Farewell, Sweet Prince
Written by Spaslan
Reviewed by the amazing stanku!
His lips traced the outline of her mane. He felt her shivering underneath him, waiting, wanting. He felt the stinging want emanating from his loins, the heat from hers, the lust hanging in the air, the unsated desire. His lips were at her neck, placing soft kisses as she moaned. She turned her head slightly, staring lustily, yet annoyed, into his eyes. He knew she hated foreplay, finding it to be a waste of time. She knew not only that he loved it, but that he loved pushing her buttons as well. He knew a lot about her, yet most of that knowledge was only useful in either of their chambers. The same went for her.
She hated him.
He hated her.
His lips continued their way down her back. She swatted at the air with her tail because of what he could only guess was a mixture of annoyance, want, and pleasure. As he reached the base of her tail, he gave it a light peck before he continued down her flank, and towards her marehood. His actions were automatic. Dull. A lick. A kiss. Teasing and licking. The actions craved little to no thought, and so his mind wandered. He wondered... why did he continue? Why did he do this when he hated her so? When she hated him so? If he did this not for love, then what made him continue?
She moaned as his lips touched her clit. He remembered.
She wanted him.
He wanted her.
He focused more on the actions, licking more forcefully, quicker. Her moans got louder and louder as his tongue pushed deeper and deeper into her, licking her folds and walls. It was a duty, he reminded himself. Not a pleasure, not an honour, no, a duty. There were no positive feelings except the satisfaction of his lust. Nothing else.
He ignored the pain emanating from his stomach.
He began rhythmically pumping his tongue into her, twisting it in new directions with every push. She pushed her hindquarters into his face, trying to force his tongue deeper into her. The taste was tangy. It was far from what he had experienced the first time. Back then, she had tasted like strawberries with the slightest hint of vanilla. He would look forward to teasing her, just to taste that heavenly taste one more time. Now... now it was tangy. Disgusting.
She fervently rubbed and pushed her marehood against his face, trying to reach her climax. He increased the pace, not only out of want, but out of despise, fear, and hatred. They both knew what she would do if he didn’t live up to her expectations, even though they were always changing, always twisting in some peculiar fashion. Perhaps some would call them chaotic. Yet whether they were chaotic or not was not really something he dwelled on too much. He did what he had to, acted as he had to, and left far too willingly.
He hated being here with her.
But he had to.
There was a time when he truly loved her. A time when just spending time with her would make his heart soar, make him sweat and ramble. He would have given a wing just to be with her for five more minutes. But no more. She soon killed those feelings. As time went by, she turned more aggressive, abusive. Any disagreement would turn into a fight. Any disobedience would be rewarded with beatings and lock-up. The others were far too happy with rewarding him. He didn’t despise them as much as he did her. They were just doing what they had been told to do. Were he in their place, he would have done the same. But the world has a queer way of choosing what you must do.
And so he continued to pleasure her. For now.
Their queen had explained to their entire colony why this was so important. Why they all had to partake in these rituals of procreation nearly daily. He knew the dangers of not doing this, of not complying. At best, it would be a clean death. At worst, starvation. And last time he checked, he didn’t have a death wish. But it was damn well close.
He moved his head from her nethers and his body over hers. His cock finished hardening before he pushed it into her. She screamed in delight. He groaned with mixed feelings. And so it began again. The sex. There were no feelings other than duty and lust. Pushing and pulling. Groaning and moaning. It all became a monotonous, autonomous ordeal. It felt not as if he was the one with his cock in one of his thousands of siblings. He became the fly on the wall, watching everything, sighing at his own stupidity. He wondered what led him here in the very beginning. What had made him love her to begin with?
She screamed in pure bliss.
Oh, yeah. That was it. The screams and moans she had made during their first night together. Sounds he would never forget. No matter how hard he tried.
He would always try to block out her sounds, try to ignore her whenever this happened. And it would work for a short while. But something always broke his concentration. Something that left a patch of grey in his sight, though it would disappear quickly. He had heard talk of something clad in a grey cloak, a creature of sorts, much taller than his kind, but smaller than others. Then again, his kind had the same size of that other species. The ones they used to survive. The ones he had to disguise himself as, even now. How he hated it. But it was the only way this could be done. Yet every curse could be a boon in disguise.
She screamed with unadulterated ecstasy.
He felt something flow down his leg. He came.
He whispered sweet nothings into her ear, just like he knew she wanted. He kissed her neck and whispered lovingly to her, promises of things that both knew could never be.
Then he stabbed her. Right in the throat.
The blood gushed out of her as the dagger moved from one side of her neck to the other. Her disguise faltered, the mare’s sandy fur was slowly exchanged for the black carapace of a changeling. The red blood spurting out from her throat turned a rich brown. Before her nethers changed, he pulled out of her, spilling some of his seed on the now red linen bedsheet before he quickly shifted his form back to normal. The slit that had been in her nethers was gone, removed by a black carapace. The linen cloth underneath slowly turned a reddish brown. He turned her over so he could stare into her eyes one last time. He looked at her lovingly, as a partner, a lover, would. He stroked her cheek gently and whispered sweet nothings to her again.
Then he gouged out both her eyes.
She tried shouting for help. She couldn’t. She couldn’t scream either. Her vocal chords had been torn apart by the blade, and her mouth filled with blood. It still streamed from her neck, though the blood had also trickled slowly from her mouth in reddish brown streams, and now from her eyes as well, the brown liquid running down cheeks. He would have done this sooner, but the situation had never been as perfect as now. He pulled out the blood-stained blade and prepared for another strike.
It tore straight through her carapaced skull, piercing her brain. The blade rummaged around, causing as much damage as it possibly could from this position. Before it could reach deeper, it was pulled out again. He examined the blade, now stained with blood and brain matter. Without another thought, the blade flew through her chest, crushing the carapace it hit. And there it stayed. A reddish energy flowed from the corpse and into his chest, the life-energy of his… “lover” renewing his body. He closed his eyes and inhaled, preparing for the pain that would come. His carapace burned, his body quickly repairing whatever damaged it had sustained, both old and new ones. The missing chunk of carapace on his forehead quickly healed, restoring the face he had once had. His wings had a new sheen of protective coating on them. His eyes were brighter than ever. Previously broken bones renewed themselves properly, removing all deformities there had been. It hurt like hell.
But he persevered.
He rose from the bloodied bed, now adorned with a large splotch of rich brown darkening the linen cloth. He spat on her corpse and left the room. Outside there was nary a soul. Good. That meant he had at best a few hours before anyone knew what had transpired. Nevertheless, if they caught him, he wouldn’t lie about what he had done this day.
If they caught him.
And so he left. Slick as oil, quick as rushing water, sticking to the dark.
He checked if anyone was watching him once more. There was. A tall, horned creature draped in a tattered, grey cloak. It all came rushing back to him. It was the creature he had seen many times but forgotten about entirely afterwards. It nodded to him and disappeared, as if it was sucked into a void that had suddenly appeared at its chest. And just like that, it was gone. Though it hadn’t talked to him, he understood a message it had sent him. He would remember it this time.
So just like that, he was gone, though not in the same manner.
They never caught him.
The creature was standing outside a changeling hive, far away from the civilization of these “ponies.” It chuckled to itself, allowing itself some mirth at what had transpired this night. The moon was high, full, and the Prince had been found. His realm was still unknown to the creature, but he had a hunch. In a few weeks, another of these curious beings known as changelings would appear, and the creature was anticipating his arrival. That changeling, though strange his situation would be, could prove useful to the creature, and so it found great interest in his well-being. The creature let out a last chuckle before it disappeared into the void, a small wind all that it left.
The winds blew for a while, lifting sand into the air and smashing it down to the ground again, erasing the tracks of a visitor that had never been there.
Author's Note
So. This is my first foray into what is vaguely clop territory.
I'd love to know what I did right, and what was wrong in every possible way.