Evil had won.

It had won a long long time ago.

But the thing was, it wasn't that bad.

You always hear about dark wizards and warlocks/monsters and dragons---all terrorizing the many royal families.

But for what?

When finally a few of the strongest and most vile of beings made a coalition together, they easily overpowered and conquered many of the 'noble and good' kingdoms.

Having done so, they looked very hard at the implications of their victory. What now? Should they just destroy everything? Knock it all down and live alone for eons?

Not at all... that would be far too boring.

Instead, they now had the opportunity to let civilization progress as they wished.

As time passed, the people became more and more and more used to their twisted reign-a sick parody of what life had been like before. In large part this was because they had made life a lot more interesting for the people.

One such favored and beloved past-time, was the Princess Pony Derbies.

Violating princesses had been the first thing on their perverse agenda and had found a way to do so... for all of time... in one of the most deliciously decadent ways possible.

Nobility was still cherished and adorned. They made sure of that-gilding the lily. Royal kingdoms were essentially large scale pet-projects of the old-evil-ones. They let the people think that the snobbish greedy kings and fierce matronly queens were in charge-or at least some prized set of figure-heads between the common and the new, true lords. Their demented gaze on young princesses had evolved into a world-wide obsession.

Princesses now had very 'special' place in society. They were idols. Cherished by all, envied by all. Growing up, they were all treated like pop stars and celebrities. And at a certain age---they would begin training for the derbies.

The ultimate test of a princess, was these derbies.

On their eighteenth birthday, it came. They were pampered and groomed and made to crawl on all fours. They were given heels-like hoofs to wear as gloves and on their knees that created the galloping type movement of the now traditional "pony-princess".

Entire kingdoms devoted themselves to these contests as a city to their sports team. Victory meant fame and respect(as well as the prosperity of their kingdom).Failure meant humiliation and breeding. The pressure was intense all these girls, but the society had tailored them to worship this practice.

And now we turn our gaze to a very special pony princess.

Fresh to her hooves and as beautiful as any.

She was gorgeous and beloved by her kingdom. As she grew up, the peasants and commoners would all swoon and compliment her regal and striking good looks and warm, loving heart.

Once she had her hooves though, on her regular canters through the countryside, they would all pet at her back, always careful to leave her well-kept mane from abuse. They'd comb her tail and shower her with affection.

Princess Lucia was her name. Her complexion was like snow through stain-glass. A pale amber-seeming to just glow in some lights off of her soft mocha form. Her hair was the night, and as easy to get lost in. Her 'tail' was made to match-a custom fitting plug wedged into her royal rump that swept about as she strut about.

And now---she was dripping with sweat, heaving her arms forward as her legs pushed back and dug her heel-hoofed knees into the ground.

Her motion was a blur, the princess only determined to go forward as fast as possible-nothing else even close to whispering in the analogs of her mind.

The only thing that was able to stop it was her chest and shoulders bracing into the lacy red ribbon that marked the finish line. She broke through it and the crowd went wild-masses over hungry eyes over her young, nubile body as they cheered.

The rest of the girls hurried up behind her but were ultimately far too late.

Lucia took stance once she had finally slowed a stop, orbs opened wide and skimming around frantically.

Had she actually done it? She run her first race?

Of course there were plenty more ahead-but for now, that thought was far from her thoughts as posse of caretakers came out onto the track, two of the burly men hoisting her blushing body up into their arms and carrying her around the arena as they all threw roses and splashed wine and champagne across her supple shape.

After a lap and half, they carried her off and down into one of the 'stables' laying her down on a lavish purple cushioned bench, her back sinking lushly into it's mold.

The group of four, all well-built and barely clad men proceeded to pull up trays.

Seconds later, she was being sponged down by the cast of servants, spongy her down and thoroughly washing her from head to toe. Their hands gripped her and just shifted her at their will.

As it went on, her wet body was essentially being groped by all four gentlemen, large calloused grips kneading across her budding breasts... squeezing and massaging over her ass and inner thighs.

Even scrubbing her wispy-haired mound outside and in(with the help of a few thick, soapy fingers)

It ended after felt like one blissful eternity, their hands pulling her up off the wonderfully comfortable bench and now 'dressing' her.

Her hooves were changed to something like stilettos. Long lacy white stockings were pulled over her legs.

Lucia's rich black tail was brushed as they fitted a clinging silky top over her chest, her breasts spilling out of it, but the corset-like frame of the torso's bit just pushed them up and made them look unrealistically pert and full.

The honey-colored princess was brought out again, now rows of men in suits and aisles of women in fancy dresses marveling at her as she was lead on two feet towards the front stage.

"And the Daga Cup goes to Princess Lucia." The mustached announcer proclaimed as she daintily made it up the steps in her own good time.

A sash was pulled over her neck, giving her some modesty as it draped over the mid-line of her elevated bust.

Before her, out on the field, the other princesses were getting rutted hard by some of the lesser nobles. Now forfeit to their whims and later to be taken and pounded primal by various studs and stallions of noble birth.

Lucia's aspirations would be higher now. If she were to continue in winning, the ultimate prize would be hers...

But for now, she was escorted by her group of personal servants off again-brought a carriage in which she sprawled out tired in the back of it, curling up with mountain of velvety sheets that scattered about.

As she did, her care-takers loomed around her, pulling her legs apart and taking turns servicing her orally as the carriage stumbled forward to her home and she eased in and out napping.