Celestia & Luna: PONUT DISPENSER

Ponyville square in the middle of the afternoon, and the line is already long.

Two green metal boxes are bolted to the cobblestones side by side, chest-high, humming faintly with chaos magic. Only their rear ends are out: a huge white flank with the golden sun blazing on it, and beside it a deep night-blue one with the crescent moon. Their tails are pinned up against the metal by iron brackets so they cannot be moved. Below each flank, spread wide and held open by the shape of the box, are two pink pussies and two dark little assholes, both already gleaming and streaked with dried spend from the morning crowd. A hand-painted board above the white one says PONUT DISPENSER. The blue one says the same. A smaller plate under each reads CLEAN AFTER USE, and there is a bucket of water and a rag on the ground beside them, both mostly ignored.

A big earth pony stallion at the front of the line finishes in the white flank, pulls out with a wet sound, and slaps the sun cutie mark hard enough to leave a print.

Stallion: "There. Load number four this morning, and she still takes it like a champ." He spits on the floor beside the bucket. "Clean it yourself, Princess. That's what the rag's for. Actually, no — leave it. I like seeing my work on you." He laughs and walks off. The white flank twitches once. From inside the box, muffled through the metal, a low, tired voice.

Celestia: "...Please. Somepony. Anypony. Look at me. You know me. You know my name."

The stallion doesn't even slow down. "Yeah, I know your name. It's on the sign. 'Dispenser.'"

A young griffon steps up behind the blue box without ceremony, unbuttons his breeches and lines up against Luna's pussy with a bored flick of his tail. She thrashes uselessly against the metal.

Luna: "Unhoof me! UNHOOF ME, THOU WRETCHED — "

Griffon: "Nah. Here's how it works, feathers. You scream, I go harder. You bite, I go in the other hole. You say one more word and I'm putting it in your ass dry and letting the next guy taste you after." He drives in and starts a slow, casual rhythm. "See, that's better. Just be a good little cunt and drip for me. That's all you're good for now. That's all either of you are good for."

Around him the queue only shuffles forward, ponies chatting about the weather, a minotaur at the back checking the time.

Minotaur: "How long's the wait, mate?"

Stallion at the front: "Ten minutes. Blue one's got a tight cunt but she's loud. White one just cries and thanks you after, if that's your thing. Either way, both holes are open, no charge, no time limit." He glances at the blue flank, still bucking, and grins. "Hey, Luna. You gonna scream the whole time? 'Cause if you are, me and the two behind me are gonna stuff all three of your holes at once and shut you up proper. Cunt, ass, and whatever else we can find. You want that?"

Luna: "*THOU SHALT NOT — *"

The griffon speeds up and she chokes on her own words. "That's it. Take it. Take it and say thank you, or I swear I'll finish on your sister's face and make you lick it off her."

Celestia: "Luna. *Luna, don't give them the satisfaction — *" Her voice dies as the next stallion in line steps up behind her without a word and pushes into her ass in one motion. "— oh."

Stallion: "Hear that? Even the sun's got a slut voice. Been holding out on us for a thousand years, Princess. What else you been hiding, huh? Gonna bend you over this box every day till we find out." He grunts and picks up the pace. "Come on, sweetheart. Say it. Say 'thank you for using me.'"

Both boxes creak against their bolts at the same time, and from inside, two very different sounds, one low and one high, both of them failing to stay dignified.

The line moves forward.

One month later. The queue is gone — there is no queue anymore, because there does not need to be one. The males come and go all day now, one or two at a time, unhurried, the way you would visit a fountain. The buckets have been emptied and refilled so many times that nobody bothers with the rag plate at all. Both flanks hang lower than they did, softer, and neither one stops dripping.

The white one no longer begs. When the current stallion pulls out of her ass with a wet slap, she only breathes out slow and says, in her old warm voice, like she is thanking a guest for coming to tea: "...Thank you, dear. Do come again." Her sun cutie mark is crusted white down to the flank. There is a long dark smear on the metal below her where she has been leaking for days.

Stallion: "That's more like it. Hear that, boys? A month and she's housebroken. Hey, Celestia — spread 'em. No, you can't spread 'em, you're bolted in, aren't you? That's the funniest part. You can't do a damn thing except take it." He slaps her flank and leans over the box. "Tell me what you are. Go on. I want to hear it in that pretty princess voice."

Celestia: "...I am a dispenser, dear." A pause, and her voice drops lower, huskier, almost inaudible through the metal. "...And I would not mind if you went again."

The blue one is worse. Luna does not scream anymore, and she does not threaten. A minotaur has her by both hips, buried to the root in her pussy, grunting, and she is pushing back against the metal, meeting him stroke for stroke, and the words coming out of the box are not protests at all.

Luna: "Deeper — deeper, thou lumbering beast, is that all the strength thou hast — " She bites off the end of it as he drives in harder, and then, quieter, almost to herself: "...yes. There. Like that. Do not stop, do not — "

Minotaur: "Ha! Listen to her. A month ago she was screaming for her guards. Now she's begging for it like a bitch in season. You know what, sun one? I think she's been the bigger slut all along. You're just too polite to say it." He finishes, pulls out, and wipes himself on her tail without ceremony. "Hey, Celestia. You want this one next, or you want me to go again in your ass? Your sister's cunt's still dripping, so I got options."

Celestia: "Whichever you prefer, dear." A pause. "...But I would not mind the second."

Minotaur: "See, that's what I like about you two. No fight left. Just holes that know what they're for." He steps back and waves the next one up. "Your turn, kid. Take the blue one. She's tighter when she's wet, and she's always wet now."

Luna does not answer. She is already rocking back against the box, waiting, and hating herself in the dark.

Nine months. The same two boxes, the same bolted metal, the same hand-painted PONUT DISPENSER signs, and the same two flanks hanging out of them except both flanks are stretched and heavy now, the white one and the blue one swollen so wide that the metal cuts grooves into the fur, and the whole square smells of blood and birth.

Celestia is in labor. Her hind legs are locked open by the shape of the box, which means she cannot close them, cannot push the way a mare is supposed to push, cannot brace against anything. She is doing it anyway, one long straining heave at a time, and the dark smear under her box has gone from spend to blood to something in between. Between her spread thighs a small head is already crowning, wet and furred, and she is breathing in slow, controlled counts, exactly the way she once used to address a court.

Luna is further along. A griffon chick has just slid out onto the cobblestones in a rush of fluid, and a minotaur calf follows it seconds later, huge and dark, and she is already gritting her teeth through the next one, hooves scrabbling uselessly inside the metal.

Luna: "*Another * there is another sister, I cannot I cannot keep "

Celestia: "You can. Breathe with me. *Breathe with me, Luna *" Her voice catches as her own body bears down and another inch of the foal shows.

Around the boxes, the males have stopped queueing. They stand in a loose ring instead, arms crossed, some of them chewing, some of them openly counting.

Stallion: "That's nine out of the blue one and seven out of the white one, I'm counting. Twenty's not gonna be enough. Who bred the dragon ones into her, was that the red one?"

Griffon: "Aye. Watched him do it. Put three loads in her ass and told her she'd be shitting scales by spring. Looks like he was right."

Minotaur: "Good stock, both of 'em. You know what's funny? Nine months ago she was begging us to remember her name. Now she's screaming it at us while she pushes out some dragon's get." He nods at the white box. "Go on, Princess. Say something regal."

Celestia: "...Please. Just just let me push properly. The box I cannot move " She is cut off by her own body, back arching, another wet slide, another small body hitting the stones.

Stallion: "Nah. You're doing fine. This is the best part watching you do the work we put in you. Twenty more of these and you'll finally be worth something."

A unicorn foal is born to Luna. Then a pegasus foal to Celestia. Then a small changeling grub, then a pony foal with dragon wings that nobody in the ring can explain, and the males just laugh and take bets on which one it was.

Luna: "*Curse you * curse you all, every *AH *" Her sentence breaks in half and she sobs once, hoarse, and keeps pushing.

Griffon: "There she goes. That's the one that used to raise the moon, lads. Look at her."

Minotaur: "Look at both of 'em. Nine months in a box and they've still got more manners than the rest of us." He picks up one of the newborns by the scruff, inspects it briefly, and sets it aside on a blanket with the others without a word about it. "Next year we'll do it again. Bigger litter."