There was an arena fit for the Flyer's rite, of course. This was a griffon base, after all. Anything they stayed in for more than a month, let alone a long-standing operations facility, would have at least some posts and platforms set up. This wasn't a big ritzy affair like a full legion might have, but the tiered stadium seating looked almost empty. Lonely, even with Gilda’s cohort filling in and taking griffishly large personal space bubbles.

Still, it had well-maintained sands below for the final moments of the fight, when one opponent was too weak to fly. It had the long columns of varying height, magically reinforced to withstand multiton weights moving at substantial kay-pee-aitch-squared accel. The platforms on top were broad enough for Gilda herself to fight on with room to maneuver. That said, the lower "branch" shelves made little more than a perch for the next swoop-n-smash for anygriff, let alone a giantess like Gilda.

She'd lovingly carved the repetitions of "Discipline," and "Savagery," all over them herself, blessing the arena to the Flyer's purpose. Knowing her god looked on in favor added an extra tingle to Gilda's loins, like her nookie was getting high marks on her fitness report. Tartarus, she thought with a snap of her jaws, For all I know, I am. And dayam, I am the fittest.

She was on the furthest eastern platform, and Bulk the western. That all said, they were well within mutual visual range, so she took her time posing. Her bare fur and feathers acted as little more than decorations across the extravagant nakedness of her gargantuan twelve-foot-six, super-cut frame. She put a bend into her stance, letting her legs ripple as she squatted just a bit, ready for the opening leap. Legs thicker than most of her troops' torsos, thank you very much.

Smiling, Gilda reminded herself, My griffon troops, that’s right. Her titanic wings sharply swept, ready to catch air-- all the air. For the crowner, she curled up her tremendous right arm and lovingly nuzzling her beak against the eighty-inch circumference monster she called a bicep.

She might not have the pure "push" power and resistance, pound per pound, that a hyper pony like her opponent/to-be-lover had. She had what she considered much better-- the Flyer's gift to all his children was a combination of preternatural reflexes, senses, speed, strength, stamina, and above all focus. Which meant that the terms of the fight were just fine by her. No magic, she thought with smug satisfaction. Not my blazefighting, not my prayers, but no weatherwinging and whatever Flutters has given him, either. Just what our mommas gave us and daddies dealt us.

And it was just that extra set of magic, really, that gave ponies their edge in war, right? Of course, she reassured herself. Then scoped out her meat-to-be.

Bulk Bicep, a mere nine feet tall but with dangerously broad shoulders in proportion, with ridiculously ripped muscles and ridiculously small wings, was… not posing. That's kinda disapp… she began, and her train of thought rammed into a fallen log. A fallen log attached to his scorchfucked groin! Maybe we shoulda let him wear a cup-- that damn thing looks like it'd hurt as much as a club if he whacked away with it!

Nah, she dismissed the idea even as her clit throbbed at the ideas rushing through her head at the sight. Males and futas are such babies about it. Me, I'm tough, even in the titties. She was getting focused, her hunter's lock on right onto that lovely length of maleness. She sighed happily, smirking broadly, her pussy captivated by the promising thoughts it evoked. Both stemming from the idea of being able to capture and dominate that super-dick, and the idea she didn't dare name. She needed no distractions now; it was time to prove that she was not just command material, but the dominant griff of her generation.

Of course, the treacherous parts whispered again, He's a pony. Not in any line of command, and you could prove yourself upon others even if… No. Focused. Focused on the fight, focused on the flight, and focused on the fulfillment of victory. She would have it. Nothing could stop her now.

Four feet of length and eight inches of girth were nice and all for bragging, but today, Bulk was faced with the most gorgeous mortal creature he'd ever seen naked. He was therefore beginning to realize that there were some disadvantages to the blessings he'd been born with.

Balance… he muttered at himself. You're just going to have to deal with a hard-on while Gilda has a hard… thought… on for taking you down. You wanted this, dude. And you want to win. He grunted, shifting himself on magnificent quads, the muscular columns tight with definition and packed with power. Far more than flesh alone could promise.

However, he wasn’t relying on just his personal, inborn gifts. He was a trainer and trainee by nature. Pushing himself was his reason for being. And not merely in the grind of weights and shape and exercise that made every last individual muscle a testament to the aesthetics and function of power alike, either. As Fluttershy's guard captain, he'd mastered himself even more than any hyper did to remain within Harmony. Control of the flow of his blood, of the twitch of tendon and the expansion of muscle, all was his, from the burly fifty inches of bicep circumference to the giant treetrunks of his quads.

An' none of that is helping me get my erection down, he thought wryly as his eyes trailed, pegasus-sharp, over Gilda's gorgeously potent frame and deliciously bouncy breasts. So I'd best focus on moving with it. Not for him, then, posing. He paced, small wings flicking rapidly behind him, getting a sense of how his body moved with so much… forwardness.

He gritted his teeth. He wasn't fullblood hummingbird-- thankfully for Flutters' food budget-- so he didn't have the pinpoint reflexes and turn-on-a-bit cornering to make up for distraction. More than that, in Gilda Griffon, delicious potency and delicious size and delicious threat made for one applebuck of a distraction. It isn't like I haven't bottomed before, he admitted. For Flutters, when she felt like it. For his princess.

Bulk respected Gilda. But every hyper nerve in him wanted to dominate her. Unfortunately, they also wanted to linger on the physical reasons for that lust. He didn't think drooling about boobs and muscles and wings would help his tactical decision-making.

So here I am, he thought, hard as a changeling's heart and needing to be colder in the head. Lovely.

There was only one thing to do. "Oh, yeah," he growled. Muscles shifted under pale hide; he could feel his ears plaster back against his skull. He flicked his tail over tightened glutes, and willed himself to stand a little wider. Forced his wings out and low, his packed torso parallel with them and, well, his dick.

He focused his vision, and the field of poles and platforms seemed to pull back and away. His eyes met Gilda's and he nodded once. She was strong, tough, and beautiful.

Bulk couldn't vouch for the beautiful bit, but he knew in that moment, he was tougher, and stronger. It was time to show it. Just gotta wait for the signal… He blinked, and realized, I have no idea what the signal is supposed to be.

Her beak dropped in a wicked smile, and he was certain she knew he didn't know. Oh well, he thought, and readied his body anyway. He didn't need an external signal. He just needed her.

… To show when she's about to move, he reminded himself. Oh, ponyfeathers, I'm a liar. I need that taut ass up and squawking mouth down, too.

No distractions. He allowed himself no further distractions. His eyes on Gilda were honed to look for the crease; for the tell in her muscle and bone and being when she was about to commit to the leap. To the moment of the strike. And not because she was the most singularly buff babe he'd seen who didn't have wings and horns both.

He didn’t have time to listen to the part of him whispering, You are such a liar, Bulk Biceps...

There! he thought, and let out a wordless bellow. He'd seen the leap coming. It had started with those long, bulky (harr) legs tightening, with calves bulging and quads pushing out. Her hips had shifted, long curves pressing and while she'd had the discipline to stop her tail from lashing like a nonsapient cat's, she'd curved it to counterbalance.

Then her wings had tightened. Then they had flared. But Bulk was already roaring, and already moving, and if she had the altitude on him as well as the height, he had the aim. He had the purpose, the drive, and he used her own momentum to increase the force of his bodyslam into her midsection.

The undignified squawk that accompanied the wind he knocked out of her was a bit flattering to his soldier's ego. No matter how deep said ego was hidden beneath a lifelong masseuse and worshipper of Life.

The solid elbow to his back, only narrowly missing his more fragile wingbones, was not so much flattering as flattening. The smash made him lose his grip on Gilda and the wind alike, careening downwards. His instinctive pump of his wings saved him from a debilitating crash, but the pain screamed through him.

It was not the way he would have chosen to kill his erection for the fight.

The fight continued in much the same way. Gilda was sweating thick through her fur-- almost through her feathers!-- by the time she landed, huffing, on his initial platform. That freaky shrimp isn't just strong, he's fast! she thought, narrowing her eyes and focusing her vision on him despite the roars of pain her battered body was giving her. Her boobs weren't just heaving at this point, her whole body was!

Worse, she thought grimly, he knows what he's doing. The snarls of agony she was feeling, that she hoped he was getting his own Minoan Chorus on the same-- those were the only sounds in the arena while the two fighters recovered.

Intellectually, Gilda was aware that even some hyper ponies had skill, and didn't just lean on the talents the spirits had blessed them with in unfair abundance. She wouldn't have dared to challenge Shining Armor with his magic allowed, for example, and Applejack had kicked her ass once before her ascension.

(She never let her troops forget her lesson either-- do not engage Earth Ponies on the ground.)

Emotionally, she was proud she'd gotten a fair number of hits in. Bulk wasn't flying as quick as those stupid little near-hummingbird flappers let him to start. Nor was he as maneuverable; she was certain he wouldn't be able to get past her guard on contact now.

Which is a good thing, she realized, clacking her beak as she watched his stance; her turn to await a pounce she was sure was coming. He'd managed to get a few glancing jabs in early on when she'd thought she'd found the tell for his punches and was dead wrong.

Each one had knocked her completely off course and her ribs and left tit were still throbbing, and not in a good way. She'd managed a nutshot that had gotten him off her ass, but she'd had to land, too. She wouldn’t have believed it of any gender with a groin shot-- that pony recovered way too damn fast!

Still, Gilda told herself, he's not an earth pony. Tough, but he can't draw on the land through the wood of the platforms. He wasn't recovering as fast as AJ had, and that gave her the chance to let the Flyer's passive gifts flow through her body.

She considered his strategy so far. The hot little midget had waited for her to make the first lunge, and then counterslammed. She should have been able to keep him on the defensive with a reactive scheme like that, but each time she went for him, he'd outmaneuvered her. A swoop had met with a spiraling flight and heavy hits against her back and legs, which had weakened her launch. She'd wingslapped him out of that, and converted to getting her knees into his ribs.

Only to have him grab her thigh so hard it bruised. She'd fought out of the grapple, but only barely. Fucker is a hyper. Cheating bastard, her mind snarled. I've got mass and reach on him, but he's so much stronger. I had no idea. I can't stay body to body, not even for a little while…

She wanted to. Fuck she wanted to stay body to body with him now. She'd been on the losing side of challenges before. No one wins all the time; even the Flyer and Celestia had taken their lumps. And they've made me horny, too, she thought. Just not…

Not this horny. She wanted to kneel. Her nipples were as hard as his dick had been to start, and her clit was no longer taking messages from her sense of discipline. Each time he'd turned her tactics against her, each time she'd felt just how strong he was, it made her want to juice.

Shit, she realized. I've already gushed. There was no reason for him beating her to affect her like this. To make her want to give in. Not to claim him and take him like she… knew she wanted. Even being schooled by the Flyer's high priest had just made her lusty to try to take the top. To earn her way higher.

I don't have time for this! she knew. She needed to take him down, not consider why…

why…

Fuck it, she thought finally with a beak-dropping grin she hoped was intimidating Bulk, if just a bit. I take him and get him, or he takes me and gets me. So I might have to fuck up a few ambitious griffs with more guts than sense. That's fun, too. And if it ends up with me having little hippogrifflets and the pregnancy eased by the goddess of life and kindness herself both ways, what the fuck am I complaining about?

Her eyes widened and her beak opened wider. Yep, she noted proudly. Got that gorgeous, hung fucker looking nervous. Ain't gonna make it easy for you, baby. Gonna make you work for my ass, and if you end up as top…

Her parents were switches, changing roles depending on who had the advantage. It wasn't the dom that drove, either, for all they fought over it, even today. Gilda had been taught that a sub has expectations from their dom growing up, which is why she drove her fucktoys to exhausted pleasure. One way or another. It'll be nice to have someone else do the work for a change, she 'told' him mentally. Including now. Ain't throwing it for ya, baby. Not even for that prick and a chance to relax and be used like a horny bitch. C'mon, give it to me!

So she waited. If he wanted to react, well, she wasn't going to give him another chance. Either he fucked up his aggression, or his aggression fucked her up and left her pussy squealing as loud as her squawking beak.

Win-fucking-win was her last non-instinctive thought when she realized he was going airborne. Laughing and screaming an ancient Tribal cry to the Flyer, she launched as well, throwing every inch of her twelve-foot-six frame, every ounce of her superpacked muscles and supermax predator body at him.

All or nothing.

Little deaths or big glory.

Gilda knew she was leaving a trail of arousal behind her as she flew, and didn't fucking care.

Bulk conserved a bit on his launch. She wasn't making her move, and that smile-- it made his wings ache and his spine try to leap before the rest of his body. They'd been in it rough, and while he thought he was getting the better of each, she was tougher than he was.

One big, buff, beautiful badass griffon babe. Huge quads. Huge. He'd seen normal pony 'lifters who didn't have the shoulder breadth those things did. Any fat on her was planted in three places: butt, boobs, and hips. The rest looked like raw muscle upon muscle upon bone that felt like he was punching steel, with a thin layer of skin and maybe some fat hiding in there, somewhere. Covered up by rich fur and weather-ready feathers.

If some nerdy unicorn set out to idealize "Griffon, Warrior, Badass," they would have creamed themselves upon even imagining Gilda. She took punches he knew could fell full-adult, feral-body dragons… because they had. Knee to the side? Bruised, sure, but she had kept on coming, kept on snarling, trying to break him with arms the size of his legs.

But.

He was a hyper. And-- though he knew she'd fought hypers before-- his cutie mark was for lifting. For strength. He might not be an alicorn, nor an earth pony, but he had taken Maud Pie to a draw once, and the only pony that didn't have the full set of Tribal characteristics who could beat her was Big Mac… Bulk's spotter. So he knew he was bringing it hard with every flurry and every strike.

The problem still was that she had more give to go than he did, and he was past the point where care was needed.

He didn't know why Gilda was smiling like that. He could smell how much it turned her on as he neared the apex of his leap, and she came at him, just like he had her. A leap like that, against a fellow heavywing with boosted flight? She'd used it because she usually was the heaviest wing, and gravity had been on her side as it wasn't on his.

So as Bulk snapped his little wings back, he understood why she'd countered. The problem was… he knew the counter's counter.

Multiple tons of horny, battle-crazed griffon was rocketing at him just as he was reaching his apex. When they hit, the potential energy he was counting on would be in her favor, just like it had helped him knock the wind out of her deliciously chiseled abs. If he was there when it happened.

His wings didn't like what happened next, and let him know. Span wasn't everything for a sophont flier. It couldn't be; their bodies (especially his and Gilda's) were simply too dense, too big. Rainbow Dash had tried explaining what she'd learned from Twilight about it to him, but she'd been bored, and he knew she was getting even the mechanics wrong, but he'd caught the gist. Magic-- the divine gifts of the Flyer for Gilda and the strange inheritance of pegasi for him-- was their lift and their speed.

But the wings channeled it. So when he buzzed them up good and fast, he felt like Gilda was raking him with her full talons. And the winged fighter's strength somehow influenced it. Which is why he'd made Wonderbolt reserve.

And why he was able to do a forward flip just as Gilda's outstretched wall she called a shoulder was heading for his abs, ready to crush their rock as he'd smashed hers. Magic and strength and agility, all natural and perfectly legal for the fight, mixed and melded and let him turn himself completely up through one-eighty, then damn near fully around to three-sixty, as he grappled her shoulders from behind, his body's muscled mass crashing into her vulnerable wings.

She howled as Bulk caught her. Growled and scrabbled instinctively, even as his nostrils filled with the sudden realization that she was just as happy-- perhaps more-- to be caught as to catch. With his giant captive fighting all the way, Bulk continued the spin and decided to give her a taste of his full strength. To let the power in his cutie mark free.

It started from his ass. One of the problems with the mark. His rump tightened, glutes bulging as he fed his strength into magic into flight. His quads followed; not mammoth on Gilda's level, not even proportionally, but strong. Each individual bulge bulked right out, a rippled, rolling hilly plateau of power, while his abdominis and oblique muscles tightened at his core, like he was about to cum right then and there. And maybe he was on the edge.

They both knew he'd seized the moment, after all.

But lift and carry and throw; perfect form, true to his mark, flowed. His pecs flared, plateaus all their own with tight crinkles under his hide to show the tense, fibrous interweave as they pulled. The biceps he was named for, the triceps that he spared no effort to perfectly sculpt responded, and with them, the chiseled mastery of his back and wings followed. To his forearms, to his hands scooping under Gilda's beautifully beefy arms, hell, even his neck was tense with the power he felt down to his calves, to his feet, all at once.

So he threw her, right towards the central platform, lowest and broadest, the traditional endpoint for a match bent on a sex. He'd looked that up, at least. Threw her, and followed, tucking into a divebomb as she fell, squawking, gorgeously giant limbs flailing. All six unable to arrest or even slow what Bulk had done to her.

The ancient, blessed redwood of the platform creaked dangerously when Gilda hit it, flat on her back, her wings tucked to avoid a serious break. That wasn't enough for him. He wanted to end this, and to show his dominance over her so thoroughly that… that…

That the jackholes in the stands would know that the only thing that had overthrown their tribune was an elemental force, and they had better not mess with his bitch. Which was what he was going to make her.

Bulk careened into her, huge forearms crossed in front of him. He bodychecked her across the torso, crashing into the platform on those parts that didn't clobber her chest and belly. He knew she was strong enough to take this, and hoped that the platform wasn't.

It couldn't. Wood that would have made excellent modern siege fortifications twisted as his force diffused through it, snapping, groaning, then roaring as it cracked. He kept going, driving the pole supporting the platform into the earth with Gilda's body, just like he planned to plow his-- now once again fully hard-- cock into her until she called him master. In that moment, he would have fucked her in front of everyone else, his shyness forgotten.

The platform shattered. Acolytes in the crowd let out a hum to the Flyer, and everyone found themselves moving with savage speed yet disciplined motion, evading the jagged remnants of what had been the strongest single construction on the base.

The platform couldn't drive into the earth fast enough, and exploded as well. No shards to worry about; Bulk had pulverised the shaft as he slammed his giantess sub-to-be earthwards.

He hoped that wouldn't happen to his dick, and decided to try and avoid such comparisons for the moment.

Impact. Another explosion, a crater rent from the earth by the force of the two champions hitting it. More of the poles toppled, crashing around them, but Bulk wasn't worried about that. He had her pinned down at last, but he had to hold her and keep her there.

So with a snarl, he flipped the much more massive griffon over onto her front, grinding her torso down into the center of the pit, pinning his elbow hard between her wingbases. "Got you!" he roared. "Oh yeah!" His immense cock slapped her side, all forty-eight inches of it hammering her. He hadn't meant to flex his hips when he did that, slamming her further down, sending her massive megazon form sprawling out, chiseled ranges of muscles going everywhere.

And out of his grip. Panicked, he didn't hold back when he lunged forward and grabbed for her tree-thick arms, yanking them up backwards, perpendicular to her broad torso. "Wait!" groaned Gilda. "Wait, damn you, fuckin' pony!"

The room went silent. Bulk waited.

"I give," Gilda said with a shudder, and her beak snapped.

His jaw dropped. She couldn't see it, so she went on, saying, "You've… you don't have to do any more fuckin' damage. It's going to be hard to give you-- ow!-- a proper handjob if you pop my shoulders out of their sockets!" As he slowly let her arms fall, she muttered, "And my legs are gonna get tired asskicking my troops enough as it is. Can I please have hands to smack 'em or are you gonna be a sore winner about this?"

Asskicking, he thought. Right. She has to establish dominance. But… They'd agreed to the match. She wasn't safewording-- it would have caused her to lose face, but he would have let her out even if she'd whispered. By body and action, she was telling him she wanted to submit. That all twelve-foot-six of super-badass Gilda Griffon, largest, buffest, beefiest, and juiciest of the Griffon Tribes wanted him to rule her. To mate her, and, with caveats to both of their cultures' Harmony, to own her.

Bulk wasn't great at long term thinking. But the same words and actions that screamed, "Take me, dweeb!" in pure Gilda, also made a future he wanted badly yawn open before him. A future with a female that more or less was his ideal in the mortal realm, with more than enough uniqueness that he knew how real she was. How real he wanted a relationship with her to be.

That meant being a good husband and supporting his wife's career. Being a good dom and making sure his sub didn't get hassled for submitting. He got the picture eventually, after all, and was pretty certain this is what Fluttershy had meant by 'mares' worthy of him. Singular, and not a mare, but all female. His female. Fluttershy wanted him happy, and he'd known Gilda for long enough to know that this would not be easy, but they'd both be happier-- and more satisfied-- than they would be with anyone else.

He nodded. "Yeah," he grunted at her quietly, and when she let out a most un-Gildaish whimper, he continued, "Uh, not the sore winner thing. Jus' somethin' on my mind." He rose slowly, but planted a foot on her back to hold her down, wings and buffness and huge boobs alike, and the whimper became a very Gilda-ish whine of pleasure and satisfaction.

Staring at the shocked crowd, he roared, a triumphant whinny. "This is my meat!" he shouted at them. "Any of you jerks--" he couldn't really bring himself to call them fuckers like she did-- "Have a problem with my meat bein' the toughest, buffest, uh, commandy-iest among you…"

He paused, and while a quiet thunder of heartbeats and beak-clacks went on, got off Gilda, grabbed her by the shoulder again, and hauled her to her feet in front of him. He hoisted her as subtly as he could to make it look like he wasn't supporting her; after all, he had a reason for what he was going to say. "Any of you have a problem with that," he yelled again, "you take it up with her! The only command I'm gonna give is that she not show you any more mercy than keeps you useful for her. Got me?"

Dead silence again… except for the steady drip of his precum and her femjuices. Her body was quivering, and he knew it was with an unexpected emotion.

Joy.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For not making it about how you'd do it for me."

"You're welcome," he yelled back. Had to, or she wouldn't hear him above the cheers. No one else would, that was for sure. "Always! Flutters set this up, didn't she?"

"She didn't tell me! But probably! Also, we're not done!"

"Huh?" Bulk asked, confused, and she turned to face him once again. She towered over him in the renewed silence. Her pecs were pumping with every breath behind her massive melons, her bruised body shuddering with some unexplained effort. Constant waves of gathering strength, bulging and then relaxing, moved swiftly through her. All of a sudden, he kissed those beautifully un-bound G-cups, sucking hungrily at the nipples like he had before.

Why not? he asked himself. They're mine now, yeah?

Not entirely, apparently. Beak dropping in another griffish smile, Gilda batted his muzzle away. "Later, dude, geez! Gotta finish!" she told him severely. Then dropped with perfect control and discipline into a kneel. It was a pretty show; her wings bowed against her broad back, huge tits low enough to grind against her upraised right thigh. She even flexed both thunderstorm thighs, squeezing and showing herself off in a very clear enticement. Then she beak-smiled back up at him.

"Captain Bulk-Biceps," she said, her deep voice rumbling over the crowd, "I am Tribune Gilda Griffon of the Immunes Adversi Tenebras Magicas. You have defeated me-- defeated my arena!-- in front of my troops. Until the Flyer blesses a rematch, I am your possession in sexual matters. You are the master of my clitoris; the owner of my sex. Will you honor me by mating me? By sealing your victory with a tribute of this Tribune?"

If anything, it got even quieter.

Bulk reached down (ish, even kneeling she was at stomach height on him) and stroked and scritched her headfeathers. He blessed his rare pre-Flutters experience in taking care of a griffon customer or two; it seemed to be just what the tribune ordered. As she cooed, and wriggled her massive body like she was a tiny broodie normal pony, he said, "Yes, Gilda Griffon. I will marry you." He blushed, and the slowly recovering audience gave catcalls while he asked, "So, uh… How do we do this?"

"You rape me, idiot," Gilda told him, and then dropped her jaw and slobbered her tongue messily along his entire, throbbing length. As her words penetrated his skull, she made little mewling noises while her tongue-- not raspy, thank Harmony-- slurped and swirled around his veiny bulk. All he could do at first was moan, but in between messy tongue-trails, his griffon mumbled, "Taste so good… fuck… What've I been wastin' my orgasms on…" before silencing herself by licking a long spiral from his fat medial ring to his fatter cock-crown.

Treacherous and well-pleasured, Bulk's huge cock began to splurt precum that she immediately pigged out on. While he tried to figure out how to respond to this seemingly evil concept, his… victim? to be let out a hunting cry and began to rapidly flick her tongue at each new glob of slick lube.

Eventually, that didn't satisfy her, and she used how disproportionately huge his dick was to her advantage. Despite being a third again taller than Bulk, with change, his cock's flare was so wide, so fem-breakingly immense that she was able to worshipfully prench the cumslit. Not only did this let her get a jump on licking up his precum, but it let her pleasure him more too, and as she pressed her beakjob to him carefully, he couldn't help but letting out a moaning, "Yeah!"

And then blushed again as he realized what she was saying. "Wait, huh-- rape you?" he protested.

Flyer, he's adorably buff, super-dicked, and tough enough he might be able to exhaust me, she thought, but he's so fuckin' clueless! Grumpily, Gilda pulled her tongue back out of the pretty, pretty cock she was determined to claim as her owner. Disgruntled by the requirements of proper top-teaching, she took a moment to savor swallowing his precum, before glaring up at him.

"Bulk," she snarled, "Do you honestly think it counts as a sin if I, not only a priestess, not only a tribune with full powers of middle and low justice, but also the fuckin' slave in question am telling you to rape me?"

"But--"

She cut off that objection with a clack of her beak dangerously close to his lovely nuts. Not that she'd ever hurt them again, even when she felt he needed a challenge to see if he still deserved to be top. Maybe that's why he's bein' slow? she wondered. I damaged his lower brains?

Snorting, Gilda growled, "The only butt I want to hear from you is what you're planning on doing to mine!" Hatefully, her throat clutched, betraying her and choking her voice to a scraping whine. “Don't you dare embarrass me." She gave him a fierce look, then slurped his deliciously overswollen nuts for good measure. Fuck. Pretty, dominant, buff… but I gotta do all the thinking! Figures. "Just because you've got the Flyer's-- and Fluttershy's-- gift to femmes and gay dudes welded to your crotch doesn't mean you can get away with that bullshit in owning me!"

"Er…" Bulk was looking really confused now.

She sighed. "Look. It is a cer-reh-moan-ee," she whispered at him slowly, hissing each word. "You beat me in fair combat. You accepted being my dom until our rematch, 'yeah?' You know rituals, being a fuckin' paladin, yeah?"

More blushing. Cute, but she wanted that blood stiffening his prick while he plowed her cunt! No rushing elsewhere, she mentally demanded, glaring at that… glorious… hypnotically bobbing to and fro… yum… log… beneath his treasure trail, fit for a pirate queen's booty. Eventually, the big lug mumbled, "Yeah."

She looked out into the throngs of her cohort in the audience, checking. His display earlier had cut the immediate challenge out, and even Gary knew better not to piss her off by laughing right now, thank the Wings Eternal. So she turned back to him and really laid into his nuts, just kept slurping and licking until she knew he was about to pop… then stopped.

"Gilda!" he roared, and grabbed her by the throat.

Aww, she thought. Our Bulky is learnin'. "Look," she told him, reveling in the feel of that strength dominating her corded neck, "This is just a ceremony to prove to my legion that I will still fight. Even if you've pushed off their doubts until later, you can't leave me hangin' like this fuckin' battering ram! I'mma fight, but not to win, except that because you are going to leave me an O-addled wreck, aren't you, I win anyway. I'mma fight, and you're gonna beat my ass and then fuck me like the little… uh... "

She looked him up and down. No way am I little in this relationship she thought. "Like the well-owned fucktoy I am now, in front of everyone, so they can see how butch I still am and how much of a badass you are!"

It should have been the perfect pitch, but no, there was that pony body shyness again. "... In front of everyone?" he whispered, and she could hear the horror in his voice. He even let her throat go, and she slammed down to her knees, seeing self-censorship and stupid pony socialization fighting to push out his dee-lish-us horny aggression.

She had to block that, too, and fast, or performance anxiety would be the least of their problems.

So she improvised, kneeling lower and lower still. Sometimes, she reminded herself, the best tactic knows nothing of honor. Nothing of discipline or savagery. Sometimes the cowardly weasel is the best way, not the berserk one. It was a sop, she knew, but she’d take it if it worked. This time instead of grabbing his dick or worshipping it like the grand prize it was, she dropped her head all the way down and licked his toes, careful with her beak. Before he could manage more than incoherent splutters, she whispered, "Please, Bulky."

It was working, his face softening and his fat dick stiffening, so she ducked her beak between his thighs and nestled like a submissive pony-- other than it was his package, not his neck, she was ducking her head under-- and whispered, "Please. Master, please. Rape me. Show my cohort I'm a good bitch. Pretty please?" In her head, she prayed to the Flyer that he got that it was the fight, not the consent, that mattered. That her pretty new fucktoptoy would get that she consented the fuck out of being fucked the fuck up.

"Okay," he muttered, and she sighed. Half a miracle was still a miracle, she guessed, but was it too much to ask for…

"Whoa!" she screamed happily-- winking at him to be sure he knew how she meant it-- as he grabbed her by the headfeathers and hurled her against one of the sloping walls of the crater. Score!