The Palace was just so darn big.

Red Gala felt like her head was spinning as she took in the sights of the great ballroom of the Canterlot Royal Palace. Big ol' columns at least three times as wide as she was tall towered up into the ceiling, and even the smallest windows were stained glass displays that could've fit a whole darn apple tree inside! And this was just the ballroom?

Her hooves took her stumbling through the oversized parlor, fumbling one step at a time. Gala had never been what some fancy ponies might've called "graceful"—at six and a half feet, and absolutely stuffed with muscle, she was a darned titan of an earth pony, and she darn well knew it. Twenty-plus years of applebucking had left her hindlegs with a pair of corded thighs that could have crushed a smaller pony's skull between 'em...and a bumbling, oafish gait that made her feel like she'd downed half a barrel of cider before coming here.

Dang. Gala swallowed a yelp as she dodged past a swaying couple. How in the hay had she even managed to get near the dance floor? As she yanked herself backward, she stumbled against a pair of smaller ponies—stallions, she thought dazedly, judging by the fact that they came up to her shoulders at all instead of being able to pass comfortably beneath. Behind her, she could feel her flank tensing anxiously; Applejack's tailor friend was a straight whiz at sewing up fashion, but even his gown hadn't been enough to restrain Gala's oversized figure entirely.

She found her hoofing and paused for a moment to catch her breath. Chewing on her lip, she found herself desperately wishing for a piece of straw to chew on. At least then she'd look thoughtful, instead of just looking clumsy as heck. Around her, the festivities of the Grand Galloping Gala whirled and spun with absolute grace, and Gala felt a heat rising in her cheeks. No one needed to be unkind or inhospitable. She just knew. She glanced down at her two left forehooves and sighed. Then she set off again.

Applejack was the best lil' brother she could've asked for—though lil’ Applebuck was a darn tootin' red ribbon—but even his generosity in inviting her here seemed a little misplaced. Gala eyed the buffet table for a second and then discarded the idea; she could go for some grub, but knowing her appetite, she'd have the whole Canterlot upper crust ogling her as she stuffed half the feast down her gullet. So instead of filling the rumbling emptiness in her belly, she just sighed, shrugged, and ambled away aimlessly.

What had AJ had in mind for bringing her here, anyway? Her brother loved comin' down here with all his friends, and Gala sure didn't hold one mite of a grudge against 'em for it. Other ponies liked socializing, and going out with the crowds. Gala knew 'Jack had meant well...but if she were being damn well fair with herself, she honestly wasn't sure what she could be doing in a place like this.

"Hey, gorgeous!" Gala paused mid-step as a slouching, dark shape stumbled into her path. Swaying with a noticeable scent of alcohol, a blue-furred unicorn pulled himself just barely upright and grinned up—and up at her. Gala had a horrible feeling that some party games were universal, and wondered if this one would lead with "I like 'em spunky," or "I like 'em big."  

He grinned toothily, leering up at her broad chest that just barely overshadowed him. "You're a big one, huh? I love 'em big."

Vindicated, she grunted. "Nope," she mumbled. Shy as she were, propositions weren't much new to her—though flirts from a half-drunk aristocratic partygoer were new territory. She found herself blushing, though, with more than a bit of awkwardness as the pint-sized stallion swayed a little closer.

"Why don't we find a lil' closet to snuggle up in, huh?" he cooed. He didn't even glance at her; even her kneecaps came close to meeting his collarbone. "Or a big one," he added, grinning lecherously. "Gonna need to fit all of you in, beautiful."

Gala's lip curled distastefully—and as the unicorn took another tottering step forward, she swiftly stepped around him. "Nope," she said again—and ignored his pleas, even as his hoofsteps clopped and then slowly faded against the tiled marble floor. He might have been desperate but her long strides outpaced his easily, with thighs as thick around as his torso rippling with power beneath the thin fabric of her dress.

Behind her, though, she could still hear the shrill calls of her "suitor" muffled by the crowd. Sighing, Red Gala glanced around for a place she could escape to—it didn't matter where. She'd been used to the great outdoors, but somehow, the massive enclosed space gave her a kind of inverse claustrophobia. It was too big, too open, too aimless. She needed to find somewhere to put herself. It didn't matter if it was crowded; she didn't like being pressed in one bit, but standing out in a sea of chatterers like a lone tree after a storm was just about making her wince.

Squinting over the heads of the crowd, Gala spotted it—a crowd of ponies crowded around...something. She didn't much care what they were looking at; she was desperate for something—anything—to do. Purpose was what drove a fit working mare like Red Gala, and purpose, however temporary, was what pushed her double-sized strides across the tiled floor as she made her way toward the crowd.

Her great shoulders pumped, broad chest flexing as she broached the edge. A smaller pony yelped at her—some mare that barely came up to her hocks—and while Gala wasn't usually any kind of pony to want to touch it up with strangers, she figured that she could just cram her big ol' self through quickly enough without causing any fuss at all. Sometimes, ornery was a better policy than honesty. She did wince as her big flank whacked the yelping little mare in the shoulder, and did her best to grunt out an apology as she strode deeper into the crowd.

Goddess—what in the hay were all these ponies looking at? As tall as she was, Gala couldn't quite see whatever was going on in the middle; ponies on the inner edge of the circle were standing on boxes and chairs, all staring at and wildly cheering for...something. What exactly that was, she had no clue—but as a whiff of something hot and heavy hit her nostrils, that vague curiosity was replaced with something else entirely: interest.

Gala's nostrils flared, and she paused in her step. She froze, a hoof the size of a salad plate halting in its advance across the floor. Her eyes closed shut as her unshorn fetlocks settled around her ankles. She inhaled deeply—and grunted, a little shiver going down her spine. Dang it, but she knew that scent! It was familiar, enticing...and it made her clench a little bit back there.

The scent curled inside of her lungs and belly and yanked her forward—hard. Pupils dilating, Gala moved to bull her way through the crowd, now all but deaf to the protests of the smaller guests. She could feel her potent thighs flexing, her taut flanks pumping as she strode her way to the front. She could see it now—there! A pair of tall blue ears, a whisping, deep-blue mane...

With a grunt, Red Gala finally stumbled her way into the front of the crowd—and froze once again. Tree-trunk thighs and a bulky barrel fossilized in a heartbeat as she identified exactly why that scent had been so familiar. Even now, it teased her senses, rubbing itself against the space between her back legs as its gloriously gorgeous source bobbed lazily in the air.

The strong, charactered face of the stallion in front of her wasn't personally familiar, but Gala had seen 'Jack fraternizing with him and his brother enough that she knew exactly who he was. Plus, she thought, drawing in a sharp breath, what kind of equine would she be if she didn't even recognize Prince Artemis when she saw him?

The breath brought more of that scent to scorch her by the way of her lungs.  Her body was becoming convinced that it already knew all it needed to about this pony, anyway.

Prince Artemis—his lustrous coat a deep blue, his star-speckled mane glittering as it swayed behind him—lay back on a great golden chair, his wings flared out behind him. Perhaps one of only three ponies to be truly larger than Gala herself (she knew Solaris himself to be larger still, and that one Appleoosan Clydesdale mare had wound up nudging above her by barely a quarter-foot), Artemis was more than big—he was enormous. Even sitting down, nestled casually in his gleaming throne, he towered above the crowd around him.

Great muscles flexed in his legs—just a bit bigger than Gala's, she noted objectively, without any hint of jealousy—and his broad chest bulged proudly with inner strength. His hooves, near twice the size of her own, were encased in a set of moonsilver slippers; one was dropped lazily over the arm of its owner's chair, and the other...

Gala's mouth went dry, though she had the strangest sensation she wanted to drool like a pup. The other was wrapped tenderly around a pillar of pulsating flesh large enough to make her blood run cold.

"Ah," Artemis murmured, a smirk tugging on his regal face. Not quite a sneer, nor a leer, his grinning muzzle betrayed a total sense of comfort and self-assurance with the world around him. His chiseled chest lowered as he breathed out, his well-kept eyelashes fluttering with obvious pleasure as his wings stiffened out behind him. "My dear lady Upper Crust—your voice may have been shrill, but your torso is positively delicious.

His left hoof stroked against a great, throbbing mass of black that Gala could have honestly mistaken for a smaller version of the pillars decorating the ballroom. Other than the smell, of course. All of the ponies around them were well-dressed, clad in dresses and suits and slacks as well as quadrupedal equines could manage—even Red Gala had taken the time to dress up for the occasion. But the Prince was nude, and astoundingly so. A gigantic stallionhood, larger than anything she'd ever dreamed of, let alone seen, stuck out from his exposed crotch in obscene incorrigibility. Prince Artemis sighed happily, his broad shoulders pressing back against his seat as he stroked his mega-member with obvious glee.

Longer than half again her height, and wide enough to swallow up a pony's torso, the dang thing could have been a tree trunk on its own, never mind her thighs. Red Gala gulped, and felt her back legs both trying to spread apart and pull together at the same time. She was a big ol' mare from a family of big mares, and more than one stallion had left her feeling empty...but she'd be damned if the sight of that thing didn't leave her gaping in downright fear.

Speaking of swallowing ponies down... Gala's eyes widened as she noticed a pair of—no, yes, those were hooves sticking out from Artemis' triumphant flare. His enormous cockslit, two feet across and a good quarter that in height, flared and blurbled as the two limbs poking out from its dark depths wiggled helplessly down.

Artemis' eyes squeezed shut, his heavy body shivering lightly, and he grunted with a happy grin. "So eager, my lady," he said loudly, in a cadence almost approaching a moan. "Ready to join the last competitor, I see?"

A soft whine reached Gala's ears, which perked up in shock. Her eyes widened, and she felt her hooves root in place as she realized that she was hearing screaming—squealing, perhaps, as Artemis' cock's captive struggled to break free of its mighty grip.

She could see the very faint outline of the mare—the hooves looked like a mare's, at least—pressing against the sides of the shaft as the suction of Artemis' cock vacuumed her down. With a final wail, the mare's flailing limbs vanished completely into the gaping slit, and a single, powerful flex of the Prince's cock actually seemed to gulp her down its length. Gala’s cheeks paled as she saw the outline slide swiftly down and then disappear into one of the Prince's gigantic nuts; at easily four feet in diameter each, they seemed almost to gurgle hungrily as their victim was swallowed up into their depths. She could actually see the mare's shape squirming, struggling within that gigantic testicle—and then she watched those struggles fade, weakening, as its volume slowly collapsed.

"Mm, yes." Artemis licked his lips and patted his great nutsack approvingly. A final moan reached the crowd's ears from his churning nuts, and then the mare fell silent, the outline having faded completely. With a lustful grunt, Artemis smacked his chops and gave one massive testicle a slap; in response, it sloshed and wobbled like a water-balloon, its seed-loaded contents clearly stuffed beyond any reasonable amount. Their victim's mass—for clearly, Gala noticed, with wide eyes, that was where it had gone—had left them comfortably bloated, adding on another six inches in diameter as their liquid contents continued to swell.

"Mm-mmff!" Prince Artemis grunted happily, squirming sensually against the back of his throne as the glorping and gurgling within his gargantuan nuts finally came to an end. Groaning softly, he squeezed his enormous cock with both hooves, tracing one across the length of a vein as wide as a smaller stallion's foreleg, and gave the audience a wink. "I do love a squirmer."

A beat later, he coughed. "But!" Artemis said, clapping his hooves together in a snap that brought the attention of the crowd back to the moment—"one more loss doesn't mean that the competition ends, yes?" He grinned toothily, a gleam of perfect white flashing from behind his lips. "After all," he grunted, giving his gigantic ballsack another smack while his other foreleg flexed with muscle, "it just means that one of you gets an even larger load in the end."

Red Gala started when a mare beside her—the little thing was so tiny that she'd barely even noticed her—squealed in delight before falling into a dead faint against Gala's foreleg. Somewhat awkwardly, Gala tried to remove her—and then stared when she saw the sheer number of mares panting with obvious lust in Artemis' direction.

Something firm prodded her in the side. Blinking rapidly, Gala turned to her other side and saw a pair of light brown ears flicking impatiently in the bottom of her vision. Biting her cheek, she glanced down, and met the gaze of a bright-eyed earth pony mare. The mare was grinning up at her in a manner that could only be described as "cheeky."

"Wonderin' what they're up to, love?" The mare's voice was chipper, and her accent indisputably Trottish.

Gala blinked again, and then did her best not to look too nonplussed. "Lil' bit."

The Trottish mare burst out laughing. "Please, love—you're staring!" She winked and held out a hoof. "Doctor Whooves—I believe I've seen you around Ponyville on a few business trips. Red Gala, I presume?"

Feeling somewhat out of her depth, Red Gala took the hoof and shook it awkwardly in her own. "Eeyup," she mumbled. A bit of her mane fell over her eyes, and she tried to look as though she hadn't just been ogling a mountainous, mammal-devouring stallionhood.

"Makes sense," Whooves went on. "Don't get many Ponyvillians 'round these fancy events. Save for those six special cases—but I wager you'd know all about them, wouldn't you?"

Without even giving Gala a chance to respond, Whooves continued. The mare was like a white-water river, all bubbling and rushing and gushing with so many crescendos and lilts and bouncing pitches to her voice that the quiet, plodding Gala soon felt her ears folding over.

"Now, this," Doctor Whooves continued—and then giggled, though it was closer to a hearty chuckle than anything. "This is a special event. Don't think the Canterlot folks have seen it for near-on a millenium. Well," she said, "little more, I should think. Long time. But it's a fun little competition that our good Prince Artemis holds—a contest for his hoof. Or," she added, with another cheeky grin, "his hard-on."

Red Gala's hide was already red, but she soon found herself blushing more crimson than her namesake as the words bounced around the inside of her skull. In the corner of her vision, she could just make out something else bouncing—or swaying, more like, its great, lazy mass somehow managing to lift a few inches off the ground as it stiffened and throbbed. "Contest?" she mumbled, barely able to hear her voice over the squeals and buzz of the crowd. "For his..."

"Eeyup!" Whooves chuckled again. "Fun little traditions, those old Lunarians had. Cute, really. But that's the truth of it—unlike his brother, Artemis has never really been the type of stallion to settle. He's a proud buck, that one—a bull, and a bull never goes anywhere without a proper herd. So he likes to add on a few members at any of these big ol'—well, they're not really celebrations, eh?" She finally took a breath, and winked. "Get-togethers, call 'em. But a big royal like him has a big appetite, and bigger standards. A stud of Artemis' size and stature? Only the best for him."

Despite herself, Gala found herself growing curious—and not just because she was trying to keep her eye off of the unbearably fat, juicy shaft that was slowly, seemingly against gravity, beginning to pull its way up into the air. "Like what?"

Whooves smirked. "Why, they'll have to fit him inside, of course." She held one foreleg out wide and flicked her ankle. Her smile grew mischievous. "All two-plus feet of that lovely little girth."

On reflex, Gala glanced back over at the Prince. He'd removed himself from his throne and was now on all fours—well, she decided, more like on all seven. His proud cock and both enormous balls as well rested proudly on the floor, the pair of globes pulsing with steady, groaning arousal behind his muscular hind legs. Meanwhile, the vast girth of the Prince's meaty shaft stuck out far in front of his chest; its medial ring, vast enough to resemble a full hoola-hoop, pushed out just below his chin, with the enormous mass of his member squished tenderly between his strong front thighs.

The floor clicked loudly as one of his great hooves stepped forward. Before him, leading the way like a herald from the old stories, the flare of his massive member glided across the floor on a bed of milky-white precum. Each twitch of his well-toned hips, each sway of his flicking tail made his pony-sized (ponies, she reminded herself) nuts rumble ominously across the floor—and in turn caused more of his musky, stallion lubricant to glorp out onto the tiles below his mighty cockslit. The smile never left Artemis' muzzle as he sauntered around the crowd, his great flare drooling a constant river of pre that could've probably watered and fed half the Apple orchard.

Not to mention an empty Apple mare, Gala thought privately. Then she blushed, eyes widening. Consarnit—was she falling under his spell too? She wasn't one of those squealing, screaming fillies—no sir!

"And of course," Doctor Whooves said casually, "the prize makes it well-worth their while."

Gala blinked. Right. It was a competition, or somethin'. "Prize?" she said.

Doctor Whooves' grin and slyly shifted ears were downright unnerving. "Why, royalty, lass," she said. "Hoof and offspring of the Prince himself. All the amenities of noble blood—and a princely stud to warm your bed every night." She snorted, nostrils flaring as she tossed her mane back over her shoulder. "Don't think that every one of these mares wouldn't kill for it."

"...Eeyup," Gala said, somewhat uncertainly. Her left ear twitched, and she felt her lower lip wobbling. Beneath her fluttering tail, she felt her traitorous nethers tightening with heat, even as her withers flexed anxiously. Screaming, city mares were one thing.

...But royalty?

Ah, darn it.

And the Prince himself was darn pretty—not like a mare, but with a nice, clean kinda look that made him look...strong. Toned. He didn't look like he put on airs, like the rest of these Canterlot folk, Red Gala decided, but the cocky grin on his face was one that an honest, humble Apple would've scrubbed off with a full weekend of hard work. All the same, it was damn hard to say he didn't deserve to at least feel cocky.

With his height, his massive member—from the floor to the top ridge—was almost shoulder height for most of the onlookers. It even towered above a few panting, groaning mares who'd all but prostrated themselves before it, gliding by regally on its lubricant bed of princely arousal. Red Gala had heard of royalty getting servants or something to hold onto a dress as it trailed after 'em, but Artemis' musky mega-nuts didn't seem to want any kind of help. Each one, easily large enough to fit an adult stallion curled up comfortably inside, squelched and groaned with ever-greater amounts of seed as the tree-sized member before them throbbed and flexed with obvious arousal.

And the smell of 'em—Goddess, she'd never smelt anything so deliciously male, so goddamn sexual and musky that it made her want to shove her rear end way up in the air and prep herself for a proper rutting. Red Gala was a no-nonsense mare, but even she had glanced longingly at some of the well-shaped colts in magazines she'd passed as a younger filly. With mares all but fainting—or more, with Gala wincing as one overwhelmed mare's squeal hinted at something much more volcanic—around her, it was only with the utmost strength that she managed to keep her shoulders squared and her needy flank clenched.

She was pretty damn proud of how well she'd managed to keep her tail from flagging at all...at least until another bushwhackin' wisp of that damned musk smogged up her lungs and socked her right in the crotch...though, admittedly, in the fun way. Red Gala sucked in a breath, eyes widening imperceptibly as her knees trembled.

Beside her, Doctor Whooves chuckled. "Feelin' it, eh?" she said. "Well, you're doing better 'n most, lass. These poor mares are falling over themselves to stuff that thing inside them, and never mind the consequences." Gala tried hard not to resent the good doctor's apparent aplomb and perpetually suggestive expression.

The sound of her cocky voice managed to yank Gala back out of her sex-driven descent. The big mare silently thanked her. "Consequences?" Red Gala asked.

Whooves coughed. "Well," she said, drawing out the word real long, "you saw those hooves sticking out earlier?"

Gala's ears went back. "Oh."

"Yeah..." Doctor Whooves shrugged helplessly. "Take it all inside of you, and you win his hoof. But if you can't..."

This time, her wicked grin really made Gala shiver. "If y'can't," Whooves said, winking, "then it takes all of you inside of it."

A strangled cry reached Gala's ears. Her head jerked up—and she saw a mare squeaking, pale with fright, as she struggled to break free of the voracious royal cock before her. It looked like she'd gotten a little too... friendly... with the passing Prince, and his wide-ranging cock had seen a meal and just slurped her hooves up. Three other mares had her gripped around the waist, and were doing their best to tug her free, but Prince Artemis just grinned down at them and chortled. The great suction of his stallionhood, his massive slit gaping large enough to fit a reasonably overweight stallion through, actually seemed to groan with hunger as the mare scrambled to yank her elbows-deep legs free.

A squelch of the great organ yanked her forward, almost sucking her up to her shoulders. Those great nuts churned behind the Prince's toned rump, his cum-factories churning and groaning as they prepared to be filled. With a final grunt, though, the three frantic mares succeeded in pulling their snared friend free—and all collapsed to the floor with a sequence of unladylike shrieks—not all of which were that frightened, come to think of it. The scene wasn't helped when, a heartbeat later, Prince Artemis' mighty cock throbbed and splattered the lot of them with a flood of precum. The mares' high-pitched squeals just made Artemis chuckle all the harder as gallons of sticky, liquid arousal rained down upon them.

"Eager little fillies," the Prince rumbled. He turned his smirk down onto the rest of the audience, and winked. "Though perhaps they weren't quite prepared." He gave his great organ a squeeze between his hind legs, and moaned obscenely as a fresh load of precum erupted to splatter across the interwoven, sticky mares.

From her position just behind him, Red Gala felt her ears fold flat against her head. Her pupils dilated, and she nickered softly.

"Don't look like too much fun for the loser, eh?" Doctor Whooves' voice was...softer, at least a little. "But it's all part of the fun—part of the game, really. And Artemis is happy either way..."

Gala nodded stiffly. Whooves raised an eyebrow, and glanced up at her.

"So?" Whooves said coolly, flicking a knowing grin onto her muzzle. "You thinking of throwin' in your hat, cowpony?"

Gala hesitated. A blush crept onto her face as she once again tried to ignore her own arousal—though the mounting heat of the furnace between her otherwise strong legs was getting almost impossible to push aside.

She shifted her well-made weight uncomfortably, the motion very nearly causing her to gasp as her sensitive lips were pressed between her bulging, muscular hind thighs. Gala felt a line of telltale wetness drip down the inside of her back leg, and flushed even harder. Goddess damn it—she was a grown mare! Not some filly flicking herself off to magazines of pretty colts.

But...all the same, her body knew what it wanted. What she wanted. And Prince Artemis was no colt—his arrogant smirk aside, he was the clearest stallion she'd ever seen. Coming from an Apple—and an Apple who brushed her way through crowds like they were paper—that was more than just a compliment.

And the prize—Red Gala bit her lip, her eyes very nearly crossing as she studied the floor below her. Royalty didn't have to worry about bits. Royalty didn't need to ask permission to expand a farm, or worry about medical bills when Grampy's ol' hip gave out. Royalty just had.

Royalty didn't have to worry about slick-talking ponies taking advantage of Gala's family when her hesitation struck her mute.

Could she throw away that opportunity? She might not have known this princely stud, but he was a stud—and a massive one, at that. Her spine shivered as she took in the sheer, overwhelming presence he had, his toned flank alone exuding sensuality. He was something primal, something literally out of Equestrian past, and his call flared in every motion and every inch of hide. Beside that, his massive, tree-thick organ almost looked comical.

A tree-thick organ that was more than happy to gobble failures down.

Was she scared?

It took her only a moment to answer that question. No, Red Gala decided. No Apple mare had ever run away from a big ol' monster, no matter how big or how mean. That cock looked awful big, and awful mean, but she'd bucked enough Everfree critters in the face to know how to handle an overeager predator. And he wouldn't be the first primal stud that learned to pull alongside an Apple mare in the harness. Gala's eyebrow furrowed, and she opened her mouth to reply—

"Well, then!" Doctor Whooves said brightly beside her. "Looks like you won't need to make that decision just yet—we've got another contestant in line!"

Gala startled. But she followed the Doctor's smug gaze, swiveling her head to the side. She hadn't quite heard it the first time, trapped in her thoughts as she'd been, but a shrill cry of querulous challenge still echoed over the now hushed-crowd. Craning her neck, the big mare could just barely see over Artemis' tall shoulder to a smirking, cream-white and clearly cream-fed mare.

"Well, Uncle?" the mare said with a haughty toss of her hoity-toity mane. "Is my challenge accepted?"

Uncle? Gala nearly choked on her own spit. But as the mare stared down the Prince, she had to admit that there were certain similarities: the long, elegant eyebrows; the toned, tapered waist, the...

Well. She blushed again. Both ponies' rumps were exceptionally large, but where Artemis' bulged with muscle, his...niece's bulged with a rather different kind of mass. It wasn’t unpleasant, mind you, if a pony fancied that kind of thing. Great globes of flesh, supple and round, towered over her corset-clad torso.

If Gala had expected Artemis to scoff or turn away, she'd been sorely mistaken. The Prince's voice was deep, but bereft of none of the rumbling amusement it had held earlier. "Why, my dear Bluebelle," the titanic stallion's voice reverberated. "I would be positively honored to lend my dear niece a chance at such an exciting competition."

Gala could have sworn that he'd turned to wink toward the crowd, though away from (Princess?) Bluebelle’s view.

Of course, Red Gala knew Bluebelle's type: uptight, snooty, and incredibly stubborn in their defiance to accept any sort of truth they didn't like. She carried herself with a different, pettier, and yet more vicious arrogance than Artemis' almost jovial taunting. It came as no surprise, then, when a thoroughly unpleasant grin rolled across the mare's face, as wicked and wrinkled as a rattler's.

"Well, Uncle," Bluebelle purred. She began to pace proprietarily around him, her well-fed body swaying with each sauntering step. And her body did sway—those great honkin' flanks of hers wobbled and smacked together; a pair of golden compasses, undoubtedly her Cutie Marks, jiggled like mad from the sides of her rump.

"One too many sweets suborned from the Palace kitchens, I'll wager." Doctor Whooves leaned in to Gala's side and flicked an ear against the larger mare's neck. Her voice was low, but amused, though there was an undercurrent of almost...contempt? "I'll bet she thinks she's the shapeliest, sexiest mare in this room.” Gala caught her rolling her eyes. “A pity even pears can get squishy when they’re overripe."

Gala couldn't stop a snicker at that. Well-fed Apples tended to resemble the fruits they so loved, but Bluebelle's great, wobbling rear was an impressive contrast to her otherwise slender figure. No doubt she thought it her best feature.

"I think it a pity that so many had to fail," Bluebelle went on, her voice high and haughty. She swept across the floor around her much larger Uncle's flank, that insufferable smirk flicking from one side of her mouth to the other. She tossed her mane over her shoulder yet again, as though she was trying to make sure everyone caught a glimpse of the move. "That's what happens, I suppose, when a commoner attempts to do the work of royalty."

"You think rather highly of yourself, niece" Artemis drawled. "Would you truly dismiss so flippantly the efforts of all these other eligible mares?"

"Pah!" Bluebelle snorted, and came to a stop. She'd circled him completely, and now stood with her side facing him, one forehoof lifted against her chest. "Simpering little fillies, the lot of them." Gala heard a growl behind her. "Not a one as worthy—as mighty as royal blood. Like myself, for example."

Artemis chuckled. With a great hoofstep that almost made the floor shake, he moved toward her and gaze down toward her smaller figure. The long shadow of the Prince of the Night seemed to already be working to consume Princess Bluebelle. "Such confidence," he growled. His muzzle turned up into a wolfish grin. "I agree—it's been too long since my brother outlawed familial breeding. I know I've been longing to turn you into a moaning broodmare since the day I set eye on that fat flank of yours."

Bluebelle's eyes shot wide open and her whole body went shock-still. Her cheeks blazed. "You—" she choked out—but Artemis wasn't done.

"Oh, the delectable wobble of it—like gelatin, or perhaps...marshmallows, are they called?" Artemis stroked his titanic shaft thoughtfully, and grunted as a great squelch of his balls sent another gallon of precum gushing across the floor before him. He paused, then shrugged, grinning again. "Oh, yes, dear niece. Such a fat-rumped little whore you are—I think I would enjoy breeding you the most."

He winked again; this time, Bluebelle was undoubtedly meant to see it. "That is," he added, cheekily, "if your underused cunt won't be blocked by those two planets you call a rump. We do, after all,” he said, rolling over her before she could respond, “have a certain need to get to the main event, I’m sure.”

Bluebelle all but screeched in fury. Gala wasn't certain if the enraged unicorn hadn’t left the ground entirely—her hooves were just waving about so wildly! Some nervous chuckles went up around the crowd, but were silenced when Artemis gazed out coolly out toward them. Cheeks blazing with crimson, a fuming Bluebelle stalked up to her uncle and scowled up at him with all of the fervor of an angry god.

She tried, anyway. Given that the petite Princess didn't even reach his immense cask-like chest, the overall effect was rather spoiled. Still, Gala thought, one eyebrow raising at the exchange, she could at least give her spirit some credit.

"I will win," Bluebelle snarled, glaring up at the Prince. "And when I do, I think I'll quite enjoy having a stud like you at my beck and call."

Artemis only chuckled. "Then by all means," he rumbled. With a flourish of his dinner plate-sized hoof, he gestured toward his tree-trunk cock. It trembled, flexing with arousal as the veins on its surface swelled and stiffened. "Your studding awaits."

Bluebelle didn't lower herself onto Artemis' shaft so much as slam herself down onto it. Taking it, Gala noted with grudging approval, like she already owned the cantankerous critter.  As Artemis was standing, rather than sitting, the length of his member was squeezed tightly between his forelegs and belly, which forced its obscene heft down to press against the ground, rather than hovering above the marble in apparent defiance of gravity. Still, the grunting, gasping Bluebelle seemed to find a way onward, her shoulders shuddering as a low, rolling moan burst from her throat.

"Ooooh—yes." Her eyes rolled back, and her whole body seemed to shiver with satisfied lust. A thin line of drool slipped down her cheek, and she groaned, one hoof pushing back over her side to knead indulgently at her titanic tush. "You're so big inside of me, Uncle—but I knew I could take you. But oh, I'm so full!"

"Really?" Artemis sounded bemused. "I'm rather impressed, really. Because you've only taken the slit of my shaft."

Bluebelle's eyes widened. "No!" she said, nervously. Throat swallowing in rapid, sudden panic, she began to piston her broad hips back and forth, each slam of her padded rump against her uncle's massive flare sending ripples of motion through her well-proportioned rear. "I—I can feel you! Oh, and you're cumming!"

"That," Artemis said mildly, "is precum." He grinned toothily, and leered hungrily down at his struggling niece. True enough, Gala saw that her gigantic, plush rump hadn't even begun to slide down the Prince's massive girth. She remembered the great mass of his insatiable cockslit, remembered the way it had seemed to flex around the helpless mare it had swallowed down like a tremendous mouth. She shuddered, and felt some of her lust run cold.

Bluebelle nearly choked. "N-no." Her eyes bugged out distantly, as if her fate was suddenly clear of her own illusions.

"Oh," Artemis purred, "but it is." Gala was struck at how like a great ol' mountain cat he sounded. He pumped his hips just lightly forward, and the sheer momentum of his titanic member sent Bluebelle toppling awkwardly to the floor. She landed with an undignified "Oof!", her slender forelegs splaying out in front of her as her chest hit the ground. But her succulent ass remained thrust high up into the air, the supple, almost prehensile lip of Artemis' slit shoved firmly between her wobbling cheeks.

Bluebelle moaned. Pleasure? Fear? Simple physical strain?  Gala couldn't tell; she suspected “all of the above” was most likely. Cheeks reddening, and pupils dilating, it was clear that she was rapidly moving to the point of incoherence.

Artemis only smiled more widely. "Be flattered, dear niece!" he said. “Tonight is the night you are joined to true royalty—in a way much more intimate than a self-obsessed harlot like you could have ever begun to imagine.” He raised both forelegs, keeping his body balanced by only the mass of the cock beneath him, and slammed them onto the fat girth of his pulsating shaft. Instantly, it throbbed mightily—Gala could actually hear his enormous nuts churning from where she stood, swelling larger with seed. Bluebelle moaned again, and her belly bloated visibly outward, its volume stretching as more and more liquid was pumped into it.

Now, Artemis showed more reaction than simple bemusement; his eyes narrowing almost to slits, and a contemptuous tightening of the jaw. Gala wasn't sure someone who wasn't as laconic as herself would see it, but she did. For a family-oriented mare, it was almost unthinkable, but the stories a sobbing Elusive had told...Gala was certain that Artemis knew what Bluebelle had been up to. A quick glance at Whooves showed a cold rage in the doctor's posture.

The others might have been tragedy, but Gala was possessed by a sudden peculiar sense that this wasn't a betrayal of family. It was family taking care of its own bad apple, the hard way.

"Not a drop of seed, I'm afraid." Artemis clicked his tongue sadly. "Only pre. Though I'll admit it's intensely difficult to restrain myself when such a wondrously large rear is teasing my flare so." He chuckled, and leered down at his prone, moaning niece. "It's not every day one receives a—lap dance?—from one's dearest descendant."

"B-but..." Bluebelle's voice was soft, groaning. She sounded...confused. Lost.

"But," Artemis continued, his voice growing stern: "I'm afraid you've failed after all, dear Bluebelle." He shrugged his broad shoulders, and groaned when another lurch of his megacock bloated Bluebelle's belly out with another two gallons of precum. The helpless mare looked ten months pregnant, and with twins—and the Prince himself hadn't orgasmed a drop. His smile grew wider, jagged, predatory, and his eyes narrowed once again. "And, I am afraid, that that means that you've become..."

He coughed, and brushed one hoof delicately across his ethereal mane. "...lunch."

Bluebelle's head jerked up. Her eyes bulged. "What—no?" Not even a true protest, just confusion. She sounded dumbfounded that this was even a possibility.

"Yes," Artemis said. He sounded almost cheerful, Red Gala thought. He gave his mighty cock another playful smack, and groaned when his gurgling balls rumbled ominously in response. "My dear stallionhood is hungry—and my true future wife needs a proper load of seed to fill her. Sadly," he said, sounding not even slightly so, "that mare shall not be you."

"No!" Bluebelle yelped, aware now—but too late; her back hooves were already within Prince Artemis' cockslit. The impatient obscenity had already swallowed up to the ankles when she'd been prone and helpless on the floor. She squirmed, struggled to break free—but only succeeded in lodging herself up to her knees in her uncle's magnificent rod, her hind legs locking together as it bulged and contracted, gulping her down, inch by inevitable inch.

"You—you can't do this!" Her eyes were wild, her voice desperate. "I—I am royalty! You can't swallow me down like those—those commoners!"

"I'm afraid I can," Artemis rumbled. He indolently massaged his great cock, just barely able to reach his medial ring with one lengthy foreleg. Already, the outline of Bluebelle's hind legs was barely visible as a bulge in the first few feet of his flare...and it was growing by the second, as more and more of her was sucked down by his eager member. "And my royal stallionhood seems to find you delicious."

"Nggh!" Bluebelle thrashed about, but only squealed aloud when her movement succeeded in lodging her tremendous rump, easily twice the width of her torso, inside the gaping cockslit behind her. Artemis' gigantic nuts rumbled their ravenous approval, each one tall enough to tower over a well-sized stallion by now, and his cock trembled with satisfaction. The voluminous mass of Bluebelle's plump rump bulged out the Prince's shaft as it was swallowed past the flare, followed swiftly by her slender waist and torso.

"No," Bluebelle gasped, writhing. She fell back on the same denial; it must have never failed her before. "You can't—"

"Please," Artemis groaned, "do keep wriggling. It's such a delightful sensation—and only heightens the appetite." He grinned, and gave his shaft a mischievous slap as another six inches of bobbing Bluebelle vanished into its gluttonous depths. "And I certainly can."

"I—"

"Superior," he scoffed, cutting her weakening voice off. "Royalty. Please." He shook his head and sighed. "A pity—you really thought that you'd be worth more than just a bellyfull of jizz." Licking his lips, he grinned with feral delight, and smirked out across the crowd. "But I'm sure the load you'll fuel will make some other mare very happy—and quite full and fertile, indeed."

"No," Bluebelle sobbed, her voice so weak as to resemble a whimper—and then she was gone. Just one well-decorated hoof stuck out of the mammoth cockslit now. With a lewd glorble and an obscene gulp!, it too vanished down into the great gullet of her uncle's bulging shaft. A single flex of the great pillar of meat pushed her down from its maw into its owner's waiting testes; instantly, they swelled up in size, their great, spherical shadows stretching across the floor.

Artemis groaned breathily, kneading his magnificent shaft as the bulging form of the mare within his ballsack slowly dissolved. He had no eyes for the crowd or indeed anything but his shaft now, tending to it lovingly. As he stroked himself, far behind, the clean, rounded surface of his impossibly plump balls smoothing back into place as their new captive was digested—rather noisily, with further glorps and gurgles and sloshing aplenty—into every bit as much virile spunk as the Prince himself had promised.

And then Artemis groaned, exhaled, and smiled. "Thank you for playing," he purred, and gave his shaft a final, friendly pat. With a deep grunt, and nary a glance for the crowd even now, he hauled his bulk around in the direction of his throne, his massive, cum-bloated nuts sliding across the small sea of precum that his drooling member left behind.

With another grunt, he plopped himself firmly down onto the great golden chair. As he took his leisure, both hooves held firm to the lightly-decorated arms as his once-more victorious cock bobbed lazily in the air. Its massive weight was pushed up into the air by the equally—if not more so—massive size of the Prince's alicorn-sized nuts. Artemis smiled, and offered the crowd a pleasant wave of his nuts churned with fresh seed beneath him.

"Shall we have the next competitor?" he said, pleasantly. He sounded so darn gentlecolt-like, a geniality Gala trusted about as much as a Shim-Sham sisters promise. "Which mare would like to be bred next?" Or, the unspoken addition went, like to be broken down into the cum that would impregnate the eventual winner?

His cock trembled in obvious anticipation. Artemis' lip curled cockily. Red Gala clenched her hoof.

"I reckon I'm good for it," she said, loudly. She stepped forward—and the crowd, which had been buzzing all around her, fell silent. Next Chapter: The Main Event Estimated time remaining: 33 Minutes