Morning of Shame

But, no sexual desire can remain hot forever. Eventually, you simmer, and with the break in the **** comes a slow return of..."You".

Your eyes open up and look around. Every part of you is sore. Your arms. Your legs. Your back and ass throb with pain. You faintly feel damp, as if you'd been lying in a small puddle of your own lust juices overnight.

You blink again. More and more the light returns to your eyes.

But, beyond any pain of soreness from the rest of your body, you feel it in one place viscerally. Your sex. There is the soreness of your lower lips, of course. The tell tale sign of a rough penetration with no short duration. But, much of it is centered on your clit. It's still throbbing, sending out small shockwaves of near painful desire.

You whimper. Even after all this time, the effect of so much denial is not gone. Only transformed into constant, overpowering pressure. The type you know from your own memory can drive a woman to sexual madness in no long period of time.

"Great Nat. Great. You're really fucked now..."

You try to stretch your aching body, but are limited. Most of the restraints are gone. But, your wrists are still bound behind your back by a pair of nano-plastic cuffs. And of course the pony bit remains locked between your teeth. A small line of drool runs down your chin that you don't have a prayer of removing.

Before you have time to reflect further, the door of your cramped stall hisses open.

Meanwhile...

In the orbit above Tetrion Beta, a shuttle hovers aimlessly in space. The single occupant of the shuddle is a woman. She's still in her sleepwear from the night. Why bother changing when you aren't planning to speak to anyone or do anything important today?

Instead, she's parked in front of her viewscreen, flipping between the channels from the planet. It's programmed with her taste in mind, so each new channel is another attempt to find something of interest to her among the endless signals being emitted constantly.

Knowing the woman's prefrences, it ends up on a recording of an amateur pony race from the night before. She's about to shift it again, when something actually exciting happens. One of the ponies refuses to race. The woman leans forward, jaw slightly agape.

"Magnify image" she calls out. The screen zooms in on the face of the trussled up pony.

"...Natalia?"

If you want to show your appreciation for this threadline, the best way to do that is by giving it a like!