Author's Note

Characters used: Anonymous, Queen Chrysalis
Perspective: Third Person
Fetish: Decapitation?
Type: Clop

Thanks to Eighth for helping with editing this!

F#4: The Exchange

The land of Equestria is untamed, barren. Civilization is a flickering flame, the might of the sibling Alicorns has not yet brought law and order to the land. Behind every dark hill lay untapped magic, mystery, and high adventure!

Along this broken path wanders a brave warrior, Anonymous, whose fate has bound him here to this land until he can find a way home. Anonymous has grown weary from his long travels; his feet drag in the dirt, his shoulders weigh heavy with the burden of his sword and days of quiet travel, while his parched lips cry out for water and rest.

Here, far from the last village he’s encountered, it is easy to go days without seeing another creature of sentience. Yet, he must press on, with only a vague heading and the tugging in his heart to push him forward. The winds, the very cold of night are set against him, his shoulder length hair billows behind him in waves. The warmth provided by his animal furs offering little comfort on this dreary night.

Knees weak, muscles sore, and will fading, it is here that Anonymous nearly meets his end! However, yonder, his eyes catch the haze of smoke obscuring the stars in the night sky. With renewed vigor he surges forth, struggling down the stone steps which he climbed to the grassy gnoll below.

Unthinking, uncaring, he recklessly slides down the side of the steep hill, scraping the back of his leg fiercely. Without a cry of pain, nor any consideration at all, he presses forward toward the source of the fire. Obscured by myriad hills and rocks, he finally comes upon the source — a small hut.

The clearing which the hut is built is surrounded on three sides by rocks and other natural obstructions. The wind is reflected here, blowing over his head. There stands a curious mare in the doorway, leaning in a way to accentuate the curves of her flank.

Reflexively, the hairs on his neck stood on end, and Anonymous partially drew his blade. She coos gently, saying there is no need for violence before she offers him in, to be warmed by the fire and partake of food and drink.

His eyes go wide, and not for lack of light. The bitter cold snaps at his extremities and his body tingles with the imagined sensation of a warm fire, and provisions. With a curt nod and a setting aside of his weapon, he hobbles in after her.

The hut is small, made with firm wood of young trees with animal hides draped over them. An unusual choice for a pony, who in Anonymous’ experience rarely wear or use such things. The mare, with a sleek coat of grey and piercing eyes of purple, offers him a warm drink and bread and other simple foods.

He reaches out for them, gingerly at first, expecting some trick from the unicorn mare that watched his movements closely. However, hunger and more primal want seized control, and feverishly began consuming the hospitality of his host.

An inquiry as to his intentions and traveling destination falls on deaf ears at first, as he continues to shovel in pieces of bread and small berries into his mouth. After washing it down with another swig of bitter tea, he explains his quest to return home — and more importantly his desire for an item of great power, or even a portal that could send him back there.

She smiles wryly, lounging out on a large bear skin of alluring softness. With a light giggle, she promises directions and information about a portal in return for compensation.

With a furrowed brow and voice as unwavering as the steel of his blade Anonymous declares, “I have no money or assets of value for which to trade.”

Her wandering eyes pace out each chiseled muscle and rippling scar tracing his body, finally descending upon his loins, now only covered by a tapering cloth. It is obvious what she wants, but Anonymous had his apprehensions, why such a simple act for such seemingly valuable information. Perhaps it is of no value to her, and she is willing to give it up to a strange being like Anonymous for this token act.

Satisfied of both his cold, hunger and thirst, Anonymous ponders the act and how it would provide a relaxing layer of fatigue to his already tired body that would provide a peaceful rest. With a stroke of his chin, he nods again, to which the mare lets out a shuddering sigh of anticipation.

She saunters over to him, sitting crossed-legged. With a long tongue, she begins gently lapping his cheek and arm, taking great pleasure in the salty-sweetness of his sweat. He is inclined to recoil, but instead lowers his inhibitions and relaxes his tense muscles.

Her huffs of breath roll down his skin, repelling the slight cold in the hut that the fire had no dispelled. She places a hoof on his chest and motions him to lean back, he does so slowly, finding a small chest to rest his neck on. His traveling clothes and furs offering a blanket of sorts.

He had not been with a mare before, but that didn’t frighten him. The piercing, powerful gaze of his night partner gave him imperceptible shivers. His body could sense magic at work, and get her horn did not glow, nor could he see any magical effects. Against his better judgement, he cups her rear, pulling her on top of him. She hisses lowly in a strange way, and his eyes become lidded and heavy.

Now the magic begins, silvery sparkling tracery working its way under his garments and massaging his genitals to erection. He grunts heavily at the sudden pleasure, gripping her more tightly and sending a scouting digit to her waiting wetness. She encourages this, moving to accommodate his prodding as she offers some mutual pleasure.

He slips a finger in, noting how foreign it feels, and yet also similar. He demands some of the information, whispering into one tickled ear, which twitches as it collects his words.

“North, forward,” she begins, letting loose a moan now as a second finger cooperates with the first to spread her labia. He orders her to tell him how many days, as he uses his other hand to take firm grasp of the base of his manhood.

“Three beginning sunset, if you walk both day and night,” she manages to blurt out before he shoves her down back onto the bearskin.

He stands before he, proud erection and intimidating size shadowing the mare. She hisses and questions if he is going back on his deal. He does not reply verbally, instead choosing to fall to his knees, still lording over her.

He positions her as to best accommodate him, which she has no qualms about, easily moving into position below him. With an animal’s ferocity Anonymous paws at her flank, dragging her an inch or two forward so that their sexes could meet properly. She arches her back and bites down on her hoof to contain her pleasure as he enters her.

Hot molten entering a frozen river! A burst of crackling pleasure, and the cooling heat to follow. He stokes the flames of passion again with another full hilt thrust. He grits his teeth himself, the dam of his inhibitions crumbling under the torrent of more carnal pleasure. He leans deeply over her, arms planted firmly on either side of her head, grasping the thick fur of the skin.

Hammer to hot metal, flying sparks and the pleasure of hard work! He pumped into her like a craftsman working his trade, grunting along with her feminine moans. This goes on for many minutes, and the fire dims. Sweat traces his brow as he continues to work away at her, marble falling to chips and revealing a seductive statue.

Without much thought, he leans into to her whispering, soft ministrations and directions. Her long tongues curls out, first to allow her to pant, which along with her blushing face and squeezing cunt is more than enough proof that he is holding up his end of the bargain. However, he almost doesn't notice the unnaturally long tongue work its way to his ear, and then neck. Warm saliva quickly cooling.

She wraps a hoof around his neck, tugging him deeper into her, closer. And she meets her mouth with his in a loving buss, which lasts no more than a second, as she gently bites into his shoulder and neck. She giggles, and lets loose an affirming half-laugh of his own. She speaks again, this time of the portal's swirling depths, undulating rings of white and black.

"Yes!" he declares, nearing orgasm now. He ramps up his thrusting, which causes her to gasp, letting out a shrill cry of convulsing pleasure. Then, suddenly, she returns to her chanting — this time not of Anonymous' prize, but antediluvian tongues which grind on Anonymous' soul like nails on stone.

With immense strength she pins him in place, legs curling around him to keep him in her. He thrashes back just as her wet, wanting mouth bites down with a vicious intent on his shoulder. He lets free a cry of pain, wiggling now to attempt to free himself. However, he now notices painful, pincer-like grasps clutching his cock, not unlike clawed fingers. From his shoulder, he felt his essence begin forceful sucked out, and his head swims as blood is extracted from his human wellspring.

They grip his manhood painfully, as she laughs in an otherworldly, demonic voice. Her body begins to glow with green light as it transforms back into what must be its original form! Anonymous recoils as he feels her chitinous, hard body and holed appendages. He tears her face from his shoulder, skin painfully ripping with it.

"Behold your queen, my new sire!" she yelps, foul fangs letting loose their grip on his flesh.

He's able to grapple her now, one hand clamping on her throat forcefully. Her green slit-like snake eyes narrow and her horn begins to burst with magical energy, however, before she can cast any depraved spell Anonymous acts. He lifts her up and backward best he can, penis still paired with her clamping depths. With his free hand, he grasps the handle of the pommel of his sword, knocking it into his palm.

"Fiend!"

With a stunning blow, he cleaves her neck partly from her body. A gurgling shriek rings out, and her magic peters as it fades. Black ichor gushes from the wound, splattering the floor and dousing the fire. A secondary strike and he completely decapitates the changeling, her body falling limp as he grips her by the hair.

Quite uncomfortably his hips buck and he trembles as he cums inside her, seed spilling into her still warm depths as the grip loosens on his penis. He growls in disgust and pulls out, body sending signals and sensations of both post orgasmic stimulation and revulsion.

Anonymous clutches his wounded shoulder and stands, shaking his head at the sight before him.