The Chapter In Which You Must Act
The pact seethes, the blood pact pledged of you for your people, blood running black down the ever-heaving sides of the Godhead. It opens for you, naked and bare, your eyes peeling away, melting from your brain; for eons it has lived deep within the mountain, before the mountain ever existed; older than the world, older than the morning and the afternoon. Invincible to time, grand beyond all measure, you are less than an insect in its presence. And now, you must fuck it.
Twist yourself beyond all recognition, and become greater than the God.
Power culled from love and sacrifice flows through your veins. Many-dicked appendages sprout from your body, fungoid and twitching. The God mirrors you. Its dicks are beyond counting. Infinite maws open across its endless fabric, great vaginal fissures that could swallow worlds in their depths and give birth to universes. You are nothing before it, no more than a horny mote of dust. But the hearts of your people beat with the pulse of your cocks. Alone, you must carry this burden. You must do this, as you always have. For them.
You close your eyes, and let the God take you.
* * *
Evening is just falling as you step into the courtyard at the crown of the world.
A thousand years ago this place was carved into the rock of a dead caldera – a great fortress once, perhaps. Now it is only a shell, a ruin of stone and brass.
You pass beneath an arch of perforated metal. Overhead, Celestia is bringing down the sun. Light of russet gold blazes just over the purple clouds of the darkening sky, framing the old brass in shining filigree.
You follow a crumbling wall of basalt to a high doorway. A dry zephyr blows down from the summit, rifling through your hair and coiling across your naked skin. You shiver.
She’s waiting.
You step through the door. Here the ruin has fallen away completely, leaving only a barren reminder of what once it was. Across the smooth basalt are strewn broken stones and collapsed ribs of brass. The floor is encircled on either side by high walls, but straight ahead there is nothing, only air, and a sheer drop into the wooded valley far below.
The queen lies here upon a chaise longue of plush scarlet velour. She rests casually, her legs folded beneath her as she stares out over the leagues of forest and mountain. In the air beside her floats a glass of red wine, casting its rosy shadow on the black stone. A twisted tree has sunk its roots into the wall; its trunk has wended its way over her head. A single lantern hangs from a branch, glowing orange.
Her ear twitches. Chrysalis turns her head. Her emerald eyes narrow, and she smiles.
“Approach, girl. Your queen has need of you.”
You do as you are bid, stepping closer. Your eyes pass over her, taking in the curves of her body, the warm dark glow of her skin. She hides coyly behind her long cobalt hair, eyes glittering green behind the matted tangle.
She watches wordlessly, her mouth curled into a half-smile, as you climb onto the velour cushion. Her hindquarters are drawn tight, her rear legs pulled close to her body. You can’t see her pussy – her tail is tucked between her legs.
Her butt is perfectly visible, however. You reach to grab a handful of ass, and gently squeeze, your fingers sinking into the soft supple bubble of flesh. Chrysalis’ smile widens, before she gives an irritable flick of her tail.
“No. I am tense. Fix it.”
Obediently you let go, and climb further onto the cushion, until you can dig up against her side.
Being close to the queen is always so intoxicating. Her scent wraps around you like a heavy blanket, thick with spice and salt. Your head swims, and soon you can think only of her – of your queen, and the heat rushing to your face. Your breathing quickens, and your hands begin to tingle. The warmth of your blush tickles down your spine.
Chrysalis eyes you with quiet malice as you set to work. You knead her shoulders, working the withers. The musculature at the base of her wings is especially taut; they buzz as you massage her back.
A shudder runs through her as you lightly run your fingertips along her wings. They stiffen briefly, before returning to their feverish buzzing.
You turn your attention to her sides, pressing into them with descending inclined strokes, like twin waves. The queen has begun to relax; she rests her long neck upon the head of the chaise, and you feel the slow rise and fall of her contented breathing.
Your own breathing has not slowed. The warmth of her body and the softness of her skin are playing havoc on your nerves, and her scent consumes you. Your hands are shaking as they pass now over her lovely flanks, squeezing her thighs, brushing past the pliant holes on her legs.
You see now that her tail has lifted.
Bared are the compact dark curves of her vulvae, the fluid green line of her pussy. This time she does not protest as your hand drifts over her ass, to slide down and cover the soft folds of her sex. Heat soaks into your palm.
Begging for attention is the viridian flesh of her pert asshole. You move up and trace the outer rim; it twitches impudently under your fingertip.
Your other hand softly circles her flank. You can feel her leg shaking, but Chrysalis simply sips at her wine and stares into the gathering darkness with bemused half-lidded eyes.
“There is an old riddle amongst the Changelings.”
She says it with a faint smile, but her voice is distant, as if the words have been pulled across an imperceptible vastness as deep as the valley below.
You prod her asshole. Her tension has melted, but still it holds tightly; it yields only in the slightest to the gentle pushing of your fingertip.
“You will find it amusing.”
Without warning she begins to shift her weight backward, pressing herself into you and pushing you off the edge of the chaise. You try to shuffle away, but she settles over your legs, pinning you in place.
Still she creeps backward, pressing you harder and harder into the cushion, as you dangle half-off the chaise. You grab hold of her ass with both hands, trying to keep your balance as she tickles your face with her tail.
Shortly she wrenches free of your grasp, sending your arms flailing, though you are still trapped. You slump onto the floor, your cheek pressed into the cold stone, as on the cushion Chrysalis circles in place, coming round to face you.
She crosses her forelimbs across your stomach and peers down at you, her eyes narrowed darkly behind her hair, fangs glinting in the lamplight. Her body rests heavy and warm against yours, holding you firmly. A rear leg slides up against your crotch. You shiver as it presses up between your thighs.
“You will want to speak. You will want to ask your pathetic questions. Do not.”
It is an easy request; you are far too flushed to say even a word. You feel your clit growing hard and hot as she runs her leg easily up and down, up and down.
And so she begins to tell you her riddle.
“You stand now in a stone room deep beneath a mountain. The only exit has been impenetrably sealed. The room is empty, save for a single puzzle box lying on the ground.”
“Inside this box is contained the greatest love in the world.”
She pauses to lower a foreleg to your mouth, pressing it roughly against your lips. You kiss her hoof, and run your fingers along the limb’s length, feeling the heat and growing wetness of her holes.
With effort you pull yourself up, to press the side of your face against her leg, and caress her skin. You trace her joints and lick at the soft pits of her leg, short lapping strokes, tickling the interior bend.
“Such a lovely girl, you are.”
She laughs and settles deeply against you, straddling your thigh, your pussy tingling, slick heat running down her legs, to join with yours. She circles a nipple with a lazy movement of her tongue, nipping at it with her fangs. Your breathing comes erratic, your belly pressing into hers with each pant. It feels so good to serve your queen.
She continues on with the riddle.
“This box, which contains such great love, has an infinite number of configurations. It can be morphed and changed as easily as clay.”
“An infinite number of solutions will open the box – but not every configuration is a solution, and all solutions are equally impossible to reach.”
The pressure lifts from your groin, as in a slow deliberate motion the queen slides up against you, the sweat of her belly running slick. She pulls herself down, her chest pushing up against your tits, and settles her face just near yours, an inch away, angled, her breath hot against your cheek, while she grins, and her slitted eyes narrow coldly.
“For you must open the box without touching it. To do so would be to die.”
“There is no tool fine enough, no magic strong enough, to defeat the mechanism of the box.”
Her voice is lilting now, playful –
“But if you touch it, the box will swallow you whole, and forever make you part of it.”
– she nips first at your ear, and with her tongue wetly traces down, down, to your neck, where she places her fangs against your throat. Lightly… warningly. The scent of her mane envelops you, all honeysuckle and brine.
“And so the box sits, devouring all who would dare to open it, while its great love remains forever sealed away.”
She falls silent, and stares down at you with a curious half-smile. Her words settle disconcertingly into the chill evening air.
For a moment, you think she will continue, but Chrysalis instead bobs over you, her deep ocean gaze as hypnotic as a cobra’s, half-lidded, drawing you in, until you are reduced to nothing but instinct, to the heat running between your legs, mad panting, and nipples that beg to be licked. You’re shaking all over, your nerves fluttering. It’s hard even to swallow.
She is not blind to this. All memories of any silly riddles dissipate as she at last presses her mouth to yours. Hers is not made for kissing, but she forces it anyway, her mouth shoved hard against your lips; her breath is hot and alkaline. The sharp points of her fangs graze against your lower lip, and the cold black stone pushes against the back of your head.
Her tongue slips slow and deliberate into your mouth. It presses against yours, starting at the tip, and with rough pressure runs along the center, the slick forks gliding wetly across the sides. She kisses deep, twining your tongues together.
Below, her body writhes slow and sinuous. Her hips undulate from side to side, like the motion of a snake; her belly slides over yours, warm and soft, tickling at your crotch. You try to spread your legs, but cannot – her own hindlimbs hold you firmly.
Every motion she makes is slow and coy; teasing. You can see the cold amusement in her narrowed eyes, and the odd half-smile that flickers across her face whenever she pulls away to breathe. When finally she breaks away, her red tongue withdrawing with a tendril of saliva, that smile is quick to follow.
Wordlessly she crawls ahead, dragging her body over yours. You feel the heat between her legs as she drags her crotch over your stomach, your chest, to pass over your face in a dizzying cloud of salty musk. Soon she has passed over you completely, her warmth fades, and there is nothing on you but the cool mountain air.
“Get up.”
Your muscles have been seized by the molten rigor of arousal; shakily you push yourself into a sitting position.
Chrysalis watches you over a dark shoulder. Her back faces you. Her wings catch the orange light of the lantern, and are perfectly still.
As you watch, a faded green dweomer envelops her crooked black horn. The eerie light shines upon the stone as she works her magic. You jump a little when the wine glass floats over from the chaise and presses itself against your lips. The queen laughs darkly.
“Now drink it.”
You take a sip, and nearly spit it out; the taste is bitter, and burns your tongue.
“All of it.”
Ever one to obey, you grab the glass by the bowl and choke down the ruby liquid. Each gulp is like a swallow of fire, burning its way down your throat. Your belly feels heavy as the nausea sets in, and then the dizziness – followed by the suffusion of heat throughout your entire body.
The world spins around you. In your head you feel the distinct sensation of revolution, as if your mind has been planted on a spinning axle. You close your eyes, but the darkness is not enough; you try to cover them with your hands, but your arms are so heavy now, hot and shaking, as if coated in so much warm syrup.
The tingling starts in your extremities. From your toes and fingers it creeps up your limbs, fluid electricity, sinking into your muscles. Your vision blurs, your breathing goes ragged. You become acutely aware of the air on your breasts, of the wicked lines of heat racing beneath your skin; your nipples tightening, becoming impossibly stiff.
But you can’t even think anymore, it’s so hard, can’t think at all, for the heat between your legs, in your crotch, your pussy, your knees buckling at the feel of your own wetness running down your thighs –
You can hear the queen’s laughter.
She stands now with her ass in the air, rear legs spread open, her cunt bared to you. It’s all you see – it’s all you want.
You crawl to her and awkwardly straddle a hindlimb, planting your pussy against one of her holes. The hole squelches wetly, coating you with slime as you grind up against it; the first rub of your clit gives a fleeting surge of relief.
An invisible force grabs you and pulls you off.
“No… finish what you started.”
It takes a moment for you to realize what she wants. There is no thought, only lust. Her ass is tantalizingly close.
Mindlessly you press your tongue against her asshole. It tenses as you circle round; the soft ridged flesh throbs, and tastes oddly of honey and sour figs.
You had heard Chrysalis’ gasp. The queen’s legs had gone taut at the sensation, and are slow to relax; they now shake almost imperceptibly, and tremble at your touch, as your fingers seek her dripping holes, and grow thick with her musky slime.
She shifts her weight to her left hindlimb, bumping you back, and for a moment her dark skin glows a phantasmal green.
You watch as she deforms the flesh of her thigh, extending a wriggling tentacle, from which sprouts dozens of little nubs.
The queen’s request and your own lust are compounded by the deep heat of the wine – you already know what she wishes.
You take the fleshy protuberance and run it down along her leg, coating it with slime; the end drips and shines in the lanternlight.
At first press, Chrysalis clamps her mouth closed in a tight grin, her eyes squeezed shut. Her belly heaves in time with her fevered pants as you ease the thing by inches into her ass. Her hooves scrabble against stone, and soon it is in, leaving her gasping slow and heavy. Residual slime drips through your fingers, down over her pussy, to pool on the cold ground.
She looks round her shoulder, fixing you with a sultry half-lidded stare from behind her blue fall of mane.
“Does it please you to please your queen? You must love me so very much, to do such things for me – ”
Her words break into a short gasping moan, her eyes fluttering and her mouth falling involuntarily agape, as you push and pull impishly on the tentacle in her ass, slowly twisting it; the nubs catch the membrane of her asshole, stretching it in and out with each churning stroke.
Chrysalis regains her composure in an instant. She slaps you with her tail, and laughs.
“Very funny, girl. Put it in, and we shall see how clever you truly are.”
You do as commanded, sliding the tentacle in as deeply as it will go. Its tail end draws taut, still connected to her thigh.
Once again her skin glows green, and from her other hind leg sprouts a second transformation.
Into your hand morphs a slender tendril of flesh. A small bulb protrudes from the end.
Perhaps you know immediately, or perhaps it is only instinct that drives you; either way, it is not difficult to extrapolate your next course of action.
With two fingers you spread her vulvae, revealing the soft inner flesh. Her stiff clit pulses at your touch, but your true target is the tiny wet hole just below.
You press the bulb up against her urethra. For a quivering moment you hold it there at the opening, allowing a dribble of clear musky fluid. The scent passes over you in a heady wave.
Chrysalis groans softly as you push it in.
You know how it must feel. The shock of it entering, the sudden surge of heat, the dizzying urge to breathe, to push; the spasms of inner muscles, squeezing uncontrollably.
Her urethral opening deforms as you slowly draw back, the flesh hugging the retreating bulb.
Simultaneously you tug gently on the tentacle stuffed up her ass. The little nubs catch and pull, stretching her asshole as you withdraw, the green membrane pulled achingly taut.
Chrysalis is trembling; her belly heaves, and goes flat as she gasps. Your mind is void, instinct your only driver. Hypnotized by her orifices. You push and pull without thought, to the squelching rhythm of her winking marepussy. Her warm cum wetting your hands. Her moans, music. Time loses all meaning.
The reality of her is all that keeps you grounded. Her ass contracts, asshole squeezing tight, her legs shaking. From her pussy: a spurt of fluid, and another, then a torrent; hot and stinking, rich with the scent of life, gushing over your skin.
Your queen's orgasm gives you pleasure unlike any you have ever known. Ecstasy fills you - a deep, hot flush that spreads from your face down your entire body, your limbs tingling. Watching her cum makes your own cunt twitch, your clit stiffening, teetering on the verge of orgasm; a maddening precipice that Chrysalis will not push you over, no, not yet.
Her transformations subside, the appendages within her anus and urethra melting back into her flesh. She climbs atop you, resting her hooves upon your shoulders. Sweat drips from her mane. Her breathing is ragged against your face.
“I realize now I never posed to you the riddle's question.”
She smiles again. But through her smile, her panting, you see the same distance you observed before, as she drank her wine and looked out upon the shadows of the valley. Hyper-aware, you feel attuned to her, feel the radiance of her emotions; the part of her shown to no one else - the lone, forlorn heart.
“Here it is. The box is unassailable, unapproachable in every way. But let us say… that you are able to defy paradox, and open the box without consequence. The greatest love is now yours. What form does it take?”
She leans down, and whispers hotly in your ear.
“It will pour out, and say this:
“‘You have found me, in my stone room beneath the mountain. You have found me in the infinity of infinities. You have found me, in the box that has consumed all who have come before. And now that you have found me, I will give you my great reward; I will take you in my jaws, and destroy you utterly.’”
She bites your neck, not gently. Her fangs pierce your skin like hot needles. Heat surges through your body, your face, your ears – dizziness. When finally she lets go, blood runs in two tiny lines; she laps it up with her red tongue. She trembles hard against you. Her breath is heavy now, radiating lust, her eyes narrowed in mischief.
Captured in the depths of her gaze, you cannot look away.
"Helpless..."
Her tongue tickles your neck, tracing the sensitive skin, making you shake. You gasp as you feel her hoof slide gently between your thighs. Needing her, needing her touch, your clit throbbing while you squirm.
"Oh... poor girl."
A single tease is all you get, the barest brush of her hoof over your soaked labia. She brings her hoof to your mouth to give you a taste.
"Tell me... do you love me?"
Your head is spinning. Her face framed in your vision. She glows, a dark aura. To you, divine. To you, a goddess. Yes, you nod. Yes, more than anything in the world.
Her smile is heavenly, her approval all you ever wanted. She kisses you once more, and this time takes blood when she pulls away. Green light pulses from her crooked horn, and for a moment you are weightless, as she lifts you from the cold ground and lays you upon the soft velour cushion of the chaise.
"Wait for me, girl. My good, loyal girl. I will give you what you need. Once I have done what I must."
For a moment she looks down upon you with her emerald eyes, and then she has turned away; soft hooffalls sounding on stone, her form vanishing into the ruin of the caldera. She leaves you there upon the chaise, aching for her touch.
You roll onto your back, lying naked in the cool night air. The heat in your body keeps you warm, and does not subside. Though you want more than anything to run your hands over your body, to rub your nipples and relieve the ache between your legs, you restrain yourself, waiting for your queen. You, and your pleasure, belong to her and her alone. As inscrutable as she is, some part of her needs you; you know this, even if she does not say it. And if there is some measure of comfort you can provide her, no matter how minuscule, you will do it. Even if that means waiting forever for her return.
Stars spill across the night sky above. The smell of her is all around you, her warmth still lingering on your skin. Even in her absence, she holds you in her embrace. In your mind, there are no more questions; she is the only riddle you will ever need. You curl up upon the cushion, closing your eyes in contentment, and drift off into slumber upon the mountaintop, awaiting the return of Chrysalis, the queen of your heart.
