Author's Note

Written by Alias, changeling queen extraordinaire!

Featuring the editing talents of: Silent Whisper, who was rewarded with a dozen eggs.

Contains: Changeling-on-pony breeding, oviposition, F/F Futa, bondage

The Merits of Journalistic Curiosity - A First-Hoof Account of Changeling Fertility Rituals, by Alias (Changeling-on-Pony Breeding, Bondage, Oviposition)

The Merits of Journalistic Curiosity:

A First-Hoof Account of Changeling Fertility Rituals

Jot Note gives a nervous gulp as she’s led, blindfolded, deep into the bowels of the dungeons below the Society Clocktower. She couldn’t tell exactly where she was being led, only that she had gone down several flights of stairs, and the stone beneath her hooves was getting rougher and more cave-like. She hadn’t gone any further down in a while, but the insistent tug of the leash attached to her red, silver studded collar forced her onwards. The farther in that direction she went, the damper the stone floors seemed to become, and she was growing more aware of a distant, droning buzz that was gradually getting louder.

Jot bites her lip and gives a sigh, as this was far from the first time she had gotten herself into trouble. A journalist by trade, she had always been inquisitive, curious, and determined. She knew the right questions to ask, had a keen instinct for which leads to follow, and a knack for getting to the bottom of things. Of course, this often led to her ending up on the bottom herself, knee deep in whatever trouble she had been sniffing out.

This particular incident had begun almost a week before, when Jot noticed several of her fellow red-collars hadn’t been seen in a few days. It didn’t take too long for her to notice the pattern: it was those with silver studs and purple bands in particular who were the apparent victims. Her casual interest in finding out what was going on suddenly became a little more urgent, as she sported that particular combination around her neck. The ‘abduction’ of silver studded collars was not uncommon in and of itself, as they announced themselves free to be played with by that very indicator. However, so many of them being grabbed up in a short period of time and not resurfacing, and the common bearing of that purple band created a mystery that an inquisitive pony like Joy just couldn’t keep her nose out of. Thus far, she’d managed to avoid getting into any kind of trouble she ended up regretting.

Jot is brought back to the present by the increasing volume of that buzzing noise. It had taken less than a day for her to find someone who had been searching for another purple banded red collar, and only a few minutes after that she was blindfolded, leashed, and spirited away. A sharp tug at the leash forces her to turn, and she blanches a little as she finds herself walking onto a sticky floor. She wanted to lift her blindfold and look at what she was stepping in, but her magic would not come to her, a locking band placed around the base of her horn shortly after the blindfolding.

Thankfully, Jot doesn’t have to wonder for long, as a few steps into the sticky floor brings her to a stop. In addition to the insistent buzzing, she can now make out muffled moans and grunts, very faint, but audible as she perks her ears. Another sound is quick to reach her ears after she stops; a voice this time. It had a peculiar sound to it, a reverberation as though it was echoing off of nothing.

“Oooh, you’ve brought me another one~” the voice coos, the tone sultry and dripping with lust.

Jot’s blindfold is lifted and she gives a gasp as she takes in her surroundings. She was in an enormous chamber, and unlike the typical CTS dungeons, it was carved out very much like a natural cavern. A soft glow fills the chamber, emitting from phosphorescent lichen and fungus growing from the walls and ceiling. In that light, it was easy to make out that much of the floor and walls of the cave were covered in a sticky green resin. As she looked around, Jot quickly notices that it was not the pony who had originally blindfolded her standing beside her now, but the pitch black carapace of a changeling.

The source of the chamber’s buzzing is now apparent, as several more of the insectoid equines crawl around the room. They cling to the walls and ceiling with no difficulty, though a few mill around the floor as well. Everywhere Jot looks, she can see more than just the changelings. Embedded in the walls with their plots (and only their plots) sticking out, glued to the floor in various lewd and exposing positions, or completely cocooned and floating in some kind of translucent green fluid, are the missing red collars. That isn’t the only thing all of the encased ponies had in common however. Every single one of them looks heavily pregnant, their bellies bulging and rounded, though strangely lumpy.

Jot manages to get another nervous gulp in before a yank on the leash brings her attention back to the source of the peculiar voice. She shrinks in on herself a little as she takes in the sight before her. Seated on a throne of polished obsidian is a daunting figure. Tall as any of the Princesses, the jet black carapace of this changeling bears several ‘holes’ in and around her lower legs, while the black chitin is interrupted around her abdomen by bands of dark green. Slitted blue eyes look down upon Jot Note from beneath a tattered looking off-green mane, just below a wicked spike of a horn. A predatory grin exposes a pair of fangs in the Queen’s mouth as she licks her muzzle with an abnormally long tongue, sizing up the offering in front of her.

Jot tries to scoot back as the Queen steps down off her throne towards her, but is brought up short by the leash. The changeling holding it bows before the Queen. “Your Majesty, I hope this latest offering is to your liking.”

“We shall see,” notes the sultry voice of the changeling matriarch as she begins to trot around Jot in a circle. Her eyes roam over the yellow coat of the mare, her sandy brown mane, and stop for a moment to take in the notepad and pencil that adorned her flank. She smiles and nods. “She will do, I think. You are dismissed Mimic.”

The changeling nods and gives a wave of its hoof at the dismissal. “By your leave Queen Alias.”

Jot Note looks up at the changeling Queen, but even as she opens her mouth to say something, the Queen leans in, bringing her muzzle less than an inch away from her own. “Now then, little pony, what is your name?”

Jot experiences a moment of dry mouth, but tries to answer. Before any words can escape her lips however, the Queen presses her lips to hers, causing Jot to give a muffled gasp as she forces her tongue inside. That tongue is frightening, as she is glued to the spot as its bizarre length probes every inch of the inside of her mouth, gliding over her tongue and beneath it, tracing the roof of her mouth, and running over the back of her teeth. She gives a gagging sound as the tongue suddenly gets even longer, diving right down her throat, making her collar feel tight as it goes right down, forcing her nostrils to flare as she inhales sharply through her nose.

After a few moments of throat fucking Jot with her tongue, the Queen pulls it out and licks her lips. “Not a bad flavour,” she notes with a devious giggle. “Now, the correct answer to the question I just asked is ‘eggsack’. Am I making myself clear?” Alias takes a step back and looks at Jot’s tail. Or, more specifically, the safety bell dangling from it. She stares at it insistently, waiting.

Jot pants heavily after Alias withdraws her tongue, and it takes her a few moments to register that she had been asked a question. Her gaze follows the Queen’s stare to her tail and it clicks. She could, if she desired, walk away now. She could ring her bell or speak a safeword and trot away, scott free, and have the answer she had been seeking. Except that she wouldn’t. An unnaturally curious mare, Jot knows she wouldn’t be satisfied unless she learns everything that is going on here.

It is easy enough to guess what was going on, and looking around really cemented it. However, looking and seeing were quite a bit different from truly understanding. To really know a story, to understand a scoop, Jot has to get in deep, to experience with her whole being, and all of her senses. Thus far, she had little reason to regret all the times she’d done so before, no matter how sore and sweaty she might have been afterwards. With a nervous gulp, she takes the plunge, giving her bell a single ring to indicate that it was working, and waits.

The Queen listens to the clear, crystalline chime of that bell and looks delighted. She trots around behind the mare and runs that devious tongue over each of her flanks while still standing, without even bothering to lean in, making the mare quiver. She lights up her horn, yanking her tail up and producing an eep before leaning in and sniffing at the eggsack-to-be. The intense tongue kissing and the licking of her flanks had already excited Jot, her nethers glistening with arousal.

Alias inhales deeply, breathing in the lust that radiates off of the mare. The spicy, fragrant emotion was far and away her favourite, and she salivates openly at the taste of it. She lets her tongue slide out of her mouth, running it once up the slit, then once more back down. She presses the tip of it to that delicious little button as Jot gives an involuntary wink, before sliding her tongue inside, parting the mare’s nether lips and probing around her walls. Taking in her taste, seeking out sweet spots, and generally enjoying herself, Alias revels in the ‘sampling’ before pulling her tongue out. “You’ll do nicely~” she coos lustily.

Jot quickly dissolves into a shaking, shuddering mess as that impossibly wonderful tongue assails her nethers. She quickly works up a healthy slathering of juices for the Queen to taste as she’s teased, only to give a sharp gasp as her clit is licked. That sharp gasp becomes an insistent moan as the tongue slides inside, her hips bucking back against her captor each time she hits a sweet spot. She’s left panting once more as the tongue is withdrawn, knees shaking and barely able to stand.

Alias takes notice of Jot’s weak knees and smirks. Without saying anything, she places her hooves on the journalist, manhandling her and posing her with her rump in the air and her forelegs down on the ground. She spreads her hind legs and lifts her tail up, while pressing her face down against her hooves. As Jot glances back, the Queen’s horn lights up, a powerful telekinesis holding her in that position. Alias moves a hoof to her nethers, maintaining eye contact with her captive. With a soft moan she removes a glob of congealed gel-like substance. The very same resin that coated much of the chamber wobbles in that hoof before she applies the blob to one of Jot’s hind hooves. It quickly becomes sticky and stretchy, gluing her hoof in place.

Alias repeats this process on Jot’s other leg, making sure they would stay separated with her backside on full display. “Now,” she notes as she begins to trot around her latest victim, secreting more resin with a pleased noise. “Serving the hive is a great honour, and you should be pleased that I’ve decided to take you in my little eggsack~ Of course, now that you belong to me, I can’t have you acting and thinking independently, now can I?” She grins wickedly.

Jot squirms in place as Alias glues her hooves down. Even as she speaks, she continues secreting the resin, gluing her forlegs to the floor as well, leaving her stuck in the face down, ass up position. Another dollop applied to the base of her tail leaves it stuck up While this leaves her free to whip or shake it, it puts her puckered backside and now very damp lips on full display. “N-no your majesty?” she offers, squirming as much as her resin bonds would allow.

Alias smiles. “Very good~” Without another word, she brings out two more doses of her resin, and slaps them against Jot’s flanks, making the mare yelp. She shudders as the Queen rubs them in, smearing them over her flanks and covering up every inch of her cutie marks, leaving her looking like a blank flank. Her moaning is muffled as another application of resin is placed over her muzzle, gluing her mouth shut.

Alias leans in to Jot’s ear after she finishes her resin work. “You belong to me now,” she says firmly. “You serve the hive. Your duty is to keep my eggs warm and safe until it’s time for them to be laid~ It usually takes about a week,” she notes with a devious giggle. “Normally this is a very exclusive honour, but during egg season I experience peak fertility, and need more eggsacks than usual.” She licks her lips and leans in to take another whiff of Jot’s arousal, her nethers dripping quite lewdly now.

Jot can only give a muffled whimper as the Queen spells out her fate. Her eyes dart to one of the other eggsacks as she squirms, unable to move, heart pounding, and nethers drenched. She can’t even nod her acknowledgement with her chin glued to her hooves. Unable to turn her head, she has to wait for Alias to trot back around in front of her. The changeling Queen towers over her, and she’s left feeling helpless, reduced to a mere eggsack, a depository waiting for the Queen’s excess eggs.

The answer to a question floating through Jot’s mind is presented to her shortly as the Queen stands before her. From somewhere within her nethers, something emerges. A rather phallic something. Alias gives a shuddering moan as she lets the appendage out of its internal sheath, the rubbery, bulb-tipped ovipositor slithering down between her legs. She gives Jot a moment to admire it before trotting back around and out of sight. Jot flushes furiously as she spies the rather sizeable extrusion.

Unable to see, Jot can only feel as the Queen rears up and plants her forelegs in the middle of her back, bracing herself as something presses against her folds. The rubbery sensation felt a bit like a high end silicon toy, but firmer as it rubs up and down her marehood, wetting itself with her copious juices. She clenches for a moment, but the Queen seems to pay her no mind as she begins to line herself up, the bulbous tip of the ovipositor pressing insistently against her.

Jot gives a gagged squeal as that tip pops inside, her folds spreading to allow the bulb inside before clamping around the neck of it. The Queen gives a shrill, reverberating moan as she presses in against the resistance, Jot grunting and writhing as the thickness of it is driven deeper and deeper into her. Though she cannot see the Queen herself now, she does spy several of the other changelings attending the other eggsacks stopping to watch. Most of them slip a hoof or two between their hind legs, with Jot able to make out that some of them had the anatomy of a mare, others of a stallion, while a couple had both.

The malleability of changeling anatomy is banished from Jot’s thoughts as the ovipositor gives a throb, the tip swelling and pressing against her g-spot for a brief moment as it continues sliding in deeper. She moans into her hooves, though the gagging resin prevents her from biting them or her lip. The process seems endless as the member slides deeper and deeper into her, until finally she feels the tip press against her cervix, at the deepest depth of her intimate canal. She moans as the ovipositor fills every inch of her pussy, shuddering each time it gives a throb.

She gives a muffled gasp and a sharp short through her nose as a new sensation arrives. She can feel the tip of the ovipositor shifting deep inside her. It changes from a single insistent bulb to three spreading points of pleasure deep within, the tip blooming and causing her to thrash against her bonds. The thrashing becomes more violent as the tip latches onto her cervix, gripping it tightly and forcing the deeper entrance open. She can only squeal as her eyes water, the pain of the stretching mixing with the pleasure of that inescapable fullness.

It takes a few agonizing seconds for her to become fully dilated, leaving Jot Note quivering and sweating profusely after those seconds were stretched as much as her insides to her perception. She blushes as she realizes she came during that ordeal, a puddle forming on the cave floor below her marehood as her whole body spasms in place.

The Queen coos and lets out an ‘mmm’ sound as she runs her hooves over Jot’s arching back, making a wet slurping sound as she licks her lips. “I see it was good for you, my little eggsack~ Isn’t it such a pleasure to serve the hive?”

Jot, of course, cannot answer. Before she can even get her thoughts organized into the response she would have given, she feels something press against her folds. It was round, about the size of a lemon, and the insistence with which it presses against her slick nethers is very much like the knot of certain non-equine members. Before Jot can fully recall her memories of that time with the griffon, she squeals into her gag as it stretches her wide before popping in.

Jot spasms in place and drools leaks out the bottom of the resin gagging her as the egg begins to travel into her, propelled by the convulsions of the ovipositor. As it travels down, the Queen moans as it presses the interior of her organ, and every bit of that pressure was applied throughout Jot’s canal. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced before as that ‘knot’ of even greater fullness traveled through her, pressing insistently at her depths.

Before Joy can fully recombobulate herself, another pressure appears at her entrance as the Queen begins inserting another egg. She squeals as her eyes roll back into her head as this one pops inside, sending her over the edge again and her innards clamp down around the eggs and her body spasms through another climax. Before she has time to even recover from that burst, another egg presses insistently against her folds.

Joy loses track of time as the oviposition continues. Her nethers grow increasingly tender with each climax, which only makes the subsequent eggs both easier to insert and more pleasurable to receive. By the time the sixth egg pops inside, she had lost count of her actual orgasms, but squeals and spasms all the more violently as a particularly intense one causes her to squirt. The blasts of pleasure become twofold as the first egg reaches her cervix and pops inside, creating a strange sensation, but one that Jot couldn’t distinguish from the pleasure of everything else in her state.

After the sixth, no new eggs are inserted, but Jot continues to feel these strange new sensations as the eggs travel past her cervix and into her womb. As they settle, her belly begins to expand outwards, distending more and more as each egg is deposited into the waiting sack. Her belly grows round and lumpy, just like all the others she had seen before this ordeal began. She barely remembers that though, as it felt like a lifetime ago, her brain scrambled from the overload of pleasurable sensations.

As the last egg reaches her cervix, Jot barely manages to hear a moan from her Queen, followed by a rushing sensation as the changeling’s cum blasts down her ovipositor, pushing the last egg into her womb on a veritable tide of fluids, causing her womb to fill out even more and her belly to balloon outwards, giving her the look of a mare days from birthing. The sloshing sensation coupled with the feeling of the squirt against her innards pushes her over the edge one last time as she cums twice in one go, squirting once again before slumping down, passing out from the overwhelming pleasure. As she begins to drift away from consciousness, she can barely feel the grasping ovipositor closing her cervix, sealing everything deep inside her womb.

Alias slumps atop her eggsack, panting heavily after cumming. Her closing ovipositor dribbles a bit more of her nectar into Jot’s canal as she starts to pull out. There’s a slick pop as she extricates herself from the mare, green juices trickling off the tip of her ovipositor. She shudders as she slowly draws it back inside her body, revelling in the sensation of sheathing the sensitized organ. She cums once again on her own as a result, causing her to stagger back a bit as she catches her breath.

Alias smirks as she sees that Jot has passed out, licking her lips and looking to one of the changelings nearby that had just finished clopping to the display. “Pseudo, be a dear and make sure she’s property hydrated when she comes around,” she notes, going over to get a drink herself.

The changeling gives a bow and scurries off as Alias makes her way back up to her throne, eagerly awaiting Mimic’s return with another pony to make an eggsack out of. She sighs contentedly as she inhales deeply of the lust permeating the chamber, feeding off of it, reinvigorating herself. Egg season always was her favourite month of the year.