She can't possibly be serious, but the look on her face tells you that she is. You hear a rustling, Trixie has just levitated a small brown box from under her sheets. It slides in front of you. Trixie pushes it a bit closer to you with her hoof, just to drive home the point. You nearly cry just looking at that tiny brown parcel. You know exactly what's inside and it scares you too much to open it."
"Come now, take your present and put it on, or momma will get angry."
Trixie's voice manages to blend anger and arousal, and that scares you even more than the thought of modeling for her. You flip the lid open and stare down at the tiny, lacy, pink garments. They're so demeaning you wouldn't put your newborn foal in them. But you've hit rock bottom now, you just want to get this over with as quickly as possible. As you take the clothing out you hear a pop behind you. You look up just in time to see Trixie pour herself a glass from a bottle of high-class champagne. Her eye beckon you onward as her long-stemmed glass tips itself to her lips.
You swallow the last shred of your dignity and begin to slip on the little wool booties. Trixie makes sure to tie them tight around your ankles. Then you place the little pink smock around your midsection, it was embroidered as embarrassingly as possible: Trixie's little angel. That alone was enough to make you blush, but then Trixie pops a tiny bonnet with all the frills on top of you. And then, just when you couldn't be more mortified with the humiliation you're enduring just for a diaper change, Trixie shoves a pacifier in your mouth, completing the infantile look.
"Mm, fabulous. Trixie loves it." She remarks then pauses to sip from her champagne. She's resting her head on one hoof, sitting on her pillows like they're a throne, "Now model for me."
You stand, the padded booties and sagging diaper make it tough to keep balanced though. Trixie seems to be watching with great intent as you struggle to stand with your legs splayed like a filly learning to walk. She twirls her hoof in a circle. You take the hint and start turn around, slowly, for her. When you turn your messy rear towards her she holds the same hoof out, your signal to stop. She gestures upward and you start to arch your back to stick your diaper higher in the air. Your mistress stares into your squishy butt, enthralled by the sight. She takes another gulp of champagne, depleting her glass, and starts to pour herself another.
"Shake it, for Trixie." she commands, and you have no choice but to obey.
You start to wiggle your sagging padding back and forth. It's the most perverse use of the word you could imagine, but you manage to shake it just enough to appear sexy. Trixie starts to grow a lewd smile as she watches you. Though you're not sure if it's your dancing or the champagne.
"Now look over your shoulder and act surprised, like you didn't know Trixie was watching. And don't forget about that pacifier."
You imitate the pose, burning to ashes those shreds of dignity you had left. Every suckle of the pacifier makes you want to cry. To keep her happy, you stretch further so that your diaper is nearly on her lap, which earns you an encouraging slap on the behind. Her forwardness makes you yelp, nearly dropping your pacifier. You glance over your shoulder to look at Trixie. You can already see the blush on her blue face.
"Oh yesh.. Yer Trishie's big baby aren'tcha?"
You don't know how much of that bottle she's downed. You do know, however, that a drunken Trixie is going to cause a lot more trouble than a sober one, especially when you're counting on her to change your diaper. Trixie's hoof moves down you her crotch, massaging it with one hoof while she holds the wobbling glass steady with her other.
"Have a sheet, shish down in that big messhy diaper." She slurrs.
You hesitate. Though, with the liquor loosening her inhibitions, you doubt Trixie would tolerate lollygagging. You slowly squat down, the exertion causing you to squeeze out another load of dung into your huggies. The feeling of the warm pile squishing up against your butt nearly makes you retch as you ease into the mushy seat. You sit spread-legged, hoping to appear as alluring as possible for Trixie.
"Oh yeah.. Mmm, yesh, yesh! You nashty little *Hic* filly!"
A magic force yanks your pacifcer away and you suddenly miss it. You don't get much time to pine for it, because it's quickly replaced by the hard glass mouth of Trixie's champagne bottle. Her magic pulls your head back and forces you to chug, choking and gagging, on the flat alcohol until not a drop is left. Your lightheaded wooziness is quickly replaced by relief as your bladder forces out a deluge of urine into the front of your diaper.
"What the fuuu-" You shudder as the flow picks up, "Do I even have a stomach anymore, or does food just shoot straight through me now?"
"Shhaddap and get ba- *hic* back to p-posin'. I'm losin' my girlboner..."
You whimper and you give her a little pout, but that only arouses her more. Her hoof picks up the pace and soon the entire wagon is filled with the sound of her schlicking. She starts panting, giving you a good whiff of the champagne on her breath,
"Get, huff, get yer fashe in my cunt! Do iiit!" She shouts. You feel her unseen, magical hand force you down into her crotch as she uses your nose to finish off. Trixie belts out one last moan and splatters your face with a squirt of musky pleasure before collapsing in ecstasy. You slowly pull your face up, stretching the clear strands of cum that adhered to your face. You look up to your captor and read her emotions. She...
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