Perhaps You Haven't Herd?
Serving drinks to stallions at a gay bar wasn’t exactly how you had imagined living in Equestria. Oh, you had held no delusions of grand adventure, nor had you convinced yourself you were destined for greatness. At the most, you’d figured you would maybe live the brony dream, cum inside Rainbow Dash, and seduce at least two or three of the princesses with your charm and a tip of your fedora.
Instead, you were here in some weird, gender-flipped Ponyville, working the only job that would take you. It wasn’t a bad job, per se. You were used to the late nights and meager pay from your time as a data entry clerk, but there were drawbacks. You rarely got to see any mares in the bar, and those that did come by had repeatedly informed you that their barn doors didn’t swing that way. It was a phrase you’d quickly put to use against the many flirtations from the male patrons at the bar, all of whom had a creepy fixation with your hands.
You supposed that you couldn’t blame the straight mares for having little interest in you, anyway. How could they, when stallions had their pendulous horse dongs on display all the time, leaking their candy-flavored cum—or so the patrons at the bar insisted—wherever they went? Why would they want your puny monkey-dick when a virile young buck could take a mare right in the marketplace?
Shrugging off the advances of the stallion on the stool directly across from you, you wondered how you’d gone so wrong.
When you received a sweepstakes email informing you that had been granted a one-way trip to Equestria, you were thrilled. Since the first season of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, you were a super fan. There wasn’t an episode you couldn’t recite from memory, and there were very few background ponies you couldn’t name. In your eyes, you were the perfect representative for the human race—not that there weren’t other humans already there.
The staff at the Pone Co. research lab assured you that their magic go-to-Equestria potion was completely safe, and they had already sent a number of men and women to this new world to establish relations through an exchange of culture and technology. In exchange for these gifts, Pone Co. teams were permitted to house and find employment for any humans lucky enough to be chosen for Equestrian citizenship.
Truth be told, you didn’t understand a lick of how the potion worked, or how a drink could bring your clothes and belongings from one world to another. In fact, you were more concerned that the potion smelled like bleach than how it functioned, because momma always told you not to drink the stuff under the sink. Like she said, “If it smells like clean, it’ll hurt you somethin’ mean.”
The kindly Nurse Kevorkian, who had been the one to administer the potion, was more than happy to remedy the issue. She said that the concoction could be mixed with your favorite beverage, Orange Tang, and quickly went to get you some. When she’d returned with a glass of orange juice and a big, creepy smile, you didn’t have the heart to complain that it wasn’t Tang.
Looking around the basement in wide-eyed excitement, it never once struck you as odd that such a business would operate out of a house—if they had an office building and giant advertisement, everybody would want to go to Equestria. She sat you back on a chair as the potion took hold, and very hurriedly had you sign some waivers for management of your belongings after your passing. Of course someone else would have to move all of your things, so it only made sense that some things might get broken. You signed them all without a care, even as your vision darkened and your stomach began to ache.
It occurred to you now, as you mixed a drink for the mint-green unicorn at the end of the bar, that you’d been duped. Your belongings never showed up, and when you appeared naked on the roof of the town hall, nopony knew what you were, nor had anyone told them you were coming. You were quite surprised when you were interrogated not by four princesses, but princes, to determine what sort of threat you posed. Of course they deemed you harmless enough and helped you off of the roof, but not before firmly telling you to get a job. In a place where the average mare was as tall as you, it was pretty simple to find work, as it turned out, despite the jarring reality that the ponies were not little.
“Hey there, you,” your minty friend said, as you placed the White Griffon on the bartop in front of him. “How’s it going?”
You shrugged and began wiping out the inside of a beer stein with a washrag, not quite making eye contact. “Frustrated, Rote... so very frustrated,” you answered flatly. “Everywhere I go, ponies are either getting it on, or it’s horsecock on parade. Just once I would like a chance with a mare. I mean, size isn’t everything!”
“Perhaps you haven’t heard, but mares aren’t exactly common here,” he replied, levitating his glass up from the countertop and taking a sip as he rubbed his tuft of a beard with one hoof. “Maybe the sex ratio was a bit more balanced where you came from, but every year, fewer mares are born. You pretty much gotta be part of a herd to get some female tail. When a mare takes a partner, she’s looking for somepony who can stretch her and make her feel good. Last thing she wants near her parts is something that looks like it has many small snakes attached to it.” He winked at you and added, in a teasing tone, “And it’s not like that little thing you had on display when you first got here would do much in the filling department.”
You shot your frequent customer an angry look. “I just don’t see what the big deal is,” you whined jealously, dropping the rag on the counter and crossing your arms. “What’s so great about something that lasts less than a minute and then it’s over?”
Rote gave you a playful look as he dropped his bits on the counter, and turned away, giving you a good glance of that harp—or was it some sort of lyre?—cutie mark on his flank. “I could show you, if you really wanted,” he purred, flicking his white and grey-green striped tail in your direction and giving you a good glimpse of his large and heavy sac. A heavy musk filled your nose, and you found your cloth pants begin to grow tight. “I’m sure the manager won’t mind if you take a bit of a break.”
To your surprise, your boss—a unicorn mare—was right beside you at that very moment, a conspiratorial smirk on her face. “Oh, go ahead and take a little break,” she said, giggling. “I’m sure he’ll set you right.”
A seed of inner conflict wormed its way into the back of your mind. You’ve never really been interested in men, and as curious as you were, the cocks you’d seen about town and even here in the bar were easily as long as your arm. Kind of an intimidating prospect—not to mention you didn’t get paid breaks. At the same time, though, you couldn’t deny that there was something about that stallion—you had to follow him.
As if picking up on your apprehension, she smiled. “If you’re worried about getting paid, relax,” she insisted. “You’ll get your payment, don’t you worry.”
The smile on your boss’s face made you suspicious, but the only thing that really came to mind was that she was one of those mares who liked to watch. You turned back to Rote and nodded. “So, how does this work?”
“Just follow me,” was his only answer. So as Rote weaved his way through the crowds of dancing stallions, you followed, paying no mind to his glowing horn or the two loud musical whistles that came from it.
It was almost as though he was leading you along with his magic as he left through the back door of the nightclub. There was no real way to explain it. You felt compelled to follow, in a way that should only have been feasible had you been on the bottle. Was he playing with your mind? Was it that musky odor? But why would stallion pheromones attract you?
When you both entered the alley behind the club, none of your concerns really mattered. It was just you, Rote, and the implication of what was to come. The stallion smiled as he bumped you with his flank. This mere equivalent of a pony love tap left you unbalanced, and given that he was roughly the size of a horse from Earth, the laws of physics mandated that you fall flat on your arse.
“See, your problem is that mares aren’t interested in that dinky little thing straining in your pants,” he said with pride as you stared down his cock. From your new position on the ground, you could see his shaft slowly expanding out of his sheath. “Because it just can’t compete!”
Not that you were really listening. Sure, there had been plenty of opportunities for you to see the candy-colored horse cocks in passing while out and about in town, but you’d never gotten a good look at one before. It just hadn’t seemed right to stare at a stallion’s erection when everybody else—even the foals running about—acted like it was perfectly normal. Now, though, you didn’t need to feel guilty about ogling it or being curious. He wanted you to see it—hell, he probably wanted you to do more than just look at it.
And by god, that aroma. It had been mind-bending when you’d only gotten a whiff of his balls in the bar, but here you were only a few feet away from his large, black shaft, and the scent coming off of it was completely intoxicating. The smell wasn’t just of sweat and animal, you could practically smell the power of his masculinity and the slightest hint of sweet mint. This was the scent of a virile stallion, and it just had to be what made you unable to compete. It was the scent that said, “I’m going to make you mine.”
You found yourself beginning to drool as he reached full mast. His veiny, almost rubbery length twitched once, bouncing the head of his cock against his barrel. A bead of precum leaked from the tip in response to the contact with his chest, and an even stronger scent of mint flooded your nostrils. You tracked its progress as it slowly rolled down the flared head of his cock.
There was no thought in your mind when you put your hand out; you saw the drop of pre fall, and couldn’t bring yourself to let it go to waste. A static tingle raced up your arm the moment the droplet splashed down on your open palm. It was so hot, and you couldn’t help but stare at it. It was easily as big as one of your own loads, and that had only been a single bead of pre-seminal fluid!
“Go ahead and have a taste,” he said in a husky voice. You looked away from your hand and met his half-lidded eyes as he peered around his shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about it being gay or not. With the ratios the way they are, most stallions are bi out of convenience, even the ones in herds. The mares love watching two bucks go at it.”
Sure enough, a glance at the doorway revealed your boss sitting on her haunches in the doorway, not at all trying to hide the fact that she was enjoying the show. Her tail was wagging like a puppy’s and her cheeks were flushed. One of her forehooves was even teasing up and down the length of her barrel, parting the fur with the tip, and her horn glowed all the while. Yeah, she was definitely into it.
You didn’t know who to look at when you finally decided to take the plunge. On the one hand, it seemed like the sort of thing the voyeuristic mare might like, but on the other was the cum of the stallion who’d convinced you to do all this. In the end, you settled on closing your eyes as you brought your palm up and extended your tongue.
Your tongue grazed the surface of the miniature puddle, and your face flushed with blood. It tasted so minty and sweet, like the gum you used to chew back home, and you were getting dizzy just smelling it. It might have been a bit too slimy for your liking, but his flavor was more than enough to make up for it. Throwing your inhibitions to the wind, you raised your hand above your head, and let the remainder of his little treat slide off his hand into your waiting mouth.
You couldn’t tell who had moaned when you swallowed the load; it could have been all three of you. The fact of the matter was, you didn’t care. It was too tasty to not help yourself to more. Rote was the bartender now, and there was only one way to get what he had on tap.
Crawling away from the wall, you positioned yourself on your knees beneath him, your face not more than an inch away from the head of his cock. You couldn’t get enough of his taste and his scent, and it was clear that he was eager for your attention too. With a gentle buck of his hips, his cock brushed up against your cheek and smeared pre on your face.
A giggle escaped your throat as you wrapped your hand around his shaft. You couldn’t quite make a complete ring of your fingers around it, but there was enough of a grip that you could hold it still. Again, you extended your tongue for a tentative lick. The moment your warm tongue touched the blunt head of his massive organ, he rewarded you with a pleased nicker and a fresh dollop of pre splashed against your chin.
“More,” he whined piteously. “Oh Solaris, more!”
Who were you to argue with that? If you were doing a good job and he wanted more, you’d give him what he wanted. “You wish is my command,” you whispered. You opened your mouth as wide as you could and pressed it against his cock. The whole circumference wouldn’t fit, but you were able to wrap your lips around the bottom half and almost reach the top ridge. To your surprise, the head of his cock seemed to be swelling, making that task impossible.
You moaned into him, and prodded the underside of his flare with your tongue, running up the center as you went. The moment you hit his urethral opening, Rote grunted and began to tremble. The reward for your efforts, a huge spurt of minty-sweet goodness, hit the back of your throat with such force that you nearly choked on it.
The second round of cum followed so quickly that you hadn’t even had time to swallow the first, filling your mouth and making your cheeks bulge. The seal your lips had made on his cock broke, as you pulled away before you could drown in his semen. His third burst hit your face, just missing your eyes, and you reflexively released your hold on his already-softening shaft.
Even as Rote’s next shots began painting your shirt and pants, you fell onto your back, swallowing the load in your mouth and wiping off the sticky warmth on your face. Looking up at him from between his forelegs, you smiled gaily as you licked the semen from your fingers. So what if your best set of work clothing is absolutely soaked? For whatever reason, your stallion’s cum feels amazing on your skin.
Wait, your stallion? Where did that come from?
“What do you think?” he panted, looking down at you with a certain need in his eyes. “Now that you’ve had a taste, do you want to feel it for yourself? Do you want to be my mare?”
“Yes!” you shouted, in spite of the voice in the back of your head warning you that even if you were into anal, his penis would surely never fit. You paid it no mind, though; he’d marked you with his cum—marked you as his own—and was offering something that promised to be amazing. It’d be rude not to accept. “All of my yes!”
Time seemed to blur as he helped you to your feet. You were so hard that just rubbing against your cum-soaked pants was nearly enough to get you off right then and there. It was a miracle that he was able to lead you over to a stack of empty wooden pallets. He ripped off your cum-rag clothes with such a flourish that some of the excess spattered the nearby wall. Clearly he was every bit as eager as your addled mind seemed to be.
There was no instruction necessary when he urged you against the pallets. After all, they were stacked almost exactly at waist height; if being led over to them wasn’t an invitation to bend over, their convenient height and placement certainly was. You weren’t about to argue—and a very tiny voice in the back of your head promised that bending over meant you’d get more of his delicious candy cum.
As you leaned over the stack, Rote placed his forelegs down on the stack on either side of you. His shaft pressed against your back, and, with the steady stream of pre it was drooling all down the crack of your ass, you could tell that he was ready for more action. Leaning close to your ear, he whispered, “This might hurt a bit, but just keep relaxed and you won’t even notice.”
His slick cock stretched your sphincter wide, and when he nibbled at your ear, a pleased mewling escaped your throat. A lewd sense of fullness warmed your belly as his blunt appendage pushed into you. Even if not for his earplay, most of the discomfort was nothing compared to the warmth of his shaft and his steady stream of pre. An involuntary moan escaped your throat as he eased himself in, and your cock twitched as you felt a sudden pressure against a tender spot inside you.
“Oh, I haven’t forgot about your little friend, either,” he purred, as a gentle warmth enveloped your penis. You were already on high from him entering you and the pressure on your prostate, but just feeling the warmth embracing your member was almost too much. He wasn’t even really trying to get you off with his magic, either. His magic grip wasn’t stroking your length; it was simply gripping and exerting pressure upon it.
You couldn’t accommodate his entire shaft—you were only human—and he hadn’t quite gotten as far as the medial ring before he hit some major resistance. Rote seemed to recognize this, and slowly withdrew his length. For every inch that he managed to squeeze back out of your rectum, a shudder racked his body. It was a curious feeling, like a great relief after being plugged up for so long, while something wide scraped along your insides.
Surrendering to his base, bestial side, he rocked his hips with increasing fervor. He nickered and brayed loudly, announcing to any nearby that somepony was getting lucky tonight. Rote wasn’t the kind unicorn who made all the nights of ham-handed flirting tolerable, he was a complete beast, and he was rutting you hard, like any good mare deserved.
Wait, what?
The pain—and pleasure—you felt when he nipped at the base of your neck distracted you from that alarming thought, and sent you over the edge. It was unlike any orgasm you’d ever experienced before. Even when you’d put a bullet vibe in your dashingly blue Mary from Bad Dragon, you’d never felt such pleasure, or cum so hard or so much.
Ignoring the cock wedging itself inside you and the burning cum flooding your bowel, as amazing as it felt, you looked between your arms down at yourself. It was so alarming that you were still cumming, and with such volume, that while he slumped against you in post-coital bliss, your gaze was fixed on your cock... but was it really yours? Your dick had never been so large, or purple—or equine!
“What’s happening to me?” you whispered to yourself while your partner idly licked the nape of your neck. “What the fuck?”
“You seem pretty confused, hon,” your employer said, a touch of amusement in her tone. Immediately you threw your gaze to the door, where your employer stood in front of a mass of stallions, all vying to get a look at what was occurring in the alley. “It’s as Rote said before. Equestria doesn’t have a lot of mares, and fewer are born every year. There weren’t enough stallions who wanted to become mares to offset this problem, and the princes simply weren’t willing to forcibly impose systematic sex changes on their people.
“That’s where Pone Co. came in,” she said as she strutted out of the bar, a crowd of stallions following behind her. “When Prince Dusk Shine discovered the human world, he saw a great possibility. The human people were so easily manipulated, and there were certain undesirables that he was certain nopony would miss. The prince realized that he could solve two problems at once; rid that world of the undesirables, and increase the population of mares in ours. So he planted the seeds that led to the creation of your so-called My Little Pony, and waited.”
Your body shuddered as the stallion atop you withdrew his deflating member, and when he climbed off of you, your legs went limp. You fell to the ground and tried desperately to rise to your feet. All you managed to do was roll onto your back. “You’re becoming like us, love,” he whispered, nuzzling your cheek. “Well, not exactly like us. A lot of stallions pay good money if they can get a Pone Co. mare for their herd, and, well, you just so happened to be exactly what Bourbon and I ordered.” A predatory grin split his face. “We just need to finish your transformation, and apply a little... reprogramming, and you’ll be the happy-go-lucky newcomer looking for a place to stay.”
As Rote backed away, you noticed all of the stallions that had followed the bar manager out into the alley had surrounded you. They sat on their haunches, eagerly stroking their massive erections. They were already drooling copious amounts of precum, and you realized—with some sadness—that you were actually upset that it was just going to waste on the ground.
Your former boss lit her horn once more, and her magic enveloped your member in a glorious field of pressure. There was nothing more you wanted right then and there than to get away, but at the same time, you wanted—no, needed!—this! “Shall we begin, gentlecolts?”
A strange tickling sensation washed over your engorged horse balls, causing you to look involuntarily down your body at your junk. Your entire body trembled as your testes clenched inward, and, with a weak moan, a great torrent of semen splashed across your face. You cried out in alarm, and tried to wipe the thick stallion milk from your eyes, but to no avail. The next burst to hit your hand was viscous enough that it held fast to your face.
Though you were blind to it, you could tell the stallions had reached their own climaxes. A rainstorm of sticky horsecum pelted your body, gradually gluing you to the ground. Rope after rope of cum struck you, encasing your body in a warm blanket of jism.
Maybe it was all the pheromones you were being exposed to, or the fact that your mouth and nose were so full of cum and you couldn’t breathe, but every part of your body covered in their sticky offerings raced with an electric tingle that, strangely enough, made you feel sleepy. Surely a little nap couldn’t hurt, right? After all, these ponies had gone through so much effort to give you this warm place to sleep.
As the darkness of your well-deserved rest overtook you, you could hear a muffled voice say, “Thank you, Madame Kevorkian. Here’s your payment.”
The warmth of the morning sun on your coat roused you from your restful sleep. Your eyes slowly fluttered open, and you breathed in the damp air. A shiver raced down your spine as you realized you were soaked right to the bone. Of course you managed to fall asleep outside when it was scheduled to rain.
“Silly girl, Adora,” you chided yourself as you rose to your hooves. A shake of your body cleared most of the water from your pink coat, but a quick glance in a nearby puddle reminded you that your yellow and green-striped mane and tail were still soaked and pretty mussed up from your ill-advised nap in the alleyway. Anypony you met might mistake you for a tramp at first glance, but you couldn’t deny that you felt quite refreshed from your rest. “You can’t keep sleeping outdoors forever! You gotta find a place to stay! Maybe today will be the day!”
You nodded to yourself once and looked toward the alley. That was the right way of thinking. All you needed was the right attitude, a rockin’ booty—you wiggled your shapely earth pony flank to verify that it was indeed attached and appropriately rockin’; of course it was—and a winning smile. For a pretty filly like you, the world was your oyster.
You giggled at the strange thought as you walked out of the alley. Why would a pony need an oyster? Shellfish were icky! But then again, how else were you to find the pearls? They didn’t exactly march up to you and say—
Whatever vapid thought you were entertaining escaped you at the exact moment that you walked head-on into somepony who had crossed the alley mouth as you exited. A squeak escaped you as you fell onto your voluptuous bottom, and you gaped up at the stallion in surprise. “I’m sorry!” you cried, hoping he wasn’t like the mean stallions back home... wherever that was. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
He smiled down at you and extended an aquamarine hoof. You flinched back reflexively, but when no blow came, the realization dawned on you that he was offering to help you back to your hooves. You accepted his generosity without a word, and beamed at him as you rose once more. He was pretty cute, after all.
“That’s alright,” he said, straightening his toothpaste-striped mane with a flourish of magic. “Neither was I.” He wore a rather cocky smile that, coupled with his beard, gave him a bit of a roguish, bad-colt look that sorta made your knees all wobbly. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s a pretty filly like you doing in a dirty old alley, of all places?”
A blush crosses your cheeks, and you turned away, unable to look at him in your shame. “Funny story, really—I kinda sorta don’t have a place to stay,” you admitted, allowing your ears to droop. “I’m new in town, and I haven’t exactly found a home yet. I guess I just sorta passed out in the alley last night.”
The minty looking stallion frowned and shook his head. “That simply won’t do! Ponyville’s a lot safer than some of the bigger cities, but an alley behind a nightclub is no place for a beautiful mare such as yourself,” he said in a gentlemanly tone. “My partner—Bourbon Sweets—and I have a spare room at our apartment, and we’d be more than willing to let you stay until you’re back on your hooves.”
You looked at him in momentary confusion. “But, I already am on my hooves! See?” You waved one of your legs for emphasis before realizing that he was using a metaphor—your mortal enemy. “Oh. I mean, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
“It won’t be,” he said quickly. “Surely you must be starving, then, too!” He began to trot off down the road before pausing to look back at you. “Come along, um... oh dear, I didn’t get your name.”
“I’m Adora Belle!” you replied as you cantered off after him, wagging your tail in excitement.
“You certainly are,” he murmured under his breath. “You certainly are.”
Author's Note
So here we are. Seven has officially written his first flat out M/M clopfic, or as I've been referring to it for the last week, his first 'gay horsewords'. Basically, there was a greentext thread that I read on Derpibooru two years ago where 'anon' drinks some off-brand bleach, and winds up in Rule 63 Equestria. There was a lot that could have been done with the concept, but, being greentext, it was never meant to be detailed. So, two years down the line, I became more comfortable in my writing and said "What the hell, why not expand on it?"
Among many things in the greentext, there were a few things I didn't quite like. Firstly was the whole 'suicide' thing. I'm not an advocate of drinking any sort of cleaning products, nor do I think it's funny. Obviously, by dropping that, I needed to come up with a much better reason for 'You' to be in Equestria. Thus the whole Pone Co. plot came to be. I imagined that, in an Equestria where most of the population is male and female births are on the decline, they'd need a way to inflate the population of mares while also not infringing on the rights of their own citizens. After all, not everybody would be volunteers. So why not have a shady organization that would plant the seeds for Friendship is Magic and take advantage of people so eager to go to Equestria that they don't even stop to read any of the paperwork? You know, the ones nobody would miss? Pone Co., or P.O.N.E. [People Openly Needing Eradication/Extermination] was my headcanon for the actual meaning, but obviously to the public it would probably be Pony Operation for Natural Expansion.
Once the Pone Co. subplot took root, it made sense that because of it's borderline illegal [in Equestria, anyway] activities would require funding. Why not have Pone Co. also act like one of those Mail-order Bride services? Only, instead of 'willing' participants, the human dupes would be converted and reprogrammed and released in a way that would bring them to their buyer. After all, even the 'gay' stallions might want some young. Also, fuck Elusive.
You might also have noticed that the author avatar in this story is somewhat parodious of what bronies actually are, as well as the standard second person fic where 'you' get the mare 'you' always had the hots for, usually one of—if not all of—the mane six. The 'you' in the story is the dreaded neckbeard fedoralord of legend, and his coming was foretold... something something dark side, something something I like cheese. TL;DR - Don't take 'yourself' so seriously in these sorts of fics. It's for fun and fetish mate.
An explanation might be necessary in regards to the gender-flipped name. A Rote/Crowd/Crwth[kr-oo-th] is a stringed Welsh instrument related to the Lyre. I didn't really like the fanon Rule 63 name for Lyra, which was apparently Harpsy, because it sounds a bit too feminine. So I did a little looking and chose Rote. A hard, masculine name. Personal preference, y'know?
You know, for a clopfic I really put too much thought into this.
I have a few people I need to thank here. Firstly and foremost, I need to thank 'CropTool' for writing the original greentext years ago. I'd like to think I did the concept some justice. I also want to thank [in no particular order], Battleborn, IkioStar, Proper Noun, and Dash the Stampede for their help writing and tweaking things for smoothness.
If you are truly curious as to the greentext that inspired this story, search derpibooru for the tag 'why boner?' without quotes.
