The Hoovefilly's Tale

For three nights and four days, Prince Blueblood repeatedly mounted me, whether I wanted him to or not.

“It’s your duty, princess,” he snorted at me as his thing slid inside of me. He held me down as he did so, moving inside of me until he grunted, and I felt a new flush of heat from him. He would talk to me as he did it, grunting every few words, “you have to, ugh, make foals, uhh, to repopulate. Ahhh!”

When he was finally taken away, the changelings checked my straps and led me back to the tight pens, pens just big enough that I could stand up if I wanted to, or lay down, but no room to really turn around. My head was leashed to a clip where the trough for food was. My wings were tied down to my sides, and I could tell that several of the tips had been clipped short. My horn was broken, and any magic I could muster fizzled. One of our handlers made sure that there was no way I could do anything to escape.

So I lay when I needed to sleep, and stood when I needed to eat, or defecate. Somehow, they always knew when we were about to excrete, and it was taken away swiftly.

At random, we would be ordered to stand and our caretakers would check on us. Tongues would lap our nethers and, although I never understood their mumblings, I knew readings were taken.

In sections, over the course of a week, the mares would be taken away, and then returned with tears streaming down their faces. As they cried, I could taste their despair. Their foals had been washed out of their uteruses and implanted into willing changeling workers. They would be repeating the cycle, and as the section chosen got closer to me, mares choses to be bred were taken away.

We could hear screaming as unwilling mares fought the breeding.

Then they came for me.

I didn’t fight the prodding or the pulling. I went where the lead directed me. I was placed in a smaller pen, one where I could not turn around.

“Ah, good, there’s 626. Our former princess of the Crystal Empire.”

‘What are you going to do to me, Crysalys?”

She laughed at, chuckling and stroked my mane with her hoof. “My dear little alicorn. Your foal will be implanted within me. As we speak, my drones are preparing you to have your womb washed out, and your embryo salvaged for me. I will be the womb in which your first foal will grow. I will feed off it’s love, as it feeds from my body to grow into a proper pony.” Queen Crysalys’ cackle made me shudder even as she continued, “maybe I’ll even allow it to be born, and not placed in a pod for my hive when it’s large enough.”

“No!” I fought the chains that held me and could not. The pen I was in held me fast.

“Tut-tut, my little pony,” Crysalys clucked at me. “You need to relax. This won’t hurt. Much.”

I screamed in alarm as a solid tube was slide into me. I felt it penetrate my cervix and into my womb. The pain was sharp and it took my breathe away. I gasped and wailed in pain, begging them to stop.

“Oh no, my little pony,” Crysalys chuckled. “Your foal is much needed.”

I screamed as something ice cold hit my insides. I jerked and shuddered, trying to fight to get away, but I couldn’t. It hurt. A lot.

Then it stopped and the tube was removed as liquid drained from me.

“We have it, your majesty!”

“Marvelous,” said the queen of the changelings, as she climbed onto a table in front of me and laid down, spreading her hind legs so that her minions had easier access to her. They slid the tube in, and she closed her eyes, savoring everything that was being done.

Within moments, it was done. My embryo… my foal… was in her! That bitch. That whore. How dare she take my baby! How dare she gloat about it!

My baby. My foal.

I closed my eyes and cried… She was right. I had listen to her minions talk. The pony population had been decimated. Of those that survived, only a small fraction of the females were still fertile. They needed to repopulate as fast as they could. The changelings fed on our love and happiness, and even our lifeforce. They needed us.

They needed our embryos.

Happy changeling workers were the ones who carried our foals. They even allowed their wombs to be viewable, so that the developing fetus could be seen. The workers would talk about how much more energy they felt with a growing fetus. They described feeling better about themselves, and better able to help the ponies rebuilt their population.

The fillies and mares that were fertile, were listed as hooffillies. The truly lucky ones got to carry their own foals.
The rest, like me, were repeatedly bred every month, and our embryos taken.

I cried, as they led me back to my small pen, to away my next breeding.

“Don’t worry, princess, we have new drugs. We will get you breeding again in a week.”

I turned to look at my handler, and hung my head.

My name is Princess Flurry Heart and this is how we survived.