd thing and Dashie's perpetual near-bottom place in the pecking order meant she didn't get to change the subbie side of the culture much.

Besides, they were willing to accommodate her 'quantity has a quality of its own' philosophy in non-kink situations.  Dashie couldn't wish that she'd been smart enough to stick with mares a mere on to two feet taller than she, though; being ravished by Celestia was worth every moment.

But then she remembered.  Celestia hadn't even bothered to give Dashie the chance to try-- just told her to hold herself back as much as she could, or risk disappointing her high princess.

As the combined glow of rainbow and gold swirled through Dashie, driving towards her spasming sex, Celestia easily hauled the younger princess up, still bowed in half.  With a horny grunt, Celestia shifted Dashie about onto a single quad,so her blue butt and cutie-mark rainbolts were aching inches away from the hypnotically flowing auroric pubic hair of the Princess of the Sun, her back resting on the slight plush over gargantuan, sculpted muscles.  Left her almost falling between those impossibly broad thighs that could have housed Rainbow's entirely family!

Cloned.  In each.

Rainbow didn't know what price she was going to pay for 'losing' their sparring match.  Like she'd had a chance.  Didn't know how much her beloved mistress and monarch would make her 'suffer' for breaking clit control.  Not a clue, but she did know she wanted it.  Needed it.

After all-- she had asked for it.





"Please?"

"My dear…"

"Please please please?"

"My dear little pony.  You don't know what you're asking for."

I darn well do! thought Rainbow Danger-Responsibility-Cunt-E- Grr, Pinkie!  She might know what she was asking for, but she didn't know how Pinkie had gotten her to think of herself in that freaking nickname.  Even before Pinkie had become an alicorn.

She knew what she wanted.  She wanted whatever it was that made Twilight wobbly in the hips and smell like a season's worth of heat after just one Saturday with their mutual liege.  The thought had her drooling.

The drool got High Princess Celestia Sola Invicta sighing, heaving up a pair of quad-Z melons that Rainbow just wanted to climb all over and feather-stroke-worship every inch.  Which had her drooling yet more.  Some barely proud-- dignity was for not awesome ponies, Rainbow had pride instead-- part of her was grateful that the High Princess had agreed to a completely private meeting, without her messengercolts and professional tightbutts.

Fine, Rainbow thought grudging between hopefully staring up at her gigantic monarch.  Royal Guard.  They had proved useful, and some of the pegasi could actually fly to her standards.

Celestia's full, sweet lips curled into something a few sadnesses short of a smile, but with a hint of something Rainbow couldn't quite catch.  Something that made her feathers shiver and the itchy stupid thing rising out of her mane-- Still not used to that!-- twitch lightly.  Something that meant it wasn't a mark of disappointment with Rainbow.

She wasn't sure that she could have born Celestia's disappointment.  Real disappointment, not just that lonely look the elder princess got when reality remained stubbornly aligned as it ever had.  There were risks to any maneuver; Luna had taught her that.  Rainbow just wished Luna had done something other than laugh uproariously when the Alicorn of Loyalty had asked her military superior for tips on how to get a topping from Celestia.

Rainbow was abruptly aware she still hadn't spoken in reply to Celestia, and began to take a closer hide color to Twilight's as she sputtered, "I--"

Celestia's head flicked slightly, her auroric mane and regal white horn shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight.  Rainbow could feel the forbiddance and obeyed in utter silence, ceasing all protests.  Princess of Storms and Goddess of Evocation or not, when the Princess of the Sun, the Alicorn of Transmutation, and the Goddess (Never call her that, Twilight had said, but Rainbow knew) of Perfection used body language to make her decrees, they bypassed Rainbow's conscious mind and went straight to her body.

Which was unfair!  Celestia could give me an order to feel some zing at the same time she makes me zip it.

"I know you think you know, my sweet sister of the Royal Bachelorette Herd," Celestia said, and sniffed faintly.  Rainbow would have been mortified at how her thong underwear soaked at earning the name from Celestia.  Well, not exactly the name; more pride, that.  No, it was the massive embarrassment of the massively majestic maretriarch of said R.B.H. scenting her.

If it hadn't been for the light pleasure-sparkle within the unreadable purple of those endlessly deep, endlessly ancient eyes, well…  Rainbow was sure, regardless of what Twilight thought, that she really would have been able to die from sheer awfulness right on the spot.  But she hadn't.

Because-- hope of hopes-- there was, Rainbow was sure, a tremble of lust within her herd sense, new as her horn but now as much a part of her as her wings.  Just a trickle, as it were, but that was what Rainbow wanted.

To be fucked.  To be dominated.  To be owned by the singular standard of Mare until the return of Luna.  And Luna had made for an unforgettable night, right?

Just because I can't remember anything other than 'ooh' and that it was awesome doesn't mean I forgot it.  Just that it was too awesome to be captured in the head alone.  So Rainbow stared up at Celestia, hopeful, holding to the thread of that lust like a storm-lost filly.

Celestia towered above her.  Above everypony, really.  Even her sister was a good foot and change shorter than the ten-foot-four mega-mare sitting before Rainbow on a throne of gold.  Even sitting, the crest of her head was taller than Rainbow's own seven feet of hyper warmare-- for that matter, her forehead was still taller than Rainbow plus the weird but undoubtedly amazing Rainbow Dash Horn. 

And that was height alone, not counting the ever-flowing glow of Celestia's mane, nor the spiraling prominence of Celestia's majestic horn.  In terms of breadth and, even Rainbow would admit, badassery, Celestia had her and any two alicorns combined other than Luna completely beat.

Even Luna Selene Solutae, whom Celestia and anyone with sense knew was the more dangerous pony, couldn't match her elder sister's sheer breadth in the shoulder; nor the rippling strength of uncountably potent muscles between them; above them, down from them, and on.  Celestia's potent control of body language that made most ponies just think of her as motherly and kept them from being overwhelmed by her raw presence was still mostly in effect, of course.

Dash had an alicorn's senses, now, and while she wasn't -- not unless she was lucky-- going to be turned into an utter pussy-driven puddle just by noticing the slightest movement of biceps that could peak out at one hundred and ten inches, just that littlest twitch of supreme power beneath her stark white dress, she knew they were there.  She wasn't fooled by her feudal superior's passive projection any more.  She knew just how massive and mighty the bulges of those forearms were.  How elegant but thick white fingers could curl into fists against which the adamantine-and-enchanted-jade Gates of Tartarus could not hold.

I'll be forgiven, she thought, blushing further as her eyes trailed down the front of Celestia's simple outfit.  For only estimating how pumped those pecs of hers are until I get her to use them on me.  No one, not even gay males, could avoid having at least a little bit of hungry drool at the massive swell of Celestia's perfect, soft-yet-perky, gravity-defying mega-mammaries and their ZZZZ mass.  Heck, I've seen her in a swimsuit-- unless you're close enough to be in those tits' shadow, you can hardly see her eight-pack and it's sweeter than even Mac's when he dreams of being an alicorn!

Legs, legs legs, crossed in that relaxed style that said 'Boardroom Bossmare' and not 'Demure Broodmare'-- as though the latter could ever be applied to Celestia.  Her huge quads shifted lightly under a dress that fooled most normal ponies into believing it was mostly shapeless, and Rainbow so desperately wanted to be held on them, or bent over across them for a spanking a naughty Dashie desperately deserved!

Celestia was sitting upon the Grand Sun Booty, of course.  That's how you sit, dumbass! Rainbow reminded her increasingly fuzzy headed self.  But when standing, that plush tush cushion was unmistakable.  Whether it was because of Celestial pride that made the High Princess not want to conceal how lushly extravagant her ass was, or-- Rainbow's favorite theory-- because nothing short of Luna's divine Illusions could conceal the Perfect Equestrian Rump, no one would know, but heads followed that rear wherever it bounced and shimmied.

With those hips, so wide and drool-demandingly curvaceous that Celestia could put her own hands 'flat' on them with room to spare-- with those hips, Celestia could hardly even make a stately procession without shimmying.  Past those and hurricane, end-of-the-world thunderstorm mega-muscled thighs, of course, what could be seen were tough, mega-melon-sized calves, any eyes watching would inevitably follow down… down… down.. down to size thirty feet that shouldn't have looked demure in Celestia's preferred flats.

But did, because Celestia wanted them to.  Dash had seen her unshod though, and she desperately wanted to suck on each individual toe.  Like, for an hour a piece.

"... a piece… and maybe on each whole foot for…"

"While I'm sure you do--" Celestia began, and then, forbiddance or not, she laughed gently, kindly when Dash interrupted her with a yelp and sudden wing-bonered leap into the air.

"I said that out loud!" Dashie moaned, returning to the floor.  Celestia always insisted that the High Princess title was a mere formality, at most of precedence and that Dashie-- Rainbow Dashness being outside of her self-identification as she huddled beneath her own wings, curled up on the floor.  That Dashie should stand before her and not bow, as her sister-of-herd…  Dashie couldn't.

Not after releasing that little escapee on the shortcut between brain and lips.  Not really the most dignified addition, even if it was perfectly in context.  Dashie had hoped for a little decorum to match even a hundredth of Celestia's.  Something to hold onto while begging to be sexually dominated as politely as she could manage, she'd up and mumbled her stupid, stupid mouth about sucking her wet dreams' cooler older sister's toes!  Before even getting a yes or a second date!

Unfun, and definitely not going according to Plan.

No, she curled up, horn to the floor in complete, miserable, unsexual submission, her wings covering her like a punk trying to avoid a training blow.  Shutting herself off from herdsense; hoping her intensely dignified monarch-maretriarch-goddess' wrath wouldn't kill her before Celestia could take the pleasure of doing it herself.

That the little non-panicked-also-a-deity-alicorn-princess part of her in the back of her head tried to remind the rest of her that Celestia never took pleasure in defeating anyone who didn't deserve it, let alone killing them-- well.  The rest of Dashie was certain she'd violated the protocol Twilight had learned to love at Celestia's feet so badly that she had to deserve it.

Instead, there was a swift movement in the air; a light musk, and suddenly, Dashie couldn't hold her eyes closed any more.

Peaking out from between the fingers spreading open from where she'd planted her hands over her face, Dashie swallowed deeply.  A beautiful sight; strong and shapely to make Rarity weep over the proper shoes for it-- the gorgeous toes of Celestia's left foot, thick big toe the size of a normal stallion's fist pointed right at Dashie's trembling muzzle.

"Oh, my poor little pony," came that fluid, loving maretriarch's Kindness.  "You truly do not know what you ask.  But I think my dear sister has cut my edge off enough--" and this was said with a lasciviousness that Dashie couldn't believe had come from Princess C-- from Mistress Celestia.  Yes I can believe that's Hers.  It's as perfect as Mistress Moon's was intoxicating.

Dashie began humping the air, tail tugging hard at the formal dress over her rolling rump, at just Mistress Celestia's voice.  Forget all shame at a gushing cunny; would could do less before such awesome awesomeness of raw sex and power-- and that was just Mistress' foot.  Dashie didn't know if she could survive seeing Mistress like this, but was hoping she'd be allowed to risk it.

Slowly, still grinding her ass like a broodie trying to signal a stallion, Dashie opened her mouth and scooted closer to the Royal Big Toe.  A cleared throat made it clear that Mistress didn't want her putting on that show yet.  So Dashie forced her lithe, gymnast's hips and taut, 'slender'-- for an alicorn, positively twiggy before Mistress-- legs to control themselves.

Mistress Celestia continued, "As I was saying, sweet little pony, my sister has managed to take enough of my Need that I think I can control myself enough to indulge you.  The once.  With two main caveats.  First, you have but five minutes to adore my toe…"

Dashie whinnied her acceptance, unable to verbalize the affirmative that she understood.  Of course she understood.  Mistress would want better attention in return for such a wonderful gift as Dashie had begged for.  Not wanting to waste a moment, she slapped her wings back tight against her sides.

The prettiness of that huge toe and perfectly trimmed toenail-- and the huge foot entire-- sparked a use for Dashie's horn at last.  Slowly, carefully, she submissively stroked her horn against the perfectly sculpted super-strong ankle of Mistress Celestia.

When she got the groan of maretriarch approval, Dashie took courage and hungrily opened the maw that kept getting her in so much trouble.  Groaning and gasping herself, she pressed her lips close around that big, amazing toe.

A part of her had wondered if she'd freak out, if she wouldn't know what to do with a foot to worship like this.  She was already certain that having become intimately familiar with every last hair of Luna and Twilight's foot-hide wouldn't be nearly enough experience for this mistress.  

Chin and horn dipped low and submissive, Dashie rode the sudden rush of her own pleasure and the musk of Mistress Celestia.  Her cheeks hollowed, and she squirmed hard, tail swishing, and asscheeks clapping, Dashie snorted at her own absurdity.  Of course her experience wasn't, couldn't ever be good enough.

But Dashie was a good little bitch, and Celestia's foot was so mouthwateringly beautiful that of course Dashie knew what to do.

Her lips parted around the huge toe, and she swirled her tongue around the tip.  Then, she got to work.  Even if she'd never kissed a foot, let alone worshiped one before in her life, just being allowed to at all told her whole body what to do.

Suck on that gorgeous toe.

Suck like a broodie given access to the herdstud and wanting to prove worthy of being bred.

Suck like, well, a sluttie little subby given the opportunity to prove her worth.

So Dashie did.  Her tongue worked Celestia's big toe expertly, while she bobbed her head over it, treating it like it could swab her throat-- not quite that big of a body difference, alas-- and deserved every enthusiastic slurp and humming adoration she could.  

Which it did.  So she kept it up, 'teasing' her tongue towards the webbing, lightly stroking the sensitive skin just above the critical nerve that ran all the way up…  Fellating it like Bulk behind the bleachers, suckling on it like Flutters' not-quite-Celestial mega-nips back in Cloudsdale when they'd first experimented.

No, like when she'd been able to give Flutters her best efforts after reuniting in Ponyville.

She waited for the second ultimatum actively, curling her tongue and swirling it over Celestia's toe, massaging around the perfectly-trimmed toenail, sucking hungrily as though her next rainboom depended on worship here.

The sun made rainbows.  Perhaps its Princess did make rainbooms?

"Good slut," cooed Mistress Celestia.  "You are a fast bitch, I'll give you that," she added, and Dashie knew this was Mistress Sun, the moaned-out name and persona that Twilight's half-stuttered praises had sent Dashie to the capital, desperately hoping to find.  "Second, one who would be my slave, understand this: my sister can barely take my best every few nights.  My slutty-strong Sparkle, every few months.  I, and I alone will be the judge of when next we shall 'spar' or anything else-- am I clear?"

Mistress Sun's hungry grin could be heard in her voice.  "Teleport that somewhat…" Mistress Sun trailed off and a cunt-quivering, knee-knocking wave of lewd fear pulsed through Dashie as she sensed a combination of disapproval and amusement from her Mistress.  "Mm.  Somewhat hubristic little collar you had Precious make for you around your throat as a yes, broodie.  Don't you dare take your lips from their appointed place."

Precious.  A not-so-tiny part of Rainbow Dash, the Princess Part, almost rebelled, knowing that Rarity had connived her way between Celestia's thighs first.  But on the whole, all of Rainbow Danger-Responsibility-Cunt-Eating-McBitchyPoo Dash wanted nothing so much as to please and to find pleasure in the pleasing of Mistress Sun, Princess Celestia.  First, for once, didn't matter so much as now.  She threw every bit of her Princessness into pleasing that lovely, divine big toe.

And that had got her to the mat with Princess Celestia Sola Invicta, First Among Alicorn-Equals, Princess of the Sun, Goddess (areligious) of Perfection, Alicorn of Transmutation.  It would have been worth it for the toe alone.
> Heavenly Press, Part II
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dashie had done, and been done.  She thought.  She couldn't really remember much other than eeee, a few giggles, and a lot of squealing, and somehow getting naked.

That meant she'd probably been allowed to thank Mistress Sun for the chance to be beaten and ravished to every last atom of her being by… giving head the super-awesome-Rainbow-Dash-style way to a pussy that put such pretences of 'style' to shame.  For which she gave thanks to Celestia, deep in her mind, right now.  Rarity, that lucky bitch, had never been able to describe the sensation, and now Dashie knew why.

A shudder wracked the taut, tossed, and trounced muscles of Dashie's lithe blue body.  Eyelids firmly shut and sex swiftly quivering, she tried to respond-- tried, for a moment, to push herself up on her mistress' impermeable thigh.

No doing.

Slumping, Dashie surrendered to the raw aura of dominant mare around her.  Her fingers weakly fumbled over her still-clenching sixpack, trying to find her achey sex below.  She was too out of it, though.  Just thinking about the taste made her tense and sweat and not-quite remember every last reason why she wouldn't be able to come up with sufficient awesomeness to describe how she'd earned this.

Earned the right to see that the weight of Celestia's arousal was far more than a poor little Rainbow Dash could take.  To see and to feel, and to cum a lot in the process.

Worth it, whispered the part of her that would always be the Princess of Loyalty.  

But no, neither eloquent Rarity nor masterclass-in-amazing Dashie would be able to make more than a few moaned mutters in the direction of description.  Even Twilight, for much the same reason, was reduced to increasingly abstract metaphor and simile.

Just as it had to be that Dashie only got a brief exposure to the ultra-dommiest 'in scene' version of Celestia.  Celestia reminding you that ten-foot-eight was a meaningless number next to her presence.  Her hair backlighting the whole scene.  Taut white hide over titanic mega-mare muscles, each individual fiber rippling with the power to crush dragon lords and demon gods alike.

With a teasing wink and a squeezing crab pose, Celestia had shown off for Dashie before they began.  With her eyes still refusing to open, the memory was starting to penetrate her brain like her cunt ached to be, by anything her mistress chose-- fist, or even finger… it was hopeless.  Thinking about all that beautiful power and plush, chin held high, Dashie knew her performance wouldn't merit that close of her mistress' attention.

She'd have to be content with, you know, more climaxes than Twilight could count, and the memory of that bulging pumping mass of mega-mare!

Tensed, rippling definition pulled from perfect form and flexion and that indomitable will, Celestia's muscles' own might made more than her hair glow.  Maybe that's it, Dashie thought.  Maybe I can see, but my mind is too full of Mistress..

Each bulging collection of sculpted strength seemed so dense, so buff, that light bent towards every bulging 'cep, to lats, to abs-- to everywhere.  And maybe it did.  Maybe the light did bow in homage of the horny Sun.  Mistress Sun was certainly the gravitic center of Dashie's universe whenever a single bulking bicep (said bicep displacing more mass than Bulk's torso) was put into play.

Let alone the centerpieces, those succulent super-breasts.  Dashie had grown up alongside Fluttershy, and so she knew from mega-boob.  In that, at least, she had some preparation for just how much even one fist-sized (Celestia's fist-- poor Dashie's wouldn't cut it) nipple all but ordered you to suck on it, just by how glorious the rosy flesh was.  Not much; somehow Flutters' double-Zs seemed nearly as flat as the Ds of the Dashie in comparison.

The chance that, if she could just move, just turn, she would be able to stare up at-- to drool beneath the shadow of those heaviest of heavy knockers almost brought Dashie out of her well-beaten fugue.  Not quite.  She couldn't manage it, so she just thrashed what she'd thought was a hardbody against a quadricep that could have swallowed her and Flutters together.

Some things will quake the soul (and sex) of even hyper-princesses, even in delight.  Still, Dashie's tongue tingled in a way that reassured her she had, finally, gotten to adore the Celestial Cunny.  The thought distracted her mind and her own still-creaming cunt both.  Her rainbow mane fell heavily over her ears as she lost the fight to open her eyes once more.

Luckily for Dashie, the memory flashed through her rainboom-fast, sending into pleasured paroxysms of recollection through her… but not wasting more than maybe fifteen to twenty seconds of her mistress' time.  No matter how many eternities it'd felt like recovering.

Mistress Celestia was pleased to indulge some of that.  But as her heavy elbow planted between Dashie's weakly fluttering wings and ground in just touching, as the huge domes of forearm-bulge began to creak down over Dashie's back like a falling sequoia…  Dashie knew she was in trouble.

Best kind, too.

The sudden flare of pain at the roots of her mane reminded her she had a mistress to pay attention to right now, bitch.  The only thing she could think was, Whoops.  Thick, impossibly strong fingers were still curling in Dashie's mane.  As the grip tightened, more of Celestia's broad forearm bulged against Dashie's back, then abrutply, she was hauled around.  The yank was steady, forcing Dashie's head back and to the side so she could see everything in the mirror before her.

Mistress Celestia-- and this was the 'less intense' version of Celestia on a dominatrix rampage-- loomed in all her bulging, curvy, musclebound glory.  Dashie blinked in the near-darkness, realizing that her mistress' tit-mountains were completely blocking out the light over her.  Dashie was cradled between quadriceps that looked like a mountain range and breasts that looked like Mt. Canterlot from Dashie's positon.

An errant thought spun through Dashie's mind to describe the position.  Mistress Celestia was kneeling, slightly.  Crouching, Dashie's mind insisted, slapping the first verb away harder than she'd first hit the mat.   She just couldn't-- she was utterly unable to think of even everyday Celestia kneeling.  Dashie was indeed propped over part of one of the gigazonian giantess's lusciously immense thighs, though her ankles were no longer becoming familiar with her shoulders.

Dashie wondered what else she'd missed when she'd become unbent...

Instead, those long, athletic legs were kicking a bit in the air with her slowly-calming climaxes. Well-- once, she'd bragged about their athletic strength.  Now, they just looked like twiggy arms or even fingers next to just the single, tightened sequoia-trunk leg she was suspended on.  Her blue toes all the way extended, Dashie couldn't reach the ground from where her mistress held her.

Something odd happened.  Dashie was so far down in subspace that words were fighting each other in her brain just to help her eyes communicate her mistress' majesty.  She could barely breathe, save in quivering pant; she had no will left over for anything so hubristic as talking without permission.

But she did.  In a rasping coo that she vaguely recognized as her own, Dashie felt the words just force their way out.  "Mistress is so big," Dashie moaned, no longer having the mind left to feel shame, let alone restraint.

Her gargantuan mistress snorted, nostrils flaring on her gorgeous muzzle, but Dashie saw the slight hint of a smile in the mirror.  It was true, after all.  With all that potent flesh beneath her, trapped by Celestia's arm just casually resting on her-- Dashie was just a little under four feet smaller than MIstress Celestia, but… but…

There. The lovely, squeezing press against her chest, sending tingles over her alicorn-sensitive miniknockers.  The huge arm above her weight enough to keep her well pinned, and well-compared.  Dashie's tits squooshed against the power of her mistress' quad lay most of the way to the top of said mighty thigh-- barely covering any of white hide with blue.

Blood was starting to rush down her legs, and not just to her arousal-puffed pussy.  Her legs and feet and toes were tingling, kicking about.  Dashie was still too far from the ground to get traction.  Not that she wanted to.  She looked up at Celestia and half-mooed, "Sooooo biiiiig."

I don't remember taking minotaur in high school...

"I'm glad you're remembering I want you with me, pet," Mistress Celestia said.  Dashie whimpered at the sarcasm, but the 'glad' was sincere, and so the whimper fell into a coo.  Ignoring Dashie's squirms, her mistress looked down at her battered back and wings and chuckled.

"I did tell you, my sweet little broodie, that you weren't mare enough to last a second with me."  Had she?  Dashie couldn't remember, but it seemed right.  Rightness was good, yes?  She bounced her blue boobs back and forth over her mistress' muscles, trying desperately to be useful, even as a massage toy.  Then doom struck.  Her mistress deep rumble continued, "You insisted you'd make five, at least."

Uh-oh.  A whinny escaped Dashie's lips and she nuzzled submissively at the huge thigh beneath her.  That didn't sound… likely.

Not that she'd make the boast.  She was sure she had.  What was I thinking… two seconds, maybe…  Wherever she'd found words had been lost again; she made an inquisitive whine at her megazonian mistress.

"No, dear, you didn't make five seconds.  You didn't make five tenths of a second.  One step from me and you went all… stiff."  A sproing followed, as Dashie's blue wings flicked up, followed by a pair of whups.  Each impact into somehow invulnerable softness was accompanied by a slightly bobbling slosh and a pleased grunt from above.

Despite her uncontrolled arousal, there was simply no way for her wings to hit full extension; they were trapped by the jigglesome weight of Celestia's milk-filled melons.  Thankfully, her mistress approved.  "Yes, like that, too.  Now, you've been through the five seconds you promised me, less the challenge you swore, of course…"

All of that bowel-shaking, mind-blowing beating and… hundreds? of orgasms?... had happened in five seconds?  Dashie thought she was fast.  Knew she was.  Some deep, essentially alpha alicorn part of her noted she was still faster.  But she'd still been overcome like the hurricanes she thought she could control, tossed around on the winds like a griffon with her pants down and wings saluting.

Celestia let Dashie stew in that, squirm in it.  No orders; Celestia just reached down, her huge hand grabbing Dashie's rumpcheeks and squeezing them lightly, caressing them and rolling her fingers along them.  Explored the ass she'd so thoroughly kicked-- in just five-tenths of a second.  Dashie's rear was merest putty for her mistress' lewd explorations.  

As was Dashie herself, except for the parts of her that were making rhythmic clutches around her core, like her abs, or doing their own part to live up to the 'Princess of Storms' title in a flashflood of sweet marejuices.  Just from that expert grope-massage; Celestia didn't even bother focusing on the cutie marks.

It was all Dashie needed.  For all her usual demands for subs to keep themselves from climax, it seemed like she was using orgasm like a whip on Dashie tonight.  Like a crop.  Comparison alone would have been bad enough, but Dashie had made her mistress lust.  Had given her at least some sport-- and that meant that, bent over Celestia's knee, Dashie was soaked in far more potent alicorn pheromones than hers.  Far more than even spending an hour as Twilight's personal pussy taster would ever give.

So she squirmed.  Writhed not just in the shadow of an enormous quad-z rack, but also in the shadow of what had been done to her.  Helplessly moving against her colossal mistress' mega-thigh, moving only in response to her mistress' mega-will.

Control herself?  Dashie, control herself in this?

Control was something she'd left on the other side of an eternity called five seconds.  She felt like she was some rogue new muscle atop Celestia's oversized quad, spasming and twitching against her more invulnerable sister-muscles as Celestia explored this new tribute to her marely strength.

To Dashie's brief grief, the feel of fingertips faded, but she didn't have long to wait in the cold' of merely a ten-foot-eight mare's steaming hot (in all senses of the word) body.  Celestia's thumb ran from rear to tailbase, sliding up from there along Dashie's spine, teasing at Dashie's wingbases before splaying out her broad hand again and possessively grasping Dashie's bouncing bottom. 

Each stroke was like a thunderbolt.  Dashie shuddered, moaning.  Her tail had never stopped being flagged, of course, but she felt like it was trying to go straight up between her wings!  "M-m-mistress," she wailed, her taut, tiny-by-comparison glutes flexing as squeezing, her pussy trying to gulp the fisting it knew all that dominant mareness had to be giving her.

After all, she was being fucked, regardless of whether or not Celestia chose to grace Dashie's slutty slit with her enormous and enormously dextrous fist.

She wasn't, of course, so blessed as to be granted fullness.  She was to be left in some want, after all; she had failed her boast-- her offer-- to  Celestia, and she would pay.  But she was still blessed by the Sun, nonetheless.

Her mistress-princess was back to feeling her up, so that was at least five elysiums (elysia? ask the egghead later) worth of blessing on its own, but her poor pussy was as empty as the dusty twat of a broodmare who couldn't properly give her bossmare head.  For the moment, Mistress Celestia was squeezing and fondling the (pre-swatted) 'tautness' of Dashie's supposedly acrobatic ass.

She'd thought of it that way, Dashie had.  Acrobatic.  Athletic.  Where Rarity just got a clumsy cheat of a taut-tush through her princessing, Dashie had bragged that hers had been fit and cut and aerodynamic before and even better afterwards.

Pride goeth when your mistress cometh.  Or rather, when you can't make her cometh enough.

Oh yes, Rainbow Dash had been proud.  Been proud of how toned, how tough her tush was.  For now, though, her mistress was right, as always.  There wasn't a spec of resistance her rear gave to her mistress' hand.  For all Mistress Celestia felt it, Dashie's entire ass might have been made out of some far-off shadow of the Grand Sun Booty's supremely jigglesome bits.

"Aw," her mistress pitied her.  "Such a cute little derriere.  So cushy, so soft.  You feel like you'd be a nice lapwarmer."  And so Dashie was!  Soft, not just jiggly.  Soft, like she had not an ounce of strength to her ass.

She didn't.  Not in a room that included the Ass of the Sun, and not when her own rump's so-called tautness-- which could and had survived asinian cannon blasts unruffled on even the cutie tingle-- was being fondled and squeezed idly by Mistress Celestia's vast strength.

In the midst of the comparitive reverie, Dash moaned, again and again.  Eventually, her moans somehow formed words:  "Ah-as you say, Mistress!"

What else could she say?

A thick, pleased rumble was Dashie's reward, her paradise.  Her concomitant stay past Cerberus' gate (and big red squeakie toys)?  "Still…"  The growl was thick and deep, touched by the princess's lit but only barely.  "You promised me five, Dashie.  And I had to give you five…"

The pinkie Mistress Celestia stroked down Dashie's still-shivering flank was strong enough to pin Dashie down forever, she was certain.  And the flick of it made said flanks jump up to attention, doing their soft amazonian best to tense and display.  But that wasn't what terrified the subspace-inundated mare.  No, the emphasis on give, the little flick of that pinkie finger like a lesser maretriarch's crop…
She already knew the sting her mistress' craggy arms could give just sending her away.  Hands-- those usually gentle but always firm hands turned against a poor, beaten Dashie butt...

Against her will, Dashie folded her wings back, tertiaries vibrating as they pointed towards said assaulted ass.  She had to display for her mistress.  But maybe… maybe she could draw her mistress' attention to how much mistress had already disciplined her?  After all, the mistress did like purple...  "Mistress," she whispered, tucking her elbows in against her suddenly re-tingly D-cup tits.  Slowly, she arched herself again, proper Dashie-D-dome, with her feathers moving to point out every mat-bounced inch of subbie slut rump.  "Please, your slave can't take much more…"

I mean, she pouted.  It's already sore!

Nonetheless, her very mean (and very sexy) mistress kept teasing just her teeniest tiniest finger over Dashie's teeny-tiny butt, the amazon feeling so small-- and worried, each time another crop-hard flick of Mistress Celestia's finger made her squeal and cream all over again.

"And?"

The reply wasn't quite as merciful as Dashie had hoped, but then again, she'd been pestering Mistress Celestia for as little mercy as the older mare thought she could stand.  And she'd gotten it.  The single word reply also conveyed more, a rolling skepticism that a rock-- and not one with a name-- would understand.

Dashie owed her mistress.  You weren't supposed to lie to your mistress, and bragging that you'd do something and fail, that was lying.  The sense of debt made Dashie's toes tingle, made her own calves tighten in puny bodybuilder-imitation of her mistress' bodygoddess form.  She kicked her feet and knees back and forth, trying to get the debt to leave her alone long enough to figure out how to pay it!

Five and interest.  Her nipples somehow found additional perk to stiffen against that un-moving thigh beneath her.  "M… maybe… but…?"  Dashie cursed herself, but didn't manage more than incoherent half-words in her head.

"Oh, you do want me playing my favorite song, 'The Squeal of the Mare,' then?  Butt, is it?"

Unfair was what Dashie tried to think, but she knew her mistress was always right.  Hope glimmered: her mistress did always appreciate some appropriate brattiness.

Appropriate being hard to thread when the huge muscle-goddess was feeling horny, and Dashie had failed at being a good enough fucktoy already.  But still.  Butt.  Oh, hey…  Orgasms might be permitted in scene right now, but Dashie didn't know if laughter still belonged to the mistress alone, so she did her best to bite down on giggles.

"Yes, mistress," she cooed, and kissed the massive, white-hided quad in front of her.  At the inquisitive growl of her mighty dom, Dashie hurriedly added, "Yours, not mine.  I've failed you just the once, though, if we're out here at all-- so, uh… maybe, if Mistress would be pleased…"

"Your mistress is not pleased to have to say her slaves' words, too."

Ulp.  Get to it, Dashie!  With all her will, fighting against the sudden surge in her sex and the enormity of the concept in her brain, Dashie forced herself to slowly say, "I… must have managed… at least a little bit, at your Royal Pussy, mistress.  Or I… I wouldn't have been given the honor of being your Royal Punching Bitch-Bag."

"True.  You managed."

More ulp.  But then, suddenly, less!

"I suppose my sweet and faithful lover has forced you to stretch your lingual skills... sufficiently."

Mean mistress! Dashie thought, and wasn't sure that her eyes weren't making little heart shapes as she tried to look at the mirror.

No way to verify.  For all there was only a little under four feet in difference in their height, and in an objective sense, Dashie was a hardbody amazon who made the butchest non-alicorn mares cry for her raw form, she felt like such a tiny spec when she looked at their reflection.

Well.  At Mistres Celestia's reflection, and her weird little blue patch on it didn't matter.  Just those mighty muscles, half at rest, half tense.  Just her knee up and tits over, holding everything between judgment and reward.  Just that hungry, burning smile…  Just?

No justice!  she screamed mentally at the impossibly placid surface.  Stupid mirror!  She gratefully rubbed her muzzle against Princess Celestia's broad palm as her mistress wiped away slow tears of frustration.  How is the mirror not cumming?  It should be cumming!  It's wrong!

Mistress Celestia's reflection on anything should put it on the edge of climax; it was only in public, only when she was letting the gentle but stern Princess-self forward that it might not be thus.  Here, in private?  Dashie fumed, but she didn't dare attack her mistress' mirror.

So she came again, just looking at said reflection.  Squealing the begging praise that the mirror should have been-- inanimate object or not.

Because even in exclusion of a certain perhaps over-purply-prosed blue princesss, there was nothing 'just' about that image.

Naked.  Vast and powerful, glistening white hide interrupted only for vast, pink areolas and fist-sized (her fist-sized) nipples crinkling with slight arousal, with her mistress in that little crouch, Dashie could see every last detail.  Flexion hardening and expanding already gargantuan muscles, chiseled detail so incredible that Dashie felt like she should be trapped and crushed between them just l--

"Shh, shh," came the loving command.  Almost motherly, in other circumstances.  Dashie felt herself following the sounds away from the awful contemplation of those beautifully deadly muscles.  Sillier'n'Pinkie alone for an hour.  She shouldn't worry, couldn't worry; her mistress was her Princess, and her Princess would never harm her.

The sting on her tush (and her everywhere) reminded her that while there was a difference between hurt and harm, it might be hard to tell if-- once-- the spankings started.  Her horny clitty shouted the rest of her down.

But it was too slow to grab her attention back where it should have been, and her mistress' growl brought Dashie back into focus.  "You were saying, my little fucktoy?"

Dashie watched the mirror-- the parts of it that weren't fogged up anyway.  Every word was animated, every half-growl, half-groan was accompanied by wave after wave of quadruple-z booby bouncing.  Every syllable shook the jiggly expanse, and it was only through the last shreds of her past-steel will that Dashie managed not to get her mind lost in just the sight of Mistress Celestia's cleavage.

But even that wouldn't get her away from the horrors of spankage, if she didn't act.  So she forced herself to speak.  "It's horribly presumptuous of me, mistress, but maybe I could pleasure your ass-- even for the merest of five seconds…"

A snort, and those huge boobs bobbed so heavily they smacked against Dashie's back and upturned butt.  Preview spankings, but preview titty spankings.  Not even deliberate

It was enough.  Even that sent her tingling and squirming again, forcing her to strangle a yowl to withstandjust the aftershakes of her mistress speaking.  If her mistress decided to take the full 'five with interest'....

Slowly, Mistress Celestia stroked a long, strong finger from the wrist of the opposite arm, down over the beautiful cruelness of her massive tricep, down and along the rough, rolling bulges between lats and serrati, the huge, smooth bulges of those obliques…

Dashie's eye was forced to follow the finger's path, caught nearly as surely by the vision of those muscles as the might itself.  She knew where they were going.  Offers.  Should she have?  Would it be accepted after the failure?  The lie?

Flick.  Unlike Dashie's poor soft tush, while there was plush over the intricate overexpanse of muscles,on those enormous, horde-bearing hips, it was so impossibly and improbably perky that even her mistress flicking against it only started a chorus of twerk-like bobbling that left Dashie's jaw slack and drool running down her cheek.

The tender smile on the bright muzzle above gained a full-on smirk.  Mistress Celestia cooed, "Could you manage even five tenths of a second at that?

Dashie's aggrieved whine apparently hit the right cute-and-sexy spot; the universe was made anew in Mistress Celestia's tolerant smile.  "I suppose you might, if I was very careful…"

After the sun, the deluge.  No tears from Mistress Celestia, no tears from the Sun that Conquers.  But there was a weariness in that voice Dashie longed to relieve.

And knew she couldn't.  Not in full.  She nevertheless resolved to try.  

No.  Better yet.

To build.  The herd, that was the key.  With the other princesses of the Royal Bachelorette herd, she would build a way to ease that exhausted need.

The reason that all six Elements were princesses now was that the seeds of every other Element were contained within the truest expressions of any individual.  Loyalty found kindness; kindness roused generosity out of stunned slumber, and Dashie, Dash, slowly forced herself to cuddle Mi-- Princess Celestia's extravagant thigh.  "I'm sorry, Mistress-Beloved," Dash rasped, her usual rough voice more than a little hoarse with effort at thinking anywhere above the lovely pool of subspace she'd been anything-but-drowning in.  "I will do my part, however I can."

As Celestia considered her, Dash wriggled on.  She might be tired, she might be battered, and she might be weak compared to the entity holding her captive, but she was actually quite strong and tough  Strong enough and tough enough.  Her wings might never unstiffen-- never again, perhaps-- but she was able to force herself to roll onto her side.

Grunting and huffing, Dash forced herself to take as close an approximation of a nonchalant air, propping her chin on her wrist and her elbow across the rugged, rolling steppe Celestia called a thigh in tension.  She even managed to make herself wriggle around to feel the Princessly Plush of that gorgeous thigh, pushed out and aside by that all the massive might beneath.  "I'm s-s-sorry, beloved Mistress.  I know I can only hope to give what you give m-m-me first.  And I'm s-s-sorry to presume…"

Practically infinitely strong, certainly infinitely gentle, Celestia's finger pressed against Dash's lips in as close to a kiss as Dash could take.  "You are my love," Celestia told her softly.  "You may not be my promised Stars or my prodigal Moon, but I love you all nonetheless, and I am glad that you love me-- in at least part, because you love me, for me."

Dash was too Dashie-like right now to parse that, so she just smiled hazily and shook her tits like a good little broodie.  "Am so teeny, but my love for you is as big as… your breasts, Mistress!"

Soft laughter was her reward, heavy jug-jiggles a bonus undreamed of, and this time, melancholy did not take her mistress.  "Very well.  You'll be able to pay off the interest underneath my ass.  But you'll need to take more than five seconds to pay off how gentle I must be with fragile little broodie-princess."

"Damsel in Distress Dashie, mistress, call me that whenever you wish!"  Dashie 'flexed'-- put all of her heart into it, and made at least enough of a pleasing, sinuous shape of merely past-mortal muscles to earn another smile from her mistress.  But then, the parts of her brain lagging behind  caught on.  "...uh oh.  The interest, mistress?"

"Mm.  Rather more than the princess-iple by now, my little fucktoy."

The horny edge (and horrible pun) to that rumbling nicker hit Dashie's clit by way of her ears, and hit it so hard she almost forgot to realize what that meant.  "Then paying the five…" she whined.

Whined, but moved promptly.  Not going to make MIstress order me, even if…  Dashie whined again, rolling onto her belly atop the vast hardness of Mistress Celestia's thigh.  Uncontrollable-- or perhaps controlled, who know what her mistress was ordering with just a hum?-- her wings arched again, tertiaries once more pointed at her still-sore tush.  "Mistress, please, I know I asked, but please, please, please…"

"You talk too much, my little fucktoy."

Yelping, Dashie-Fucktoy squirmed.  It was almost a little unfair, to be constantly cropped towards that sweet spot between proper begging and helpless babble, but that was her deserts.  Besides, it got her to here, to the sudden rush of pleasure at simply being claimed.

She couldn't help it.  Named fucktoy, named broodie to Celestia, she knew her entire reality (save Loyalty, Evocation, and Storms forever) was dedicated to pleasure for her mistress.  If her mistress called for fuck-anything, then Dashie's hips would be rutting like a real stud was taking her, one that wouldn't break if Dashie bounced too hard.  So she slammed her ass up and up, towards feathers, flagged tail, and doom, her thighs soaked with her own juices.

"Mistress, I'll break.  I'm too we-weauuughhhk!" Dashie squealed.  As she tried to say weak, Mistress Celestia raised her left arm high.

But not to spank her.

To Flex.
> Heavenly Press, Part III
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Suddenly, everything got bigger.  Mistress Celestia didn't bother standing to show off.  She just Flexed.

The capital was required, as was the latest set of helpless orgasms.  FLEX was all Dashie could think as Celestia's huge arm came up, elbow extended out, palm up-- the fist that Dashie's still spasming slit wanted so badly abruptly formed.  Squeezed, and then, fist up and then over to the sky, Flexed.  One hundred and ten inches of bicep bulged.  Dashie didn't have that much muscle mass in her whole body.

And it wasn't alone.  As the arm curled up and further strength flared, definition like Twilight's favorite dictionary series came out in stark relief.  Dashie didn't even think of herself as having strength at all in this context.  But I can be the awesomest wet noodle Dashie there is!

Uncountable mass of tricep towered, or did something like tower when it was on the other side, but it was something that started with T and that was all Dash could think of.

Tower, and climax.  Except it was less the word 'climax' and more a constant sort of meditation on the concept until even her very feathertips were cumming.

"Yes," Mistress Celestia confirmed when Dashie could think about anything but the pure pleasure of seeing her mistress buff out.  "You are weak.  And I suppose it's true, if I gave these wimpy little colt-cheeks both the five swats you owe me, my little fucktoy, you'd probably be too broken to be of use.  I suppose."

Dashie breathed out.  Her Princess would never break her, she knew.  Even if her Mistress might push the edge…

WHAP!  "ONE!  THANKYOUMISTRESSMAYIHAVEANOTHER!" Dashie screamed out, her asscheeks suddenly on fire, the both of them!

"It's a good thing you're so coltish," came the horny, hungry purr of her mistress' voice through the haze in Dashie's brain.  Her poor, skinny 51-inch hips, nothing like the mouthwatering majesty of her mistress, were still rutting wildly like Dashie was getting the fisting she could never possibly deserve. 

"Rhf, mrmsf?" Dashie couldn't manage the words, she couldn't.

WHAP!  "TWO!  THANKYOUMISTRESSMAYIHAVEANOTHER!" Dashie squealed out, tears running down her muzzle's cheeks as femmecum squirted between her nether lips.  Those words, she could manage.  Somehow still having enough fluids to cum for each renewed assault on ass and cutie-mark, that she could do.

"You wouldn't survive the five each I should give you, especially given how much you're enjoying them, my disobedient little fucktoy."

Dashie quailed, not even able to approximate words now.

WHAP!  "THREE!  THANKYOUMISTRESSMAYIHAVEANOTHER!" Dashie sang out.  Sang, truly.  No matter that her ass was stinging so much she was certain she could see the red glow int he back of her head-- no mirror required.  She could feel not just every fingerprint, not just the broad palm, but every whorl of her mistress' fingerprint, every crease in the muscles of that mighty hand.

"But you are a skinny little bitch, it's true," Mistress Celestia purred.  "Maybe I could use you as a dildo or something after you freeze with fear…  Mmm, a vibrator," she said with a deep throated laugh as Dashie kept squirming.  If her mistress wanted to cram her into her cunt, if her Princess thought it was safe, Dashie would willingly do anything now.

Including take another broad-handed spanking.  Mistress Celestia's hand whistled back to Dashie's ass, the speed and strength of its passage enough to set the superheated air steaming off.

"FOUR!  THANKYOUMISTRESSMAYIHAVEANOTHER!"  The errrr trailed off into almost minotaur-cow-moos, but Dashie made it all the way through without losing more than the space between words.  She was allowed that.

Despite the inconvenient truth that fourteen or fifteen inches from the tip of her slit-pounding middle finger to the base of her stern palm didn't quite make it from hip to hip on poor, abused Dashie-butt, it was long enough to go from rainbow to rainbow, cutie mark to cutie mark.

Dashie was pretty sure she'd be cumming anyway from her mistress' discipline, but that just made her all the weaker before the gigazon she'd begged to beat her.

Dashie did not know what she was asking for!

"Say it," ordered Mistress Celestia, ruthless as ever.  "Say it, and I'll let the marks on both cheeks from a single swat count the five each I should administer."

So she said it.  What was her pride, now?  Just a few moments, and one more epic, humiliating spankgasm, and it'd be done.

Just to be sure she got it right the first time, she made sure to force herself to think like the person she really was, not the fucktoy she was playing.  If Celestia never truly got to cum, with such weak lovers as a fellow alicorn like Rainbow Dash, then Rainbow Dash could break some of her own bliss to obey.  "I didn't know what I was asking for, mistress!  I'm so sorry, I didn't know!"

WHAP-CRACK!

"FIVE!  THANKYOUMISTRESSMAYIHAVEANOTHER!" Dashie sang all the sweeter, tears flowing widely, ass definitely so cherry it was glowing in the mirror, and her pussy doing its best Neighara Falls impression.  "I didn't know," she moaned again… and then gave the only gift she could that was truly thanks for the domination unequaled she'd received.

"I'll know what I'm asking for when you say I'm ready, Mistress," Dashie whispered.  "I promise, I"ll know, and I'll practice for it…  Ooof!"

Dashie's world went from sweat and pain and cum to… jiggle.  She was suddenly surrounded by so much soft boob that not a bit of her, not a feather, not a toe, not a flailing hand escaped.  She was completely ensconced in the Grandest Cleavage in the Land.

(Even if Luna's was still the dreamiest)

The soft squish of ever-milky, sloshing Solar Rack was all around Dashie.  She didn't know why she wasn't choking; perhaps the earth pony strength her alicorn-ness granted, perhaps some mercy of her mistress' golden magic she couldn't see.  After all, just opening her eyes only changed the faint glow of external light from coming through blue eyelids to bouncing off micrometer-close white tit-hide.

This elysium, too, was lost to her; far too few millennia later (or was it only a few minutes?  Dashie certainly couldn't tell), her mistress plucked her up out of her cleavage yet again.  "The right answer, my dear little fucktoy," Mistress Celestia promised. 

The most muscular of equine giantesses hummed softly as she considered Dashie.  Dashie, for her part, considered shutting up-- probably the best answer until her mistress was done.  Instead, she just reveled in the touch.

As she pondered answers and rewards, Mistress Celestia slowly continued her exploration of her impertinent pet.  The front, now, her hand tracing little patterns like runes of pleasure across the top of Dashie's pitiful D-cup and D-grade tits.  Gasping, Dashie followed the unspoken lead as Celestia guided her towards the immense breasts in which she'd so recently been trapped.  No new instructions followed.

Still, she didn't need instruction.  Dashie's arms went wide, taut muscles pulling against the sting of healing, and she cuddled the immense breast close-- like it was her new best friend.  Brushing her face close against the lovely melon-mountain, Dashie exhaled slowly through her nose, then inhaled deeply in return.

It wasn't exactly like a muzzle-kiss, but the insane rush of aphrodisiac musk more than made up the difference.  Dashie wailed with pleasure and worry alike as the immediate and immodest orgasm struck, bouncing her against the huge breast, but when the lovely expanse wasn't removed, Dashie went back to cuddling and squirming her writhing body full over the hefty knocker.

Her own city-breaking strength barely dimpled that seemingly squooshy mass, so she gave it her all, hugging herself to this preciousest of bestest boob buds.  Dashie didn't quite understand how all that wobbly weight would both squish about her and yet only go so far.  Clearly, her new best friend had some special tricks.

Her best special friend, too-- kisses and licks all over, thirsty sucking of smooth white hide against her lips.  As though she could earn the nipple by lewd lipwork alone.  Her trembling palms rubbed through the beanbag-sized, milk-stuffed mega-tit, she even tried to get her knees and thighs and feet into the introduction of Dash to Boob.

The long, happy rumble from her mistress-- well, sent through that broad war-maretriarch's chest and ultra-pecs, it first started by ringing Dashie's whole body like a bell.  The huge rack defied gravity and merely amazonian passengers alike, bouncing and bobbing with preternatural perk.  Indeed, as the rumble cascaded, Dashie was knocked around on Mistress Celestia's milk-filled knocker like a very strange lifeboat in a storm.

But it did tell Dashie she was at least moo-ving in the right direction.  Sort of.  Hopefully.  Squooshy, experience with her old best friend's double-Zs aside, Dashie knew she had no experience with the proper adoration of a tit like this.

Among other things, Celestia's ten-foot-eight frame was such that just a single perfectly-shaped tit outmassed the outrageously curvaceous Fluttershy-that-had-been. Taken together, the enormous mammary mountains still outmassed the Princess of Kindness.  Even with Fluttershy now a seven-feet-tall amazon as well, and her already prodigious rack upgraded by the apotheosis.

No, there was no comparison. Just acres and acres of blessed bossmare boob to adore.  Dashie barely stopped herself from squeezing her thighs across some of that elysium of soft titflesh, but thought the better of it.  Not without Mistress' permission! she thought stoutly.  No more than she'd dare suckle from that crinkly pink paradise at the apex of Mt. Booblestia.

If permission to worship at that dawn-rosy altar, that lovely nub was denied Dashie for the moment, she'd just have to make do.  She made did, with pressing needy kisses and full body squeezes all over, hoping to earn with effort what her lack of expertise could not.  Her mouth drooled as much as her slit as she contemplated just the one huge nipple of the High Princess's princess-sized pair, as big as a water jug brought out for a hot day, and easily a thousand times as thirst-quenching.

While Dashie did her duty and then some, Celestia played with her pretty pet.  Mid-mammary embrace, there was a sudden sensation between her sensitive wingbases.  Pressure, a steady, stroking force, made of even Dashie's championship wings' putty, the super-sensitive and super-taut muscles relaxing in a moment.  As reactive as hornbases-- or nipples-- Dashie felt the vast strength applied to them with delicate and complete care.

If she hadn't had a duty to her New Friend Boob, she'd have melted off in a puddle of femmecum and floppiness.

It was hard for her to maintain that duty, but she did.  As her mistress' touch worked slowly around one wing, then the other, Dashie chose to imagine the pulses of pleasure, body-energy, and relaxation as commands.  She reacted; this jolt below the shoulderblade told her to rub and fondle at hand-sized increments of mega-melon here; a caress around the outside of her left wingbase told her to rub her own poor itsy-bitsy Ds, less than a twentieth the size all over the front.

She was pressed, moved by just the soft-finger massage.  Squirming and snuggling over a seemingly endless mountain of Tit.  Maybe Dashie might have preferred to really concentrate on this patch or that, but the fingertips brushing lightly over her back drove her on relentlessly.

Of course, these fingers were easily more than half the length of Dashie's whole hand.  Bigger than her forearms.  A sudden thought made Dash lift her rump and spread her thighs, knees pressing lightly into the superior breast-flesh beneath.  Fingers bigger'n'my first boyfriend's dick. 'Course, he was a normal...

Those strong white-hided fingers drew up between Dashie's shoulders, and firmly sent her towards the wagon wheel-vastness of Celestia's closest areola.  Permission.  At last.  Dashie's whole neck seemed so frail compared to the single finger stroking up it, forcing her head down onto that darker, barer flesh.

Dashie flew to the command.  Or rather, stayed steadfastly stuck to Celestia's mighty quad-Z rack.  She certainly wasn't going anywhere.  Panting, her jaw seemingly stuck on open, lips above and below stuck on 'permanent drool,' she kissed and nuzzled and even hesitantly stroked her horn, like she might in a full-submission crouching bow.

Shudders struck Dashie again, but that one finger kept her tight to the vast breast.  Besides, the shudders alone, not to mention microclimax groans, the clit-stiffening musk-- every result of her areola-kissing crusade told her she was being such a good bitch.

Of course, so did her mistress.  "That's my good bitch," cooed Mistress Celestia.  "So good I think I shall help you service your debt.  Give you the strength to make good your bravado in this, at least, before I take the interest out of you."

"M-mistress C-celestia," Dashie trembled, spacing each syllable with continued kisses on just the broad bareness and not looking towards the center.  "Are you offering your Dashie-bitch a-a-a dash of the good stuff?"

"You're lucky I like puns, my little fucktoy," came the deep, body-shaking, boob-quaking growl.  Only the force of that one pressing finger, and the lesser action of Dashie's entire bod and every limb clenching against the ultra-sized mammary after that snarl, and nothing could keep Dashie from a swift series of screaming cries.

Her pussy paid as much tribute to her mistress' voice as her questing hands and lips paid her mistress' tit, as was only proper.

As Celestia was wont to do, she managed to overwhelm those climaxes with just a single word:  "Yes."

Dashie felt extraordinarily lucky, both for the offer, and for the loving chuckle that bounced boob and subbie alike.  Both told her that her mistress found her squeals of pleasure more than adequate homage to the honor of the offer.  Because nursing at the perpetually-lactating Solar Tit wasn't just an act of sexuality and nourishment together.  It was a sign of Celestia's trust in both Dashie's heart and Dashie's will.

Celestia's milk was the sweetest, richest, creamiest taste imaginable, everyone knew that, though only a few knew why.  Even the cows married to Auros, God of the Minotaurs (and adoptive uncle of the princesses) were said to envy it.  But as Dashie and so few others knew-- even Daring Do only had vague suspicions-- Celestia's milk had a few other qualities than mere nourishment.

Power.  It gave so much energy, the Perfection of the Sun, ever warm and ever Transmuting the drinker to Perfect more of their own power.  Only the most heroic of ponies (in ways loud and quiet) were worthy of that.

Pleasure.  Perhaps not as directly as Celestia's addictive pheromones, but gulping down even a mouthful would get a stud jizzing his pants and a mare drenching her thighs.  Only those who touched Celestia's heart could have a chance to show such wroth

But that adjective for her musk-- addictive-- applied if anything even more to Celestia's breastmilk then it did her pussyjuice.  And the last time she'd taken her eye off her milk-fed favorites for even a little while… was the Burning Times, recorded in bloodstained and ashen altars upon steppe pyramids deep in haunted jungles.

So that was a reward-- that Celestia believed that Rainbow Dash had shown herself tough enough for that… I might even catch up to Rarity at the gym, that cheater!

The thought made Dashie squirm and cream and warm up right to her toes.  Just like Mistress Celestia wanted it to

But silence followed, and Dashie was worried, stunned for a moment, then realized: My brain has to be up to the challenge even more than my poor bod.  Coughing, she shook her head clear of orgasmic dizziness and gave a short, whimpering cry, followed by, "Oooh, yes, please mistress!"

The response wasn't verbal, but it was, very abruptly, oral.  If Mistress Celestia's single pointer finger could play Dashie like a puppet, well.  Having her head gently cupped in one hand, and her butt gently groped in the other meant Dashie might as well be nothing more substantial than a shadow.

All seven feet of lithe, athletic amazon princess Rainbow Dash was held up before her mistress' chest, and a moment of reality struck.  "B-b-big…  So big…"

She'd known that, of course, intellectually.  But to be faced with a nipple half the mass of her own head-- inches away, not just across the mat as a part of an intimidatingly gorgeous whole-- that was something different.  Dashie swallowed heavily, and tried to remind herself she could do this.  Fuck, filly! she screamed at herself.  You went down on Bulk when you were still a normal!

All wistful memory, or envy of her old friend Gilda's marriage to Bulk, was wiped out of her as another growl shook Dashie, boob, and local reality all in one.  Mistress Celestia's horniness would have put a minotaur longhorn convention to shame.  "Open wide and receive your Mistress' favor!"  The command shook Dashie, and through Dashie, and..

What else could she do but, trembling, eyes firmly shut, open her maw as wide as manageable?  Hypers and alicorns especially of any sex could distend their bodies when the mating magic flowed wildly-- and sometimes other times-- just like the fist of any hyper or the cock of a hyper or futa stud would make a partner stretch in turn.  What Bulk's dick had given her-- along with a couple nice creams that now felt like the distant memory of a wingstiffie, Dashie could now do herself, when required.

It barely worked.  The instant Dashie's mouth opened twice the size of her own fist and barely more than half that of the nip in question, Celestia decided that Dashie would do some receiving.  Now.

Dashie squealed-- or tried to.  Her maw was stretched out around a nipple with the girth of a hyper stud's cock, if only the length of a regular stud's.  Her vocal chords could vibrate, but as the nipple distended her, stretched her, she was sealed tight over that invading nub.  All she could do was pleasure it a little more in her orgasmic screams.

Mistress Celestia's whole arm came up behind Dashie, not to hold her fast in place, but the better to bob her back and forth.  With just a slight flex of Celestia's sadly hidden but supremely massive pecs, the milk-sloshing mammary mass pushed forward.  Flex-flex-flex; push-push-push.

Fuck-fuck-fuck.  Dashie's face was in for a real pounding, throat stretched, lips used for her mistress pleasure at her mistress' pace, her tongue swirling along almost instinctively.

One benefit of being facefucked by a pony-sized breast was that you didn't have to fuck around with waiting for the main splooge.  The second Mistress Celestia rammed her slightly leaky nub into Dashie's defenseless mouth, that sweetest of treats, that most heavenly of drinks, the Milk of the Sun poured right down Dashie's throat.  If she hadn't been cumming already, the first taste of that heady lactation would have done the trick.

Nope… done anyway, was Dashie's last coherent thought.  As splurt after splurt of thick whiteness was sent right over her tongue, straight back and down into her rapidly-swelling tummy, Celestia's ever-potent milk sent signals further south and way back north.  Dashie's brain and clit slapped her prior climaxes aside without a thought; nursegasms a thousandfold more electrifying were on their way.

Dashie shuddered, and did her best to fellate the immense nipple swabbing her throat anyway.  With her body locked in place, only her limbs were free.  She used them, too.  Active, participating submission was her weapon in the war to prove herself to the giantess ravishing her as easily as Dashie might smash a warship.

The salle shook.  Case after case of sparring weapons built to survive the clash of titans began to vibrate-- one rack of blunt polearms, long disused, actually had part of its reinforcements snap off.  Not from the force of Celestia's boob-fucks-you pounding of Dashie's face; as lusty as the huge princess was, she was still a consummately skilled lover, and gave Dashie more use than thrust.

No.  Between the grand and pleasure-biased sensitivity of the largest pair of alicorn breasts in the world, Dashie's flailing and nipple-fellating contributions, and her own millennia-honed mistressy of the masturbatory arts, Mistress Celestia was, in fact, getting close to something like relief.

Between bellowing near-squeals of pleasure, the gigazon high princess' horn flashed, and subtle ripples of flexed muscles and misty earth-magic accompanied a quick telepathic verification.  I'm so close, Rainbow Dash, came Dashie's mistress, her mind almost…

… begging? …

That impossibility aside, her mistress plowed on with the thought as she plowed Dash's willing face like a latex fuck-doll.  I need to use you roughly, my little pony.  I need to cum, you've got me so close!

Dashie could feel the 'close'.  It wasn't just the thickening of the alchemically charged protein in the milk, saturating like the cum of a really pleasured hyper stud.  It wasn't just the desperate message, or quickening cries of pleasure she could barely hear from beneath the slap-slap-slap of her nipple-stuffed face.

No, there was a presence, something building.  In body language, in fucking, in tone-- the very incarnate power of either of the two oldest alicorns made even the least climaxes that a mere mistress of the courtesan arts could manage after a few hours' work feel and be perceived like a porn star's show-climax.   Dashie had been honored to give microclimaxes, and even miniclimaxes to her mistress; she knew the difference, and how the air itself seemed to quiver.

Well, right now, the entire pocket dimension salle wasn't so much quivering as shaking like a stud with a magically animated vibrator up the ass, and an orgasm-cancelling cockring in front.  The world wanted Celestia to cum, was ready for Celestia to cum.  But that would risk poor Dashie ending up at least as battered as when she'd gone flying moments ago.

You are my Princess of Princesses, Rainbow Dash insisted, her true self flaring beneath the subbie scene-persona.  I am your fist in the sky, your lightning at the call.  I trust you to wield me like your own spear.  Use me, Princess Celestia.  Mistress and beloved.

Her Dashie-side didn't think these flowery declarations were sufficient YES for such a matter.  So she sucked like her life depended on it.  Like every helping lick, every vastly-stretched imitation of a kiss to the invading nipple could convince the sun to rise and the moon to fall. 

Perhaps it could.  Even Luna and Twilight seemed to find their jobs easier after a good enough fuck.  And this was Celestia.

So Dashie gave her yes by body and stuffed mouth.  Every lewd full-body caress she'd made moments before was just practice for this.  Her hands came around, squeezing and fondling the heavy milksack until they came to her own smished tits.  Her legs locked, pressed, and stroked, the better to stimulate Celestia's gigantic quad-Z monster-melon.

Her reward was use.  Mistress Celestia was using Dashie like her own hands, stimulating her nipple just as forcefully as she might when pushing herself to bleed off the forever-edge of arousal unfulfilled.  Just the arm held Dashie now, trusting the smaller princess to keep her head in the game.  Mistress Celestia's other hand trailed down over the tensing eight-pack abs, like grinding continents clashing over her clenching core.

Dashie couldn't see this, of course.  Her face was full of boob.  But, somehow, she could see her Mistress' self-pleasure in her mind's eye.  Saw her take that tension down to her source, following her rough, flowing aurora of a treasure trail to the hypnotic glow of her pubic mound.  Saw that well-beloved clit tended to by the skilled instinct of a mistress of all things.

Dashie suspected that if she ever managed to remember this moment, she'd be able to take notes for her own little mare in the boat.

For the now (and always) it was her mistress' pleasure that came first.  Still being jerked back and forth by her horny, nickering mistress, Dashie forced her tits up to the base of Celestia's nipple, fondling it into her cleavage.  As her gullet was filled with more and more warm, gushing super-milk, Dashie groaned and gasped soundlessly, her feeble attempts to squeal around the nip pleasuring all the more.

The sense of Celestia's self-pleasuring filled Dashie's mind.  The plunge of expert fingers into the beautiful sex filled up her vision, eyes closed or open.  Filled her like the rapidly thrusting nipple was filling her mouth, like the splurting thickness of milk was inflating her belly.

In time with Celestia's skilled sex-stroking, Dashie used her stretched-tight but still dexterous lips to massage and stroke desperately over the fast-thrusting nip.  The inspiration of her mistress' stained thighs, flush with orgasm-inducing marejuice drove her to more oral amatory heights.

Throwing herself fully into the duty of being her mistress' fucktoy-- her mistress' nipple's fucktoy-- Dashie's tongue made an almost flutterbat-level performance in slurping around the crinkly flesh, to pleasure the giant breast and gianter alicorn behind it.  The massive forearm behind her bulged and rippled, interweaving muscles battering at her back.  

Mistress Celestia pounded Dashie's face, but not just her little whorse throat.  No, she bobbed Dashie hard over the ZZZZ mass, her coming climax triggering her Transmutation.  In fact, as lust empowered her, her mammary glands went into superproduction.  Dashie's whorse throat simply couldn't handle that much milk squirted into it at once, and Celestia's already titanic tits grew into quintuple Z, sextuple Z-- Dashie's body was in danger of being lost in the areola alone!

It was rough going.  Orgasmic, yes, by milk and musk and body stimulation, but hard.  Celestia would always protect her, but Dashie had given her consent to be taken to the very edge of safe.  The battering force of Celestia's masturbation, of participating in the Sun's own self-fuck-- it was indeed slapping Dashie around just like she'd been done on the mat-- only longer.

She was being used like the fucktoy her mistress had named her, her participation little more than peripheral.  But she was determined to periph the fuck out of the facefucking she was receiving!

A long, screaming roar, a warcry of orgasmic releases hit not long after.  Dashie's last vision was of gorgeous pussy lips in full flush clenching, two white fingers rolling a more-gorgeous-still clit on its way.  The smaller amazon's well-worked sex came again, harder than she'd ever thought possible-- and all without a single fingering, let alone fist or cock!

Her own stifled nip-blocked cries were lost all the further as that bellowing squeal and the grand-mistress level climax it represented slammed over and past her and through the salle.  She thought she heard the one cracked case shatter.

Then, it all went whiter than the tit-hide all about Dashie.  Her senses were simply too full, fuller then her nine-months-with-nine-foals milk-stuffed belly.  She almost resented the pocket dimension for containing the orgasmic cry.  It should have been shared, blessing the world with Celestia's sun-- it should have put every bit of erectile tissue on Epona to full salute.

Slowly, Celestia's loving gift to her not-quite-peer princess ceased.  Rainbow Dash's belly, distended like she'd been bred into a whole herd of foals and then let 'em take up long term residency post-pregnancy, jiggled and bounced as Celestia cuddled all of her blue body against Celestia's still far larger mega-mammary.  Warmth, now, warmth suffused everything.  Even Celestia's always-controlled face seemed more serene than ever; and Rainbow felt an amazing pride knowing she'd made a true contribution to her ultimate ruler's calm.

Suddenly, her biology and its thaumatic properties kicked into gear.  Eyes widening, Rainbow tried to suppress a belch as her alicorn nature kicked in.  But even as her stomach rapidly assimilated milk into calories and nutrients, she let out a long, rolling buUUUrrrp.

Far from displaying displeasure, Celestia giggled like a schoolcolt a fifth her size.  "So cuuuute.  Such a cute little tummy, too!"  She tickled and fondled Rainbow Dash's still-giant belly.  "Did Momma Sun's nursing prove too much to handle, babycakes?" she teased, licking her red lips lasciviously.  "I so love watching a strong bitch's belly try and fail to conquer my cum."

A tender smile took over, and she stroked the back of her hand over the milk-filled bulge that pinned Rainbow down into Celestia's embrace.  "And yet, I love this more."  Celestia's own milk-taste was still on Rainbow breath-- the scent of it more potent and more present than Rainbow Dash's weaker pheromonic musk by far. 

Celestia must have liked having a dash of Dash with her milk, though.  She kissed Rainbow's lips fiercely, forcing her tongue into Rainbow's willing, submitting mouth and wrestling her tongue together.  Rainbow couldn't measure the kiss; simply knowing it was over despite the lingering feel of Celestia on her lips when her larger lover purred and continued speaking.  "Unlike one of my studs or mares who earned this honor, you're awake with me.  Devouring it, but slowly.  If it wasn't for the nourishment, I'd be afraid to ever do that to one of the cadre, my sweet little subbie.  It once took one of my peggiesluts a week to get mobile again!'

Rainbow gave a hazy grin.  "Hay, give me this on cupcakes and I'll--bBRrp!--"  She blushed.  "I'll out-devour Pi…  I'll do good in contests."

She didn't want to summon Pinkie right now with a Challenge.  This was her moment with Celestia, and she'd had the beatings and healings to prove it.

Giggling, Celestia tickled Rainbow Dash's belly, almost as big as the tit that had filled it still was!  Hyper tits-- and divine breasts making divinely empowered milk out of raw realitystuff-- were so much fun.  Pausing in the tickles, Celestia tapped her lips in rhythmic thought.

"Still," she said, looking at Rainbow.  "You owe me, Rainbow Dash.  I'd like your permission to force-start your assimilating of the milk.  You can handle the addiction, and the empowerment will give you the strength to repay your boasts' failure and your boasted repayment."

Rainbow laughed and squirmed.  "Do I gotta, this would make AJ turn so red she'll look like her brother!"  She smiled.  "You're the boss, but…"

A solitary, elegant eyebrow quirked up, the other in its resting curve as Celestia's stare hit Rainbow Dash's but.

Rainbow was about to comment, and then found she couldn't speak.  Her brain finally caught up with her ears, finally remembered two and two make fucked.  The threat of Mistress Celestia's ever-horny aggression, the trap of the pre-facefucking statements, rammed home like the fisting poor Dashie's twat still wasn't getting.

"Oh.  Right.  And the interest."  Dashie swallowed heavily.  "How much more interest would it cost me to run out and change my name to Icartus?"
> Heavenly Press Part IV
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Oh.  Right.  And the interest."  Dashie swallowed heavily.  "How much more interest would it cost me to run out and change my name to Icartus?"

The laughing, joyous belltones of Celestia's cheer soothed Dashie.  Like a healing rush of power, it slowly blunted even the sting.  Maybe it was the warm milk, still pulsing through her body.   No-- it was more, her mistress' joy and approval making Dashie whole in record time.

Still chuckling, the mightier muscle-mare eventually commented, "You won't be conscious enough to shower with me when we're done, but I'll let you suck a bit of my milk again once I clean your mouth to speed your recovery; you've certainly shown the willpower necessary!"

Princess herself, Dashie's soul rose to meet her mistress, and smile met smile.  The joy of the laugh did more than heal Dashie from her travails.  It gave her renewed purpose to pay love back unto love.  There was a reminder in that loving ring that Celestia cared deeply for her subbie's heart, and not just her obedience.  

Celestia gently guided her back down to rest on that titanic thigh beneath.  A soft exhale left her corded throat, and seemed to relieve her subbie just as much.  Rainbow Dash closed her eyes and decided to let the last sight of her arrogance be the brilliant dimpling of Celestia's muzzle in a literally shining smile.

The sight-- and the goddess behind it, regardless of that goddess' refusal to be worshiped-- healed Rainbow Dash even more.  Her travails already faded, the battering of the throwdown soothed away, and bruised bought by hubris were healed by joy.

Not that she wasn't still sore.  Not even the Milk of the Sun would take it all away-- not with milked and milkslut both alicorns in agreement on victories.  After all, that joy didn't take the sting from her.  She'd earned that sting and loved it nearly as much as her mistress' smile.

Time passed.  Eyes closed, Rainbow Dash suddenly felt tremendously rested, as though she'd had a full night's sleep to ready here.

Did she sleep?  She couldn't be sure.  Surely her mistress was too demanding and too fair to let her incur more 'interest' through sleep.

No, she decided, and would never ask.  Must just be the absorption.

Her belly felt taut again.  Toned and tough-- which of course meant flat and formless next to Celestia's definitive abdominal definition.  

A rumble from without caught Rainbow Dash's awareness and stirred her instincts.  Her breathing quickened naturally.  Short, swift, certain.  Rainbow Dash might bitch about oxygenating exercises to Twilight, certain it was unnecessary to the task of going under lavender rump for… however long…  For navy, or for white...

The command hit her body without her mind's assessment but with her soul's loving consent.  Panting, shuddering breaths, like empty orgasms yet fuller in pleasure still, forced her body to prepare for her sentence beneath the greatest ass of them all.

Sobs or stifled orgasms or simply the pants of a princess realizing she was prey to an older, mightier bearer of the crown?  They merged together in desperate need to breathe.  Her fingers tightened as best they could against the immovable ruggedness of Mistress Celestia's thigh, clinging to the light as she held her eyes firm shut.

The lungs of a pegasus are one of the few places that tribe can claim strength to equal or exceed an earth pony's, rather than speed, or comparing wingmuscles which the latter do not have.  Rainbow Dash flew faster and further and higher than any other pegasus, even before her transcendence in the leading edge of a transcendent rainboom.  With the slow, crushing might of earthpower, the magical enhancement of a unicorn, and the energy of her alicornic Spheres flooding her, she turned every last part of her circulation into a geomancy of survival.

All in service to the Grand Solar Butt.  And she hadn't even had a chance to stare at that naked majesty for long, yet.  She'd longed, and she'd planned, and she'd connived to get to this point-- to that butt.  Arrogant, yes, but arrogance due a princess, an Element of Harmony who'd earned her rewards.

But the Dashie who woke up, head dipped below the subspace firmly yet again, felt far more than alicorn and earth pony strength flow back into her limbs.  Knew that this was neither a silly 'repayment' nor a reward of a justly proud princess.  Her crown was back in the herd locker room, waiting to be taken up again.  Here, she was about to service the royal ass because the royalest pony wanted her to-- and had found her worthy.

Eyes still closed, Dashie moaned.  "I'm… I'm ready, Mistress.  To serve."  She felt the sun, the light that casts the rainbow, surge through her, her mistress' approval.  As the light filled her, she knew that she was ready, because her mistress made her so.

"Keep your eyes closed for now, Dashie dear," rumbled the soft lowness of her mistress' voice.  "Go limp.  Let me take care of you before you take care of my needs."  Dashie heard the silent 'as far as you can,' and vowed to become as buff and as badass as she could, to do whatever she needed to see those needs met.

(The essential Rainbow Dashness that Harmony found and Celestia loved in her future wife was already planning to push at Twilight and Luna more.  Strength came through challenge on both sides, right?)

Slowly, the Princess of Sun rose, letting Dashie's feather-light four hundred pounds of almost pure-muscle mare waft slowly to the mat, right on her still-sore butt.  She didn't speak, and as she obeyed, letting her (so-called) muscled slack, she felt the golden radiance of her mistress collect at around her.  Move her, hold her.

Dashie relaxed into that hold.  Her mistress had her best interests at heart, Dashie knew.  She was safe in this.  Dashie had a bit less of the claustrophobia than most pegs at this point, of course.  Still, her stomach didn't even quiver as the warm magic locked her completely in place, spread-griffon like Bitruvian Mare, wings and arms and legs akimbo.

The air and magic vibrated slightly, in time with her mistress' gait.  Just like with Luna, the very world shook when Celestia walked without much care, and it hit Dashie like a thousand tongues set to ludicrous speeds.

She didn't cum, though; discipline had flooded her with the light, and she forced herself to the control her mistress adored

Dashie's wings were scooped around slightly, then brought to rest on the mat.  Her tiny fifty-one-inches of spanked-purple blue butt was arranged so her back arched, little D-titties skyward and cold, her nips hard as steel posts.  Her shoulders were brought to rest on something so hard that the best steel should be said to be like that.

Her wings were beneath said definitional hardness.  Dashie couldn't wriggle much to be sure, but by the tickle in her tertiaries and the lingering compression of magic to secure and safely hold her above the something, Dashie was pretty sure her wings were beneath her mistress' shins.  She was bracketed by strength.

All of her, held in place by muscle and magic and care.  Her shoulders were cradled against her mistress' Haychilles' tendons.  Celestia's divine feet, bare of their usual size-thirty flats or high heels, were angle to carefully slope into supporting Dashie's torso, the slope but a little bumpy where toes gave way to mat.

None of Dashie was let slack.  Her head was specially supported, resting atop her divine mistress' divinely powerful calf-muscles.  The huge prominences were so big that even set like this, with enough space for the ankles to comfortably hold Dashie's shoulders, they were tight together.

That, and a little bit of golden magic remaining, was the best pillowcase Dashie dared aspire to.  Maybe later she'd wonder if she could compare fluttertits or Luna's Moon-tastic arm muscles, but for now?  Cradled between the apocalyptic power of her mistress' calves, that was all Dashie dared-- and all she needed.

Abruptly, the command hit Dashie's everything like a whipcrack!  "Open your eyes."  If she hadn't been prepared and empowered by her mistress, the sound of Celestia's Mistress Sun voice would have made her buck.  As it was, her eyes were open the moment the 's' sound ceased, the very moment she wouldn't be presuming.

Her vision was almost full of ass.  Mistress Sun was sitting forward-- crouching on… she was down on her knees, and Dashie's mind skittered at the thought.  Her knees were just a little bit tighter than ninety degrees, Dashie was sure-- that's why the gorgeous, lush expanses of super-succulent thigh flesh were a part of her field of view. 

She had little else; even with Those Thighs spread to accommodate Mistress Sun's design, there was no room between squeezing plushness and enormously hard quads for the artificial lighting of the salle to penetrate.

After all, only three lights mattered here.

First, the light golden glow of Mistress Sun's magic, holding Dashie safe so she could do her duty.

Second, the suggestive twinkle high in the distance.  A multicolored shimmer at the cleft where those beautiful, squishy-strong thighs were rubbing together to self-pleasure.  There, came the light of Mistress Sun's radiant pussy.  Literally radiant, her pubes as glowing and ethereal as her mane, and often hypnotic, Dashie was almost taken in to stare and drool at the addictive femmecum glistening above.

(Addictive, but within tolerances-- Dashie mostly got a heavy buzz and mind-blanking orgasms from the pheromones and not a compulsion or she wouldn't have been allowed here in the first place)

Almost taken, but not quite.  Because the third light dominated all, much as Dashie was convinced that only Mistress Moon could even rival Mistress Sun's dominance now.  As beautiful as the high princess' ultra-thighs were, as wondrous as the hypnotic, suggestive glow of Princess Pussy covered by an auroric pubic mound would ordinarily have been, they were nothing compared to the Grand Sun Booty.

Jiggly over the breadth but firm where it needed to be, this Ass of Excellence was a thing of gorgeous layers.  At the core, toned and tough with hard muscle as the ever-constant, of course.  Gravity had no more mastery here than of her tits, so above the tautness, an expanse of white hide over the cushiest tush above, the perfection of smoothness only ever broken by golden cutie marks or an occasional flex of world-crushing glutes… it did glow, somehow.  None of the other lights were illuminating it now-- that Perfectionist teardrop rump was brilliant beyond them all.

Or her mistress' anal musk, only slightly less compelling than her pussy-juices, was already putting Dashie's brain into a receptive state.

It could be both.

Probably both.

The reverie of rump was slapped out of Dashie's brain by her mistress' command voice again.  "Run a final check on yourself, by magic and by body."  Rainbow energy flashed around her captive horn as Dashie did as she was bid.  As her everything screamed its readiness to be rode, she tried (and failed) to respond.

It was enough.  Apparently, her mistress took her whimpering mewls as confirmation of preparation.

"Since, my little anal toy," growled her muscular mega-mistress, "Your repayment of deep debts will require my power and restraint to permit you to survive, much less please me, I decided to give you a little preview of what your twin courage and hubris has bought you."

Dashie moaned, and if the rest of her body hadn't been firmly under the command of that Voice and that Ass, she might have cum from considering the sight.  Thick white fingers pressed into the plush, and Dashie got a view of her mistress' tight little pucker.  Beautiful as the rest of her, kept sparkling clean each day, this, too, was every bit as safe as if Mistress Sun had opted to squeeze Dashie's head between her thighs.

A scissors that would powder kaiju and snuff stars would have taken Dashie only to the edge of her endurance, for her mistress' control of herself was, if anything, even greater than her control of Dashie.  As long as she loved and was loved, Dashie knew she was safe.

Words somehow made their way to her lips.  "Want… want to cum Mistress!"  The obedient part of her hated her vocal cords.  Just the traitor throat.  Dashie couldn't hate the lips and tongue that would hopefully still be allowed to worship that beautiful anal ring.  Fierce submission availed her of nothing. She spoke on.  "So pretty, so pretty, so powerful, Dashie wants to cum!"

"I know you do, my little anal toy," the growl rolled over her, and Dashie couldn't even whine.  She was silenced.  "I know you do."  There was a brief sigh.  "No."

A scream should have sounded in Dashie's mouth.  The horror of denial of the immense orgasm her mistress' anus inspired Dashie's body should have shaken her everything.

But, temerity past, she simply couldn't speak any more than she could move.  Couldn't even whisper.  She was caught.  Even if that golden glow left her, she was paralyzed, she knew, except the part of her Celestia wanted to use.

So she waited.  Her lips parted slightly, her tongue quivering in waiting.

Then her eyes were full of light, and white.  Carefully braced and held, Celestia sat her gigantic white-and-gold ass right down on top of Dashie's drooling face.

Dashie's tongue was working that anus wildly from the moment that Celestia sat.  She didn't bother consider anything so little as the full-facial embrace cutting off any breath but her mistress' musk; that scent had long ago quite claimed her brain.  She couldn't tell what her princess-- her queen, in the quiet of her soul-- tasted like, to be honest; other than orgasms, heat, and power.  She just licked as though her life depended on, pressed her dextrous upper lip and supporting lower to its work.

Her life was safe; her sanity kept in her mistress' control until later.  But Dashie nonetheless licked and probed as though her family, her home, if all of Cloudsdale depended on her analingual skills.  Mistress Sun was worth it.





Sighing with relief and pleasure fulfilled, Mistress Sun settled back onto the glow of her own magic, and the charming enthusiasms of her subbie-princess' tongue.  It was rare that a single slut's performance was enough to even get the edge off the Solar Horniness; usually, it took putting Mistress Moon or Mistress Stars in their places, took making her best beloveds into demure Lulu or bratty Sparkle to get her off, or a night's work by her bedroom cadre.

(Knights of the Bedroom or Knights of the Garter meant something different, though no less honorable, in Equestria.  Knights of the Bath specialized more in massage.)

But this Dashie's devotion was something special.  Mistress Sun, whether at her harshest persona or being gentle Celestia-Momma-Sun, had sat on some of the most beautiful and talented faces of the last thousand years or so, and the millennia beside her sister before that had been pretty good, too.  And as for Dashie's tongue-- "Oohhh," she trilled, and squeezed her thighs a bit more.

Dashie's tongue was worthy.

And as much as Mistress Sun might fiercely treat the slightest failure, she no less fiercely rewarded worth.

Besides, she already had the sweet little slut's horn between her legs.  Time again to remind Dashie of the other pleasures of an alicorn.

Mistress Sun's huge quadricep muscles rippled, squeezing and doing better than a professional whorse's handjob to wank the Princess of Storms' captive horn.  Kept captive by Mistress Sun's will, of course, there was no horngasm, but Dashie's tongue got even better in its imitation of a vibrator.  Just like Mistress Sun desired.

This might not be the sort of rimming that Lulu or Sparkle gave, but Mistress Sun was suddenly rather cheekily aware that fate or destiny or Harmony had given her not only strong herdsisters and potential future wives, but excellent submissives, talented, and well-able to endure what would leave even her bespelled best personal stable of the toughest of her little ponies wiped out for a week after.

It wasn't everything she wanted.  Not yet.  She had plans, though.  Plans that would take time, and power, and ritual to make all of them, from Luna to Twilight to, yes, Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy into the monuments of power that Princess Celestia could happily transfer some of the weight of the world onto, and Celestia the always fucking horny could happily finally get off.

Plans, indeed, that would let her receive such a superb rimming slightly more frequently than once a year or month or week, depending on the alicorn seatcushion-to-be.

Because while Dashie was giving her a fine suite of edge-dulling microgasms-- and might even get her over the hill when Celestia's final reward went through-- it wasn't enough to really bring her across like a lover could.  Only Luna, and increasingly Twilight, came there.  And Celestia couldn't focus on them, really get herself truly wet and bothered, because, well…

She sighed, and squeezed Dashie again, this time with glutes and calves, manipulating the captive alicorn into still-faster, still-better anal worship.  Then slowly, like her beloved sun rising, she curled her left arm back to its terrifying peak.  Slowly, slowly…  Mistress Sun nodded approvingly at her reflection, enjoying the sight and mentally verifying her form as she posed her face-dominating and bicep-bulking perfectly.

It was a lovely sight.  The humble part of Celestia was definitely repressed when sitting on a fellow alicorn's face and projecting Mistress Sun with all her might.  Expansion kept its steady course, and slowly, the one-hundred-and-ten inch circumference rose like an iceberg finding its buoyancy.  Then she let other senses come into play; the deep powers of transcendence that let her find just the right spot on that ultra-taut hide, just the right point above a nerve ending.

Mistress Sun kissed her own bicep, like she might naughtily tease one of Lulu's lovely eight-five inchers, and felt the shuddering cascade of sensation blast through her.  A wave of pleasure that would have knocked out the alicorn under her ass for a week gave Mistress Sun a vaguely lovely tingle, got her pussy moist but not quite quivering.

She shifted her hold on Dash again.  Wished again that anatomy would let her pussy-ride that pretty little horn, let her cunt devour a horngasm or two while getting an anal ride.  But it couldn't, and fondling herself through flexing thighs was a decent enough accompaniment to having her ass tongued by an enhanced expert.

But the source of that enhancement was the same as the pleasure of the kiss.  Her power; her will.  Which is what all of these sessions became except her dearest two-- and would for at least Sparkle, if she didn't space them out clit-maddeningly long.

It was, functionally, masturbation.  At this point, even if Dashie could speak, it would be echoes.  Had been.  Dashie was a well trained subbie, after all, but Mistress Sun's sense of BDSM drama included a little breaking here and there, and she'd wanted Dashie to squeal and beg to be allowed to cum.

Because the dominant part of her, the hyper-hyper-hyper of the eldest alicorn, wanted to make that no.  And so, Dashie had done, because Mistress Sun willed.

It made her want to spend more time with her Sparkle or her sister than might have been strictly safe.  To have a partner, a true power exchange-- that was without peer in pleasure.  Willing surrender that then became captive will…  Close, with one as powerful as the Princess of Storms.  But.

Still… "Oh, yes!" she groaned.  Much of it might be little different than fucking her own telekinetic glow up her butt, but there were little flicks and twists, little unexpected changes that made her Dashie-seat an excellent change of pace.  She had two rewards in mind.

It would take rather more than five seconds, but Dashie had accepted the interest.  Mistress Sun would reward the pet with release once, even while punishing her with a later denial--

No way I'm putting one of my Elements, my co-princesses through this for another year or two, sadly.  Better order more supplies for my cake specialists--

But once Dashie's tongue did as Dashie's tonguing promised, and got her off just a skosh, Mistress Sun would teleport her 'round about in front, and let her thighs claim Dashie's body… and her pussy claim Dashie's horn.

Then she'd let the little twat cum her heart out.  She wouldn't remember it, but Celestia would, and Luna usually honored her requests to let their herd-sisters dream it out.

Even still, as more and more of her Solar aura and penumbra pulsed over a partner who could survive the lovemaking but was a toy only in the practice, it became brief flickers of moments even for Mistress Sun.

Even for poor, millennia-long aroused, horny Celestia.

Enough gravity could deform time, and did, a skipping, warping series of sensations.





Dashie's tongue drilled away; her lips kissed asshole lovingly.





The plan went flawlessly.  The microclimax was sweet.  





As good as Mistress Sun could hope to expect.





Dashie's horn sent rainbow energy straight into the greedy clutch of Mistress Sun's core, as well.  Filling as well as fulfilling, briefly.





Carrying her well-filled and well-fucked rump-worshipper towards the showers, later-- 

so much Princess Musk wasn't safe to wear even within wards, let alone double the princesses involved--

Now that Dashie had finished the climaxes of several lifetimes...  Now that the quivering, pleasure-filled Elemental Alicorn was done shooting up as much magic for Mistress Sun's pussy to drain and dominate as Celestia would permit her Rainbow Dash to do…

Then, Celestia gave a repeat treat.  Much more gently, she fed Dashie as much of her milk as the lovely little mare could handle.

And now, a re-crowning, Celestia  told herself firmly.  Need to remind her she's a princess, so after she's through with this… after we're through with this, my herd still has its Dashie, and she isn't lost to the heavenly press.





It was only later, with Rainbow Dash sent back to her apartments in the castle to sleep it off, and her Luna and her Twilight caught firm between her gigantic arms and even more giant tits, that Celestia pondered the future, and plans.  Of hoping, that one day, when she took a favored lover to bedsport, it wouldn't take three of the best and a whole squad of futas in cheerleading outfits in the middle to get her close enough to off to last a day or so.

She kissed the tip of a deep navy blue horn, then a lavender one, loving the slight spark and boob-pleasing squirm of her hardest of hard ladies, the second and third strongest alicorns-- and indeed inhabitants-- of Epona, of their whole world.

Well, perhaps.  Celestia and Luna had accepted an offer not too long ago that-- should their training and Twilight's education do its job-- would put another at the heights of strength.  Possibly even enough heights for the other type of press Celestia prefered.

Not the heavenly press of asscheeks over face as Dashie had gotten and Twily had demanded her fair share.  Celestia usually did not sub, had not subbed in centuries.  Even if she did-- and she only would, to be blunt, with a kept dom who knew their place was different in the bed versus out-- she had entirely different delights she wished to press against in those contexts.  It was a bit arrogant, but Celestia had plans, and those plans involved not a heavenly press, but a Celestial press.

A Celestial bench press, or a Celestial leg press?

…

No.  Probably squats.  Yes, she thought as Luna's insistent dream magic took her into rest (and Luna's turn on top and doing the flipping work), I like squat presses.  I just need the right weights.