Monaca Towa's Horse-Insemination Show

BY : Tastatura
Category: -Misc Anime > AU - Alternate Universe
Dragon prints: 8770
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This is a fictional story. I do not own Naruto. I make no money from writing this. Any resemblance to person(s) living or dead is purely coincidental. Love your pal Jesus.

Organized within the center of a space sprawling and vacant could be seen an intricate assortment of cabling, structures, and studio-grade video cameras. Each of these organized with respect to the placement of the others, their placement culminated in the makings of a live news studio—or at the very least, a mimicry of one.


To the back half of the assortment was a lengthy, waist-height red news-desk. Behind this desk was an equally wide green screen, and directly ahead of it was empty space.  Encircling its leftmost and rightmost sides were hives of tripod cameras, each angled to capture the desk and its environs in bright and vivid detail. Aided by artificial lighting fed into the otherwise bleak and bleached locale, the space that they captured was actually imaginable as a room wherein broadcasting staff and anchors might come together to convey information to the general public.


Its appearance as practical (if not somewhat dingy) held right up until a head of india green hair popped up from behind the center of the news desk. As soon as it did, red lights synonymous with live-recording flashed on from behind the innumerable cameras within the makeshift studio.


 Given that which they captured, one could no longer safely describe the strange locale as one that might convey something as wholesome as the ‘news’.


 Now seated behind the desk’s center was a smiling Monaca Towa. Utterly naked and with faux documentation in hand, her appearance was that of a child playing at the news.


You know, among other things.


After 10 seconds of maintaining her upright seated posture and beaming at those in the world with the misfortune to have a broadcasting device near them, a parting of her eyelids and a loosening of her mouth’s sickeningly sweet smile preceded the release of a much needed introduction from her lips.


“G’Morning, disgusting adults! I hope you’re having a nice and terrible day~!” she began cheerily. “Since its morning time, that means it’s time for me to convey the local events of the past 24 hours, the weather, and all of the other stuff that nice, regular people use to get on with their day!”


Organizing the stacked pieces of paper within her hands, she subsequently dumped them flat onto the desk space ahead of her. For a moment, her serpentine eyes and pale features were directed solely onto the desk face as if scouring it for information relevant to her viewers. Mere seconds later, she swept her left hand across the desk to clear it of its contents altogether.


As it turned out, the pieces of paper she had collected were blank.


“Oh, that’s right!” she chirped. “None of you repulsive monsters are anything close to human beings ♥! Nothing I tell you would have any value in your disgusting, degenerate lives anyway!”


Now staring directly at each of the cameras poised towards her, a caustic tartness could be seen seeping into the childish sweetness that the girl’s face exuded. From it, one could discern that something within her was rotten—something too significant to ever be repaired.


Despite having outed her nature to those unfamiliar with her, the Monaca of the present remained in control over herself. Following her outburst, she retracted her arms inwards towards her lap. Clasping her palms atop the wheels of her chair, she wheeled herself out from behind the news desk with deft control and the occasional pout of exertion.


The wheelchair-bound frame that she bared to the cameras ahead of her was very different from that which ought to have belonged to a little girl.


Though she maintained the frail and slender limbs one might assume inherent to any wheel-chair bound girl, a pair of considerable differences could be seen hanging from her chest. Plump and uncovered, E-cup breasts bordering Fs in visual appearance hung from her chest as squishy, watermelon-sized curtains for the fragile thinness of her torso. Sloping downward as all natural breasts did, the extent of their depth was curtailed by Monaca’s youth and her posture as seated within a chair. Spared from the ‘dip’ imposed by a slouched back, both of the ample sacs hung only as far as her middle abdominals.


To reiterate, neither mound was artificial. Both swelled out and away from their owner’s chest, and offered an oblong distribution of the fat and flesh that comprised them rather than a beach ball-shaped one. Furthermore, areola stung a warm shade of pink could be seen capping off each of them in place of a nipple. Teats naturally enveloped by the flesh that surrounded them, the ends of her breasts were made to appear as plump, squishy, and very slightly conical in their storage.


To say the least, such breasts on the body of a child were abnormal. Regardless, they applied sex-appeal to a body otherwise limited to padding by minimal amounts of pre-teen fat.


Among other things, this appeal was something that Monaca deemed necessary for her aims. In her mind, there did not exist a single disgusting, deceitful adult male that did not find obscenely-sized breasts appealing. Ideally, this appeal would glue their attentions to her broadcast throughout its duration regardless of their personal perversions.


The modifications she had made were not solely for the purpose of attraction attention, however. Once situated where she had intended to be—the dead centre of the open area in front of the news desk—she raised her left hand and snapped her fingers.


In response, the shape of the makeshift broadcasting room began to change. From its right-side burst in a half dozen jet-black tendrils. Proportionally, the length and girth of the extensions matched that of industry-grade powerlines. These, however, were not nearly as taut and stagnant as that which they mirrored. Each slithering across the ground as a starved serpent, their arrival into the space occupied by Monaca and her wheelchair saw them assault her frame with a prehensile smoothness. Of the group of six, four affixed themselves to her limbs: two at the middle of her thighs and two around her wrists.  This done, the fifth enveloped her the pale smoothness of her abdominals, and the sixth the svelte narrowness of her neck.


Following placement, each tendril coiled inward to apply pressure to these regions. Exacerbated just short of discomfort, these ‘holds’ were subsequently applied to a seamless elevation and suspension of Monaca’s body in midair.


Then came a burst of tendrils out from the room’s left. Far more numerous and dense than their counterparts, these could be found gripping the stalky-legs and rippling, leathery musculature of a male horse.


Like Monaca, something about the beast was abnormal. Mucus could be seen drooling from his snout, and the occasional guttural howl hardly recognizable as ‘horse-like’ rumbled from his maw at unpredictable intervals. Upon delivery at the news room’s center, the reason for his abnormal demeanor became clear. Not only was his frame about 1.5 times the size of an ideal male of his kind, but a commensurate amount of excess could be seen in many of his features. Specifically, this ‘excess’ extended to the bulk applied to his legs, the unkempt excess of his mane, and the greasy, drooling tower of erect horse cock that bobbed menacingly below his stomach.


In a way, even the term ‘towering’ did not do the reeking slab justice. Out from a wrinkled, dark-brown sheathe littered with rough, tree-trunk like striations extended an actual trunk of pale-pink horse cock. Sized with the thickness of a healthy adult woman’s thigh and a length just short of two feet (Approx. 22 inches), the glossy mast-section was a fair fraction larger and fatter than one that might belong to a ‘normal’ apex male. When counted alongside the rigid and gunk-caked sheathe flesh at its base—flesh that had very obviously sunk inside a number orifices as well—the horse’s endowment ascended to the level of bestially ludicrous.


From the beginning of its pink to its grime-flecked and fringe-ribbed mushroom tip could be seen a system of veins all streaming towards the end of his member. In length, some measured the full distance between the pink of his shaft and its brown base. Others, most commonly those that branched off from these massive extensions, forked away and trailed upwards only a few additional inches. Regardless of their length, each and every one offered the girth of a portly index finger, and the rigidity of an object composed of something other than flesh. Additionally, few if any of them were stagnant; whether pulsing, throbbing, or squirming in response to the flow of blood within them, each was as a torrid canal mapped across a bed of stinking, bestial cockmeat (oooh, artsy. Want to write me a book there you bitch? Don’t forget you’re describing bestiality man, calm down)


Based solely on the qualities of his endowment, it could be said that his body was one modified to accentuate its feral qualities to the extreme, and also one evidently locked within a state of perpetual sexual arousal.


The presence of such a creature mere feet from a naked and smiling little girl did not bode well for the future—more so given the smile on the little girl’s face and her proven track record within the realm of making bad situations worse.


Without being asked, this was precisely what the little girl did. No sooner was her equine package dropped off to her left did she raise one of her wire sealed hands in a gesture of enthusiastic explanation.


“There we go! Now we can get started with conveying the only information that deranged monsters like you deserve to see!” she assured. “If you’re the kind of dummy adult that can’t even tell what that is, I’ll be taking time out of my busy schedule to show you! Aren’t I nice?”


Her piece said, another snap from the fingers of her unused hand prompted further ‘action’ about the scene that she had created. Additional tendrils from the right of the camera shot slithered into the area in considerable number. Skipping Monaca’s body, their destination was set at the space that separated her from the thrashing and braying beast to her left. On arrival here, each of them rose several feet into the air, and afterwards began threading across one another. Stacking black atop black, their compilation seemed an effort that might create a wall between Monaca and her stage-mate. Before one such wall could take shape, the pilling of wires atop the air-suspended bar came to an end, and the wires that sustained Monaca’s frame began drawing her body to the left.


Visually, Monaca had not created a wall at all; she had created the top most bar for an equine breeding stock.


Safely slipped underneath the bar she had created, Monaca’s tendrils continued their manipulation. First shifting her upright suspension into one that left her back hovering just above the ground (hands folded behind her back, force pushed upward against her wrists), the wires slid her ‘bedded’ frame across the area until her inverted facial features were left inches short of the flared horse-cock maintained by the beast to her left.


Here, Monaca made her breathing heavy and sultry: an act bound to stir the owner of the cock ahead of her face. As she did so, she curled her skull to again present her face towards the cameras that surrounded them.


Now, an ever-so-slight strand of drool could be seen streaming from the corner of her mouth, and tears born of her huffing the humid and acrid stench of an unwashed horse cock could be seen streaming from her eyes.


This is it…” she exhaled, excitement guiding her tone. “You unrepentant monsters are going to watch a little girl impaled by the cock of a monster even worse than you! This little guy right here has been altered to treat aaaaaaaany orifice he can find like the cunt of a breeding partner. To him, it doesn’t matter than I’m small, or that he’s going to have to use most of my body as a tube to get off with. He’s just like you! A creature too selfish and powerful to think about anything but itself!” she explained.


However deranged, her threat was not an idle one. For every word that left her lips, the snorting from the beast above her grew louder, and the frequency with which he drew his forelegs off of the ground in search of support grew more frequent. Soon enough, the inevitable occurred: his forelegs found support against the bar of wires ahead of him, and his back legs set out on their search for the position that might grant the erection at his crotch best access to the hole set in front of it.


Monaca made no attempts of her own to stymie this. Instead rolling her lips back into a dead-on face with the approaching cocktip, she curled only her eyes towards back towards the cameras in a show of girlish enthusiasm.


Created through her actions was a sight that none made to play the part of ‘observer’ for her broadcast were likely to forget. Emeralds embedded with serpentine slits and surrounded by circular striations stared at them whilst their owner smiled a smile choked by deranged sweetness. A phallus as putrid as it was menacing grew ever closer to her lips, though neither her gaze nor her expression wilted at its approach.


Then, they were forced to. Mercilessly, the horse’s lower body surged inwards, and delivered his cock into a domineering spread of Monaca’s lips.






Monaca’s decision to present herself as the breeding partner for a monstrous horse was a decision made with respect to her ruse thus far.


For a ‘typical’ audience of adult degenerates, being made to watch as a little girl’s mouth was invaded by a horse phallus thicker than her own neck could be considered as mentally scarring (or to some, arousing). Being made to watch a crippled little girl endure the same was another matter entirely. Any man or woman subjected to the viewing of such an event would be left with memories that would haunt them for the rest of their miserable lives.


Such was the kind of effect that Monaca sought to impose. As such, she willfully complicated the matter of her breeding on live stream so as facilitate a fucking of her ‘crippled’ frame that was equally brutal and accessible.


Presently, the effort that she had put in was paying dividends. From the first smash of the horse’s blunted, filth-greased cocktip between her lips, naught had been required of her in the display but a conscious effort at keeping her eyes open. The rest was handled by her lover, and to a greater extent, the nubile compactness of her fat-breasted frame.


With his front legs secured against the top-most bar of his abbreviated breeding-stock, the horse was allowed to approach the pumping of his rancid erection through Monoca’s stomach and esophagus as he would the breeding of any other orifice. First engaging the plethora of musculature within his hind legs and lower body, he actively spiked his lower half back and forth in such a way that funneled the weight of his frame and the force generated by his muscles towards his crotch. In doing so, the inhuman excess of cockmeat that he possessed was driven through Monaca’s undersized gullet as a warmed knife through butter.


During the initial spread of her lips, the spike that he generated punched a flared and bulbous cocktip down through the twitchy warmth of her throat until the mucus-laden sliminess of her esophagus was made to stretch in accommodation of its presence. No sooner was the tube made a taut second skin for his shaft was its extent completely consumed by a paltry fraction of his cock’s length. Instances later, the same set of inches arrived into a squishy punch against her mouth-cunt’s womb: the barren and pliant interior of her stomach.


It was at this point that the depression of his member through her gullet stopped. On delivery against the base of her stomach, several inches of his shaft remained outside of the perspiring flesh offered by Monaca’s face-cunt. Though her body had plenty of ‘space’ left to offer past her stomach (namely her intestines), the sheer amount of force put behind the horse’s thrust pressed the flesh of her stomach outwards before his member could slip any further downward through her insides. In doing so, the flesh of her stomach was pressed against the flesh above it (underneath her abdominals), and both were made to stretch outwards to accommodate the shape of his cock’s tip and the inches most immediate to it. Externally, this constituted the creation of a horse-cock shape bulge of stomach flesh that hooked upwards and outwards away from Monaca’s frame. 


Rather than necessitating the ravaging of the entirety of her G.I tract, the horse’s initial depression found satiation in abbreviation. Through the reduction of her stomach’s moist flesh and the pliant meat of her altered body-cavity into an elastic condom, the entirety of his cock was delivered to a hilt within Monaca’s miniature frame over the course of several seconds.


While intricate, the above described happening was one that took place across a single pair of seconds. Immediately behind it came a vicious retraction of paltry inches of cockmeat from between Monaca’s lips, and after this, a perfect reproduction of the invasive force that had seen her pierced down to the lubricated meat of her stomach. Daisy-chained to one another in perfect sequence, the indiscriminate lust that boiled within the horse’s blood saw him produce these actions at a pace suffocating and bestial. Enough of his member was drawn outwards to see the hooking bulge at Monaca’s stomach repeatedly deflated in retraction, though not so much as to spare her nostrils and the top-half of her face from a flogging with humid, melon-sized testicles each time her reddened middle was re-inflated with cockmeat.


Again, feral lust was that which constituted this pattern and the specifics associated with it. Nevertheless, they remained intentional. Given the size of Monaca’s body and the surface area of his member, only his current pattern—speedy, short-length plunges that left her face near-perpetually plastered by the rancid, perspiring leather of his crotch and her guts near-perpetually bloated with the throbbing meat of his member—were likely to plug the greedy nerve endings of his shaft full with the pleasure that they craved.


And they did. From the very first set that he produced to those that he produced minutes later, sensations fit for a feral monstrosity were smothered against every inch of his endowment. The basal inches of his shaft—consistent residents within the length of Monaca’s esophagus—were treated by the organ section as a choking hazard to be removed. Vigorous, rippling convulsions of mucus-swathed peristalsis were applied to his erection and its veins as though there was some vain hope of its presence being removed from her innards entirely. These were efforts put forth by the tract-turned-cocksleeve in spite of its skin-tight stretching around the exterior of his shaft and the grind of root-fat and rock solid veins against it from a variety of angles. Naturally, these motions accomplished little more than a simulated slurping of gut-meat to the trunk of cock that ground up and down its length, and as a consequence, a graphic overproduction of throatslop and mucus within the tube itself. Whereas some of it could be applied to the quivering massages the tract applied to the horse’s cock, the vast majority of it was fucked from between Monaca’s lips per thrust as regular, arcing geysers of orgasmic face-cunt-juice (ok, come on now Tastatura, now you’re just making shit up nigga).



Similarly profitable were the impacts his glans punched against the now-precum-smeared inner lining of her stomach. Contact with the organ (contact in this case being a merciless, organ-bruising slam) represented only the first step in the utilization of Monaca’s body cavity as a beast-sized onahole. Despite this, its meat offered something that the flesh of her abdominals couldn’t: a pleasurable texture. Made puffy from its near constant abuse, it was the flesh of her stomach that gloved the roughly-hewn inches of glans flesh at the tip of the horse’s cock and quivered against its sodden grooves and veins with purpose.


Regardless of the effort put forth by the horse in the procurement of this pleasure, the resource remained one bought at Monaca’s expense.


Strangely, this expense was one that the trapped little girl was all too happy to pay. The introduction of her suitor’s member into the nubile warmth of her face-cunt had filled her not with thoughts of distress, but with those that depicted the shocked and disgusted faces that the horrid adults watching her might produce whilst observing her goring. When her wire-maintained figure was made to shudder and shake with a force that caused her breasts to jiggle and bounce—the force of the horse’s thrusts— these thoughts were replaced with those that depicted the appearance of her body throughout the horse’s ministrations.


A degenerate in her own right, the saturation of stinging bestial musk within her nostrils failed to push the shape of these thoughts away from congruence with reality. At present, she was a red-faced, wide-eyed tract for a monstrous horse’s cock. Stimulation kept her eyes—reddened serpentine emeralds—constantly exposed even under assault from the throatslop and precum that blurted from her mouth each time varying textures of horse cock punched past her lips. Noises akin to the inundation of a narrow tube were forced from between her lips with a guttural frequency that reinforced her existence as a stress sleeve solely for bestial cock. Between her legs was a puffy, sopping-wet cunt twitching and squirting in appreciation of her mouth’s mutilation, and at her stomach was the reddened bruising and bloating of an equine cockmeat container. Overtly, she looked absolutely depraved—and only the perverse, mean-spirited adults that she performed in front of were to blame. They had pushed her to this, and were likely even now pleasuring themselves to the violation of her body.


Imagining these things made all of Monaca’s suffocating discomfort entirely worthwhile. In fact, it did more than this. For the first time in recent memory, she felt warmth within herself—warmth that could only come from satisfaction. In her fullness with it, one could observe regular and gregarious spurts of this ‘warmth’ from between her legs. If not in these spurts, one could also observe it mimicking the ooze of honey from a reddened, pudgy spout.


By itself, the feeling was one that she believed might validate the exchange of her life for further ‘warmth’.  Not to be overcome,


Several minutes into her facefucking, she acted. Arms still bound behind her back, she lazily engaged one of her fingers in a ‘dig’ into the wire material around her wrist. Responding to the depression as a programmed command, the wires in control of her body exercised themselves in an abrupt (and quite graphic) display. Indifferent as to the state of her body or that of her suitor, the wires at neck, middle, and ankles work in unison to wrench her body out of contact with the horse’s cock. Peeling her backwards with a surprising lack of difficulty, their only point of stoppage came when the ribbed flare of the horse’s cock became caught within the peak of her throat. At this, the guttural extraction was granted yet another point of memorability. Topping off the deflating of Monaca’s frame, a wet *SPLRCH!*reminiscent of a wet cork’s removal from a clogged pipe sounded out from within her mouth. Subsequently, a subdued explosion of throatslop erupted from the ‘normalized’ confines of her esophagus into an unflattering plaster across Monaca’s cross-eyed facial features.


As powerful of an image as their work had produced, the contortion imposed by these wires did not end here.  Desperate to feel the flesh of another breed-able orifice against his member,  Monaca’s suitor continued to spike his crotch inwards and outwards in search of the next that his ‘mate’ might offer. Programmed with such behavior in mind, the wires deftly rotated Monaca 180 degrees. Replacing the previous positioning of her mouth with her cunt, those that controlled her thighs peeled the juvenile limbs as far apart as possible to best expose the leaking mound of pheromones to the horse’s intent.


This much they did expertly. Just as the lips of her skull had been mercilessly parted in penetrations, so too were those of her gleaming womanhood inevitably smashed apart by the wild bucking of her lover’s crotch…





“NNNGHIIIII—AH! Y-Y’see tha’? I-Ish inside! S-So much h-horse cock is bloating my t-tummy a-and is all.








Though the content and tone of Monaca’s outburst was very different than the ‘norm’ produced by a woman penetrated by a scalding log of horse cock, the fact that she produced one at all spoke volumes about her status as a little girl.


No amount of internal or external modification could soften the blow of a bestial erection’s ruthless cut through her vaginal canal, nor its invalidation of her cervix, nor even the folding of her uterus around the grating mushroom of steely cockmeat at its tip. In the face of these, she was not Monaca Towa, but yet another ‘unfortunate’ (and undersized) masturbatory device whose reproduction organs would soon be filled with fertilized eggs.


Comically, something along these lines was that which Monaca had intended to present to the world at large.  Hearing her squeaks of pleasured distress each time her suitor’s erection was smashed through the pliant meat of her womanhood and watching her body cavity contort in accommodation of it was sure to brand the minds of some of her viewers with a mental stigma immune to the flow of time.


Nevertheless, the experience was jarring—mentally and physically. Whereas the gut-fucking of her esophagus and stomach had rendered her too oxygen-deprived to properly ‘appreciate’ the events contents, the violation of her womanhood was stymied only by the mask of feature distorting vomit that she had regurgitated onto herself some minutes prior. The internal sensations that accompanied the event and the grotesque visuals inherent to it remained ‘available’ to her consciousness with the clarity of written text.


Simply, she could not help but ‘read’ her abuse, and dwell on its mind-rotting contents as the facets of her life that were immediately relevant.


Readied by chemical therapy, the lips of her juvenile womanhood spread without resistance when faced with the ingress of the horse’s cock. Meekly offering the narrow length of her vaginal canal to its destructive girth, the immediate gaping that followed her penetration was accepted by her womb as a hand might slip into an elastic glove. The flesh of her vaginal canal—sloppy and orgasmic on all accounts—was stretched thin and wide in the exact same manner. Fundamentally speaking, the burrowing of such a ‘healthy’ male endowment within their midst was the most that they could have asked for. Likely as a result of the organ section’s deranged adoration, every inch of cock-fattened inner wall that it could offer was put to the task of a thin wringing of the veiny cock surface that it covered. Effectively mimicking the abject coiling of her esophagus (albeit with a more purposeful, cunt-syrup-slogged intent), the instincts and pleasure receptors sewn into it betrayed their owner in the worship of her partner’s cock.


The musculature (and weight of said musculature) belonging to the horse overcame the virginal resistance of Monaca’s cervix and left the button as an ornamental cock-ring for the pink of his member. Made to slide downward the further his endowment progressed within her, contact between his member and the roofing of Monaca’s uterus saw her cervix settled at the border between the pink and brown portions of his member.


Just as her stomach had, Monaca’s uterus played the part of palliative for the horse’s erection. Forced upwards and outwards against the humidity of her body cavity, the stretched organ offered sensational intrigue in what would have been a uniform distension of it and the reddened stomach-flesh above it.


Externally, the same massive, phallus-shaped hook was pushed to a craggy prominence at Monica’s middle. Internally, however, the stretched meat of her uterus was plunged into a state of ovulation. Quivering and contracting around the horse’s flare, its interior flourished to life so as to squeeze several healthy ovum from her ovaries into her womb.


Understandably, this development tore Monaca from her dedicated huffing and squealing and finally dragged coherent speech from her lips. In this, she had no choice; no woman was liable to remain silent when made to feel the passage of multiple ovum into the interior of her esophagus.


“Y-You’re f-fuhkin’ eggs o-outta me. I-I k’n feel ‘em squirming d-down into my t-tummy~!” she cooed. “Y-You wanna ruin me t-that bad? Y-You wanna turn m-me into a lil baby-breeder for m-monster’s that bad ♥?”




Monaca wasn’t wrong. The completion of the horse’s initial thrust into her cunt prompted him to resume the ruthless orifice-plumbing that he had inflicted on her throat.


As a consequence of the depth they achieved (and the over-encumbered interior of Monaca’s cunt) , heady splatters of sexual lubricant were fucked from her vaginal canal not as pressurized squirts, but in the form of languid and disjointed geysers. The release of each was timed to the breakneck pace at which her gaped innards were made to swallow her suitor’s cock. Consequentially, the disappearance of his member within her past the beginning of its sheathe regularly coincided with a viscous *SPLRTT* noise indicative of fluid’s splatter against his crotch and sheathe, and a much more audible *SPLORT* or *SPLATT* of the same steaming substance against the ground beneath them. Naturally, the refractory period between these outbursts matched the flurry of depressions and extractions produced by the horse as well.


Accompanying the sickening cacophony was a chorus of the impact of slick flesh against flesh. When subjected to the tireless cock-injections of a beast larger and heavier than any human woman could hope to entertain, Monaca’s innards held firm—generally speaking. Alongside the evident bruising at her abdominals and their consistent housing of horse cock could be heard a congested *GLRK* audible only during the instances at which the crescent of horse cock that swelled at her stomach was fattened to its peak. Qualitatively, it could be best likened to the sounds produced by more ‘conventional’ oral sex—the sticky, slimy noise of a precum-glazed cocktip squeezing against the mucus-coated confines of a throat. Funnily enough, the source of this noise was none other than the repeated punching of cockmeat against the entirety of Monaca’s vaginal canal.



These events—their visuals, sounds, consequences—were all products of the rutting that the horse inflicted. Lower body perpetually secured on the strength of vein-riddled back legs, he flung his crotch outwards with abandon and snapped it back inwards just as freely. Via this pendulum motion alone, the pink of his endowment was pulled back through her uterus and vaginal canal down to its midsection, and speared back to its taxing full-stretch of Monaca’s gut in relative sequence.


Unthinkable at a glance, masturbating so furiously with Monica’s body did have a consequence to go alongside its various ‘pros’.


The horse was a creature altered with an unforgettable performance in mind, not an indefinite one. Like any other animal, only so much stimulation could be soaked into his genitals before ingrained reflexes drew an orgasm from him. Several minutes’ worth of his ‘grandiose’ display had steadily chugged his body towards this breaking point.


Now, mere seconds remained until his body delivered its noisome reproductive fluid into the vulnerable, ovum-peppered confines of a little girl’s baby-maker…








A leather brown sheathe disappeared between a pair of well-spread labial lips.


Gravid testicles rendered gleaming, but no less leathery by sex smothered these lips, and completely sealed what few ‘openings’ remained unplugged by horse cock within the hole behind it.


Noise came. Howls and screams both human and utterly bestial.




“My tummy’s getting’ r-raped. N-nasty adults’r rapin’ my t-tummy with horse c-cock jyuice~!”


Such were the human cries whilst the bestial consisted solely of the throaty braying of depraved stallion. The former overshadowed the latter, but both remained perfect perceivable provided a listener selected one to focus on.



These were the sights and sounds captured by Monaca’s broadcast cameras in the seconds that preceded the horse’s orgasms. In a statistically savvy attempt at maximizing the little girl’s already ridiculous odds of insemination, the horse had forgone his chain of thrusts in favor of a final—and outwardly definitive—plugging of his cock into her frame.


Prior to the thrust itself, feral instincts saw the positioning of his legs adjusted to best facilitate this. Shuffled inward by several steps, he subsequently pressed both of his legs down into a squat that minimized his reliance on the sole bar of his breeding stock to the fringes of his hooves. Semitendinosus muscles (the back quadriceps looking part) dropping down into a sandwich with the flesh and musculature behind his tibia, the depth of his crotch was pressed to its absolute limit. Sunk alongside it were the remaining inches of dark-brown sheathe into Monaca’s cunt until only the horse’s testicles remained outside of the embrace of her innards.


This development left Monaca cross-eyed and slack-jawed. The bulge at her stomach had grown even larger, and yet more greasy flesh was introduced into the worn confines of her brutalized womanhood. Such a reaction was to be expected. Surprisingly, though, the happening did leave her without the ability to squeal out as she had previously. Lips only slightly agape, it appeared as though the ingress of her suitor’s cock had induced a squeal from her only for it to be trapped within her throat by the flesh-tower’s mountainous arcing within her body cavity.



Seconds after the onset of reticence, alleviation for it was applied in the form of swelling all about the horse’s erection. From veins to cockflesh, the uterus-wrapped erection actually bloated thicker and larger than it already was. When it could do so no more, the pressure within it was relieved by the discharge of a lengthy, molten-hot rope of plaster-quality cock juice from its tip.


So far as Monaca’s body was concerned, this happening was one worth screaming about.




The ‘beating’ that Monaca referenced was purely a product of the volume of semen spewed into her in this single rope, and the force with which it was delivered. The cock-plastered state of her uterus dictated that the shotgun blast of seed be perceived by her as industrial hosing of her innards with boiling, bestial seed.


This was not to say that the happening (or any of the instances that followed it) were exaggerations. The first ‘leg’ of pungent nut to be pressed into her was one significant enough to see the peak of her distended stomach rounded heavy and sac-like with semen. The second fed this roundness to the point at which its position fell away from the peak of the horse’s member and instead began to bloat the flesh at the underside of his member. The shots that arrived subsequently exacerbated this expansion until her distended gut began to appear gravid and pregnant (if not for the horse cock still tenting it). The longer the horse’s orgasm progressed, the more similar Monaca’s stomach became to an impossibly-large and languid garbage bag of semen. In lieu of support from any of angle, the bag was allowed to swell to a point of morbid rotundness that eclipsed even the most fertile of human pregnancies in obscenity.


Given an understanding of Monaca’s suitor, the condition of her body, and the amount of time that the pair had spent engaged in brutally one-sided intercourse, the bloating of Monaca’s womb with such an obscene amount of semen was to be expected.


None who laid eyes on it—from those who did so to satisfy their perversions to those forced to observe the event as a by-product of Monaca’s domination of the media—were obscenely surprised by the worsening condition of her frame. The orgasm of a creature as large as the equine overtop her being made to fit inside such a small frame was bound to carry consequence.


Unknown to them (and up until recently, Monaca as well) was the quality of semen being pumped into her. Largely white in color save for a dingy, greyish white tinge, the blubbery substance was without many of the qualities of a traditional fluid. Sperm and semen merged into a nutrient-riddled sludge that, for literary purposes and some other made up reason that I don’t want to explain, somehow still managed to ‘flow’, the substance was one very easily packaged provided one made use of the right container. This consistency and the dough-like malleability that it offered made for a simplistic bloating of Monaca’s womb following its initial dousing with the substance. As the flesh of her uterus and body cavity had already been made to stretch around an obscenely-sized erection, filling it outwards with cock juice was merely a matter of cause and effect.



Though immediately without access to this knowledge, the ignorance of Monaca’s viewers took very little away from how they perceived the weight of proceedings.


Monaca herself contributed to this weight by providing her viewers with a glimpse of proceedings from her ‘end’ of them. She did so by reporting on the events taking place within her body whilst tears of bliss and overstimulation streamed from her monstrous eyes.


 The engorgement of her midsection into a guileless sac of flesh and cock juice had replaced the scalding sensation she had endured at the beginning of the horse’s orgasm with one of uniform warmth. The churning of her ovaries had ceased. Milk had begun a heavy and consistent drool from the now-visible plums of nipples flesh erect from her areola. The air that she breathed had once again begun stinking of semen and musk.


One by one, she commented on things of this nature until only a single matter of relevance remained: the impending perforation of the eggs abandoned to the ocean of sperm cells squirming inside of her.


At this point, the broken girl mustered what little strength remained within her to drive her right hand’s index finger into the wire material at her neck.


Yet again, the layout of the newsroom shifted. Out from the ground behind the news desk rose a flatscreen LCD. 6 feet across and 10 feet tall, its sizing eclipsed the current positioning of Monaca and the horse overtop her without rendering them as complete afterthoughts within the shot captured by the studio’s cameras.


Once erect, its blank face flashed to life. Replacing the nothingness that it depicted was a flesh-pink background largely consumed by a trio of planet-sized spheres. Each spaced haphazardly across the screen itself, the space between them was entirely consumed by motion— the motion of a countless number of plump, writhing tadpoles.


Hoarsely, Monaca spoke out to explain the self-explanatory sight for those unwilling to accept it.


“T-Those’re m-may eggs, y-y’know? A-Any minute n-now, o-one of those h-horrible swimmers a-are g-ghuh—“labored by semen and overstimulation, Monaca’s speech was segmented against her will. “G-Gonna squeeze i-inside all three of t-them…”



“A-And it’s all thanks t-to yew! Thanks t-to you, a p-poor n’innocent l-little g-girl is g-gonna get h-her womb v-violated b-by three fully g-grown foals in a f-few months.” she added, a deranged excitement to her voice. “Y-You adults are soooo awful ♥. M-Maybe I should m-make a show outta givin’ b-birth to them, t-too?”



“Yuh..y-you’d like t-that wouldn’t you? A n-nicesh n’s-sweet girl l-like me p-pushing monstrous beasts o-outta her cuh…








The volume of sperm cells within Monaca’s womb was not one that could be made to wait by mere words. Before she could complete her taunting utterance, a number of the meaty cells wriggled inwards into spirited nuzzles against her eggs. Each squirming invasively without respect for the others that surrounded them, innumerable points of depression were birthed about the face of these spheres until the fattest and most brutish sperm cells succeeded in perforating their targets.


From start to finish, the entire process was displayed in graphic detail across the erected screen. Worse still, it was repeated. Again and again did bloated sperm cells nuzzle their way into the meat of Monaca’s reproductive cells until the surface of each one became indistinguishable from the sea of sperm that surrounded them.


In its own way, the sight and all of its egregiousness held an air of ‘rightness’. Any conclusion to Monaca’s fucking that did not end with the warping of her frame and a graphic seeding of her atypical womanhood would have seemed somehow disappointing in comparison…


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