Bug (second person) (no sex, just transformation—human->changeling)View OnlineTransformational ShortsBug (second person) (no sex, just transformation—human->changeling)Opening the door to your bedroom after hearing a noise, you're surprised to find a little creature—black and vaguely both insectile and equine—looking up at you. Unsure what exactly is going on, but sensing it doesn't have your best interests in whatever passes for a heart in its body, you try to slam your door before it can get inside with you—you're only half successful. Backing up, you look around for something to defend yourself with—which is why you don't notice it lunge and jump at you. You're not sure how it found you, or even what it was called. All you know is that there is a black thing that has huge fangs dug into your arm. The pain is extraordinary, and you can feel its long protruding teeth rubbing against the bones in your forearm. When the bite starts to grow hot and throb, you know the worst has actually started. Exactly 10 seconds of panic blisters your mind. You try to shake your arm, but whatever it's doing has made the muscles weak. Falling back to sit on your bed, you grab it with your free hand and start to pull, only to have the poison of its bite reach your brain. The pain and fear just stop. You look down at the black, bug-like horse thing, and you have to wonder what it's doing. When the skin on your arm starts to dry up and crack like a lake bed devoid of moisture, you reach your free hand up and rub at it. Skin and flesh alike flake away to reveal black, hard chitin underneath. It's almost like you're drunk, but instead of inhibitions being suppressed, its your fight-or-flight response. You can contemplate being scared because the poison soaking into your brain won't let you. The creature lets go and sits up—looking at you with big blue eyes. They aren't blue like a human's eyes could be blue, they're vivid blue from edge to edge. It gives a curious little chirp, and you reach up to pet it. No pain registers in your head as it sinks its fangs into your good arm. It pulls its mouth back and then bites you again. Your attention briefly flicks back to your first limb, and you see more skin and flesh has fallen away. The arm is now about half as long as it was, and where the creatures fangs had penetrated it was two large holes that went all the way through. What would startle you, if you were capable of such an emotion in your drugged state, was that your fingers and hand were apparently part of the flesh that'd been lost. Your arm ends in a stump—a hard, hoof-like stump. The change in your remaining arm causes the flesh on it to crack and break too. You reach your foreleg over and rub at your arm. A veritable cloud of your former flesh floats into the air before falling back down to reveal a black, hard exoskeleton. Surrendering your second arm, the creature makes another chirping sound and jumps down to the floor. While you examine your changing arm, you feel its fangs penetrate your left leg. The first bite it'd made on your changing arm had caused a big hole, while the second had left two smaller ones to form. It was odd, but not scary. Nothing was scary anymore—nothing could ever be scary. When it changes legs, and spends some time biting your remaining limb several times, you finally take the time to slip your shirt off. It's not easy, and your remaining hand stiffens and breaks from your limb when you try to grip the shirt. Eventually you get the garment off, and watch as the skin on your hips and belly start to dry and crack. A chirp breaks your concentration, and you realize your little attacker is sitting up on your bed and looking at you. "Hive." "What?" Your voice sounds odd and your throat is dry. While you're watching the creature, you notice that the flesh of your legs is all badly cracked, and that of your groin has cracked and broken away to reveal smooth black carapace. "Hive." The word wasn't just a word now—it was a concept. You can't help but feel the concept grow and stretch in your head, shoving out worrisome things like your tax return you'd been worried about, the dinner you'd stopped eating to investigate the sound at your door, and how to speak. Rewiring your brain is not fast, but it is a smooth procedure. You can feel human things slip away as the creature says more words right into your head. "Hive needs love." Of course the hive needs love. The hive always needs love. When the flesh in your throat finally cracks, you cough and splutter, turn your head, and burp out a rush of dust that used to be your digestive tract, lungs, and several other organs that don't apply to you anymore. The cracking flesh reaches your neck, and you reach up with your forehooves to rub at it. "Hive needs us to get love. Hive needs more to get love." A smile creases your lips—you have a purpose now. You nod to the creature, and chirp your wings along your carapace. The sound is deeper than the one your hivemate makes, but it's just as right. Hive pushes hard into your head. You can feel it like a huge, bloated entity that needs only space to grow. You can't contemplate of how to stop it, nor why you would want to. Filled with the purpose of Hive, you stretch your body and roll to your hooves. Shaking your head sends up another cloud of dust as the last of your humanity is just gone. Wiggling a finned tail that you hadn't realized you'd grown, you buzz your wings and then chirp. "Hive, there is another like me in the next room." You don't know how you sent that message, but you're rewarded for it. Hive is pleased. Author's Note Support me on Patreon or fuel my writing on Ko-Fi! Join me on Discord. Warning, said chat may contain NSFW material and should be considered adult in nature. Awesome ponies who are already helping to keep me in keyboards and rum: A.P.O.N.I. Canary in the Coal Mine Daremo Dio-Drogynous Ender Voidwalker KFS Crimson Sirion123 Vi Watch Wind of the Skies And special thanks to the following, for careful eyes and friendly words: Lab
Snek (second person) (no sex, just transformation—human->lamia)View OnlineTransformational ShortsSnek (second person) (no sex, just transformation—human->lamia)The sharp pain in your arm drew your attention to the inky-black snake that you hadn't even seen get close. It looked almost shiny. Your first reaction, of course, was panic. The snake wasn't letting go, and you could feel a chilling pressure grow at the point it had bitten—it was injecting you with something, probably venom. The pressure and chill spread up your arm, and to your surprise the snake seemed to twist and thrash around until it curled itself around your wrist and forearm. The black form of the snake seemed to flatten and spread out—it was covering your arm! Real panic hits now. You jump to your feet and start to run. Blindly shouting for help, you watch as your black-coated arm thickens out and the shiny, gooey blackness of the snake seems to solidify around your flesh. The worst is still happening, however, as you feel that chill pressure spread along your arm—through your very veins—to your heart. One pulse. A slower one. Sharp pressure in your chest is the exact moment when you think you're dying, but then another pulse and your heart is pumping again. Another pulse, then another. They're slower, and you can feel that chill pressure spreading out further in your body. Like a wave, the sensation spreads out from your chest. The flesh around your upper torso turns black, puffs up, becomes shiny. You can feel the chill work into your other arm and neck, and then it reaches your brain. The world spins out of control, and you stumble and fall. Nothing makes sense. Your vision dims for a moment, then comes back. Your other arm turns back and puffy, and more of your body now feels chill. But it isn't done with you. As you lay there on the ground you are forced to feel more and more sensation as your body cools. It's impossible to move—to get away—and thus you are forced to feel as your body lengthens and grows many times longer than before. The sensation of the goop your body had become firming felt reassuring, at least you weren't going to melt away to nothing. You look down at your arms—now pony forelegs. It was terrifying at the time it happened, but you know that's just the start. Looking down and back further, the black thing in the middle of your vision becomes more apparent as a long, sinuous body of pitch black reveals itself to you. Experimenting, you shift your coils, twitching parts of your body (you hesitate to call anything a muscle anymore, given how your new body was built) until you can coil your tail up and heft your equine torso upright. You're a lamia, but there's something more. Movement on your head shocks you until one of the black snakes strays down into your vision. You stare at it, terrified, until it dawns on you. You can feel it, move it. It is part of you. The blind rubber snake is soon joined by more. Slowly they grow while you try to ignore the chill of your huge body. Learning to slither wasn't easy, but you manage to get to a large rock and spread your coils over the wonderfully warm surface. As you relax, you feel one of the snakes on your head detach and see it slither off into the forest. Was it hunting someone else? Author's Note Originally posted in my Celebration of Clop anthology, I think it fits better in this one. Support me on Patreon or fuel my writing on Ko-Fi! Join me on Discord. Warning, said chat may contain NSFW material and should be considered adult in nature. Awesome ponies who are already helping to keep me in keyboards and rum: A.P.O.N.I. Canary in the Coal Mine Daremo Dio-Drogynous Ender Voidwalker KFS Crimson Sirion123 Vi Watch Wind of the Skies And special thanks to the following, for careful eyes and friendly words: Lab
Thing (second person) (analingus, latexification, human->thingpon)View OnlineTransformational ShortsThing (second person) (analingus, latexification, human->thingpon)The tongue pushed deeper and your vision went blurry—eyes crossing at the sensation it wrought upon the nerves in your rear. A shiver ran through you as your everything became overstimulated. If you weren't already collapsed on your chest—rump in the air—you would have fallen down. The tongue was fantastic in and of itself. Each stripe on the rubbery surface was a ridge that played a note upon your sphincter each time it pushed in deeper—and that's all it seemed to do. Deeper and deeper. You shouldn't have any room left, but it kept going. Wetness seemed to start leaking over your rump. Barely able to see let alone move, you flopped your head to the side and watched the pink, rubbery stuff flowing over your hips—sculpting them into a mirror of the rubber pony's. It's making me into a copy of itself, you thought as more of your back end was covered. Your legs reshaping under the glossy rubber—merging with it and becoming rubber themselves. It was very quickly too much—a climax ripped through you as the rubber progressed. Deeper that tongue went, and with every inch it moved inside you it converted you. Soon your body was rubber (and pony) from your chest down—or up as the case may be. A squirming feeling in your throat didn't surprise you, and when the tongue pushed out of your mouth, so too did a rush of pink slime. It poured back over your face, stealing your sight completely until it stretched thin enough that you could see through it. The tongue moved, squirmed, and then you realized it was you moving it. Your brain—now rubber itself—played catch-up with the transformation as pink rubbery ears pushed from the top of your head. You watched the rubber build up between your eyes into a snout. "M-Me?" you manage to ask. "Yes. Both of me," the mare answered as she walked into view. New connections in your head guided your rubbery legs into a standing position—on all fours. Author's Note Made after seeing this lovely creature on Discord. Support me on Patreon or fuel my writing on Ko-Fi! Join me on Discord. Warning, said chat may contain NSFW material and should be considered adult in nature. Awesome ponies who are already helping to keep me in keyboards and rum: A.P.O.N.I. Canary in the Coal Mine Daremo Dio-Drogynous Ender Voidwalker KFS Crimson Sirion123 Vi Watch Wind of the Skies And special thanks to the following, for careful eyes and friendly words: Lab
Pony (second person) (oral sex, vaginal sex, slavery, human->pony mare)View OnlineTransformational ShortsPony (second person) (oral sex, vaginal sex, slavery, human->pony mare)You barely get your hand into your shorts when your shaft starts to tingle. Closing your digits around it tightly, you start to stroke while lapping up more rivulets of liquid fire from that shaft. The smell—the taste—is almost too much for you. You open your mouth wider, but there's no hope of getting that thing past your lips. It takes one good thrust from the shaft's owner to teach you that you were wrong. It's like having a ball gag two sizes too big in your mouth. Pumping with your hand, you feel as your shaft gets smaller—shrinking away. It's a race you know you can't win. Will you get off one last time before you aren't a man anymore? Faster, harder, you strain your fingers until you can feel them clench with a muscle cramp. Your shaft slips out of your hand while your tongue seems unable to stop lapping at the too-big flare in your mouth. You lost—fair and square—and pull your hand from your pants only to find there's no hand there anymore. Your fingers are curling and screwing up into a ball—into a hoof. Closing your eyes so you don't have to watch the rest of the changes, you only wish you could blot out the feeling of it. Your other hand aches too, and your feet, and there's a sharp sensation on your back and at your rear. Your guts churn and you mind fizzes, then the most amazing single event of your life takes place. Hot ropes of thick horsecum pump into your throat, forcing themselves down your esophagus in the vain hope of impregnating your stomach. It's all too much. You cough, snort, and a blast of hot, stinging seed sprays from your nostrils. Kneeling now, he moves with you to keep his shaft in your mouth while you fold in on yourself. Opening your eyes, you realize you are looking down a long, fuzzy muzzle at the hefty shaft still within your mouth. A deep breath reminds you of the semen in your nasal cavity—but you don't care. More semen means you belong to him more. "Good little filly. Want another go?" Days. Weeks. Months. The collar was still locked around your throat, though you weren't exactly kept as an animal. Soft bed, carpeted floor, and good food had seen you not just adjust to being a broodmare, but start to embrace it. Your stallion had came to you every day at first. He'd take you, breed you, and leave you to be washed and cared for. It had taken two months of such treatment before you'd started to forget what a human even was. Two months, too, and your belly had firmed up. "Pregnant, m'lord," a mare had said. The look he'd given you was not just possessive, but full of pride. This was the first morning since your state had been confirmed, and you hadn't even realized how much a new fear had grown in you. You wanted his cock so bad your tail itched and stood up all on its own. The smell of your desire hung heavy in the room. Biting your lip at each sound outside, you were caught completely off-guard when the door was opened and he stood there. The collar around your throat felt just a little heavier, as if reminding you that you belonged to him. But, there were proper ways to show your desire and appreciation of him, so of course you turn and show him what a state your nethers are in. His heavy hooves are almost silent in the soft carpet, but you soon feel his breath across the furless flesh under your dock. "Stand yourself." It was the command he'd used each time and one you'd learned to obey. Bracing your hooves, you angled your spine just right so that—as he climbed on your back and settled his weight on you—you not only support him but are perfectly lined up to receive him. The first thrust of his heavy, hard shaft completely wipes out all misgivings and worry. This is your place. This is where you belong and whom you belong to. He grunts, shoving himself into your body so deep you feel his shaft kiss your cervix firmly enough to drive all thoughts from your already singly focused mind. Your whine, whimper, and push back to meet your master's advancing thrusts while he jerks back from you only to repeat the motion. Your world focuses down to ignore everything but how he uses you—and he is using you. This is no longer about getting you pregnant as his broodmare—you're now his plaything. You bring him pleasure on top of bearing his foals. You can't stop yourself. You moan aloud as he takes you again and again. You barely even register when one world-shattering fucking ends—him flooding your body with his virulent seed—and the next round of pleasure starts. Orgasms blend together, and you are reminded with each thrust and each climax that you bring your master pleasure. At last he leaves—leaves you laying on that soft carpet in a sticky and slimy mess. You smell of him, you are drenched in his sweat and his semen, and above all you carry his foal. There's nothing in the world that would wipe the smile from your face, and the realization that he'll be back again tomorrow only makes it wider. Author's Note Support me on Patreon or fuel my writing on Ko-Fi! Join me on Discord. Warning, said chat may contain NSFW material and should be considered adult in nature. Awesome ponies who are already helping to keep me in keyboards and rum: A.P.O.N.I. Canary in the Coal Mine Daremo Dio-Drogynous Ender Voidwalker KFS Crimson Sirion123 Vi Watch Wind of the Skies And special thanks to the following, for careful eyes and friendly words: Lab
Pony (second person, you as female Soarin) (oral sex, vaginal sex, sex change, post transformation, stallion -> mare)View OnlineTransformational ShortsPony (second person, you as female Soarin) (oral sex, vaginal sex, sex change, post transformation, stallion -> mare)It was getting unbearable. Ever since the fight against the Storm King, and the magically-charged lightning that'd struck you in the middle of it, things had been different. Like, different sex different. "Hey, Soarin, you know that thing all the stallions keep talking about when they think us mares aren't listening?" Spitfire's voice was low, practically a purr as she walked up behind you. Your mind raced. The Lightning Rods as the clique of stallions in the Wonderbolts called themselves, often gossiped about the mares. A million and one things raced to the fore, but only one made it as far as your throat. "A-About orgies in the showers? Y-Yeah?" It still sounded odd—you sound odd—with your voice a few tones higher. Your nervous stutter did nothing to remove the illusion of softness from you. Full of all the machismo being commander of the Wonderbolts brought, Spitfire swaggered up behind you and and looked under your instinctively-raised tail. You could feel her eyes locked on the jewels—vulva and anus—that lay under your dock. "They're true." She moved too fast, but fluid at the same time. Her lips kissed against the bottom of your vulva and she sucked your winking clit into her mouth. Opening your mouth—your body on automatic—you moaned loudly enough for even the stallions in the adjoining shower block to hear. It's like she— "Hey! Soarin!" Spitfire's voice cut through your fantasy. Blinking rapidly, you looked around the shower block only to find Spitfire was the only other mare there. Your heart speeds up again. "Look, I get this is hard for you. I don't think anypony fully understands what it's like to be turned into a mare, but you gotta get yourself under control. You're leaking, and that moan didn't sound like you were thinkin' about the weather." She turned her shower off and turned. For a moment you caught a glimpse of heaven before it was hidden under her tail. "We've got practice in ten." It was getting worse. You couldn't stop thinking about the mares of the Wonderbolts all servicing you, eating out your sopping (and it always seems sopping) mess of a slit. Every time you look sideways at one of them you can't help but catch a glimpse under their tail—then the fantasies start. What you didn't know is there's a tradition among the Wonderbolt mares for just this situation, and it was about to play out. When heat strikes, a Wonderbolt cannot be left wanting. "Hey." His voice was deep, lower than any stallion you'd ever heard before. The locker room was empty except for you—and now him. He looked nothing like a Wonderbolt. A bat pony standing almost as tall and solid as a Royal Guard stud, but his coat was dark and his slit eyes were locked on you from under his stylized helmet. "Commander Spitfire told Commander Night Wing she has a mare with a problem." Your mind raced. What was going on? What did he mean? Damn he was hot. The last thought had hit you out of the blue. Stallions were never hot. Well, they'd never been hot before. You couldn't help but trace the lines of his armor against his strong body. Behind you—under your traitorously raised tail—you could feel moisture start to bead along your vulva. Lifting his nose, the stallion sniffed the air. A smile spread across his lips and exposed his fangs. "Yeah, you're the right one. Turn around, little filly, and let me see what I have to work with." The words hung heavy in your thoughts. You're a Wonderbolt! You're a stallion! You shouldn't just be turning around like you are and flicking your tail out of the way of his hungry eyes. A new smell hits the air. It's unlike anything you've ever smelled before. The musky scent is like a stallion taken to eleven. You realize too late that it's him—the bat pony. He's making that smell because you're so damn horny that you're making him horny too. Your fantasies were nothing compared to this. His breath brushed your aching lips first, and then his firm tongue pressed to the crease over your clit and glides upward. You could have been gagged and choked, and you still would have moaned. "That's my girl. Keep that up. Nopony can hear a Night Guard carrying out his duty." A cold wind seemed to blow around the locker room. The light dimmed and the sounds of the outside world ceased. Living Darkness was something the Night Guard were known for. It was how they swept into a battle and dominated, and apparently how they could sneak into the Wonderbolts and bang their cute mares. The second lick of his broad tongue stole your senses, and the third made even the darkness around you shimmy and fall from your attention. And he didn't stop. It was so easy to lose count. Each lap he took seemed to press a little more firmly at your crease until he started punctuating each stroke with a thrust of his tongue that had you making all kinds of happy, hungry noises. Brushing his fangs against your gender flesh, you felt yourself shiver as he stretched his tongue deeper still. For a moment pressure built, but then it eased as he pushed a little deeper. In the back of your mind a little voice screamed that he took your cherry, but it was hard to care about that. His tongue withdrew and so did his lips. You felt empty and weak. Then a hefty weight landed on your croup and every instinct told you to run, flee, and get to safety. Yet your forelegs were locked and your back ones held his weight. "For a first-time mare, you're awfully sure of yourself. Why don't you back your little furnace onto my shaft?" The thought of it was so horribly good that you couldn't do anything else. Struggling to keep yourself up under his mass, you carefully slide one hoof back, then the other, slowly pushing him further up your back until you feel him pressed against your left cheek. "Close. Let me help." He shifted his hips with the first two words, and then the third punctuated his thrust. Nothing could have prepared you for so much prime stallion cock. It felt like it was as thick around as your leg and as if it reached all the way to your neck. He didn't stop or slow, he kept pushing with repeating thrusts until his hips met your ass. You'd never felt this full before. Not a sound came from your throat because it felt like he'd driven all the air from you. You had been empty all your life—but now you're full. Shifting himself a little, the mighty stallion pulled back and thrust forward, then continued again and again. The friction of his thrusts took over your body. You couldn't think of a single other thing except for his huge shaft shoving into you repeatedly. When his breath hit the back of your neck, and his fangs closed on the ruff of skin and mane there, you felt him yank you backwards with each thrust. Each body-stuffing thrust was better than the last. You couldn't count them, not after you got above one. Now your voice came back. Each withdraw gave you time to breathe—each thrust gave you time to moan. Your ears flattened back as he drove himself against your weakening cervix again and again. You'd been with mares as a stallion, you knew this drove them wild—now was not an exception. Then, one thrust came that seemed special. He grabbed your shoulders with his wings and pulled you back—impaled you utterly on his shaft—and filled you in a new way. It was like a volcano of hot bat spunk. He blasted your body and after the first wash of his seed into your womb you felt it seem to fill every part of you. Your brain could focus on nothing else but how he was filling you with heat and quenching your fire at the same time. It should have ended, but he seemed prepared to treat your womb as a balloon. You stretched around the mass of hot semen he flooded you with, and it wasn't until you thought you'd burst that he finally let go with his wings and teeth. "Good filly." The daze of being fucked so well still made it hard to think. Even after the bat pony had left—and taken his silencing magic with him—you stood in the middle of the locker room with your tail raised. "Hey, Soarin? I see you got your visit. How do you feel now?" Spitfire sounded so casual about seeing you like this. Wait, visit? What had the bat said? "W-What…?" Words didn't work right and your voice sounded like you were in shellshock after a hard fucking. Probably because you were. "Yeah. They're pretty intense. Also infertile with other ponies. That's why we have such a good deal with them. Go have a shower and come out in ten. We've got flying to do." You turned and watched Spitfire walking for the door. Her tail was slightly raised and you could see a glistening line of moisture along her slit. "Hey, Cap? That musk—?" "Yeah, it gets to all of us, Soarin. Let me know if you need another visit." Author's Note Oh, and if you want to see the inspiration for this, it's on Derpibooru here 2162925. Support me on Patreon or fuel my writing on Ko-Fi! Join me on Discord. Warning, said chat may contain NSFW material and should be considered adult in nature. Awesome ponies who are already helping to keep me in keyboards and rum: A.P.O.N.I. Canary in the Coal Mine Daremo Dio-Drogynous Ender Voidwalker KFS Crimson Sirion123 Vi Watch Wind of the Skies And special thanks to the following, for careful eyes and friendly words: Lab
