Broken by the Changelings

by AmethystMare

Rating: mature
Tags: Dark, Changelings, Original Character, Porn, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Fetish, Queen Chrysalis, Non-consensual, Sex
Length: 19138

Captured by the Changeling queen, a stallion is forced to obey...

When Arctic is off collecting herbs for his mistress, Fluttershy, the stallion could not have imagined just what was to happen to him as he is drawn in by the Changeling queen herself...

Nothing good.

Tags: NC sex, BDSM, femdom, inflation, oral, anal, vaginal, oviposition.

Published 2020-07-29 19:40:00 UTC
Last updated 2021-08-13 11:16:27 UTC

Broken by the Changelings: Part Two

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Broken by the Changelings: Part Three

Broken by the Changelings
Part Three

Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)
Commissioned by anonymous

Continued from part two, this is the final instalment...

“Come, my drones...”

A flash of green enveloped him as if he was being swallowed up by an emerald fire – and then Arctic was somewhere else, Chrysalis looming over him as she was want to do and bearing her slit back onto his muzzle. It was obvious what she wanted from him and the poor, broken pony whimpered as his tongue so very obediently slid into her sex, coating his muzzle all over again with her juices, slicker and sweeter than before. The drones were swift to follow her through their own methods of teleportation, although they could not teleport as far or with as much finesse as the changeling queen.

His nuts bulged, on show and large enough to each hold several normal-sized ponies, Arctic groaning as she demanded his attention. The rush of her orgasm flooded his muzzle, covering him in her slick yet still somewhat sticky secretions, stickier as they dried, yet there was no relief for him as she delivered to him the humiliation of being forced to rim her tail hole, tail flagged up high and proud to take every last drop of what he had held dear to himself, as himself, for so very long.

He didn’t know that he was in the cool darkness of the nursery, the slime sacs on the wall glowing green to give the young larvae, when they were born, something to push out of their eggs towards. It was dim and it was dark, the floor covered with moss – for which he was at least grateful for it cushioned his back at least a little.

“Come, my drones...”

Her tone softened but it was not directed towards Arctic as her drones crowded around, her tentacles sweeping him around but not onto his hooves. The queen positioned him so that he was balanced on his front hooves with his head pointed down, his hind end pushed up by his huge nuts. It was not any kind of position in which she could have easily have mounted him or used her ovipositor for her own pleasure but that was not the case of it as her tentacles secured him there, tightening in magical, flaring bonds, the warmth of them nothing of any comfort at all. She didn’t need to comfort a slave or a vessel, a sack that was filled with her eggs. A pony wasn’t anything worth her time unless she had taken them into her consideration for some use and Arctic was not a living form in her eyes capable of intelligent thought. Why, ponies may as well have been mere animals for how changelings looked at them, although Chrysalis was, perhaps, fundamental in orchestrating that viewpoint.

Her drones had worked hard and Arctic was treated to a first-hand view of her tentacles – so many of them! – easing into the first of her drones, the smaller creature panting and spreading her hind legs so that her queen could have the best access possible. The penetration of the tentacle was not for any kind of pleasure, however, even if that was a rather pleasant side-effect, reaching straight up into her womb, which was solely used in the case of changelings to implant the eggs of the queen. Drone changelings did not breed like she did, though Chrysalis could reproduce practically on her own, creating more and more drones for the hive, only needing the seed of a male, any male, to fertilise them.

The pony squealed and wriggled, though all he did practically was wiggle on his fat, oversized balls, eyes wide with fear as she withdrew a single, large egg from her drone. The skin was soft and gleaming with slime but he knew even then just where it was going as the tentacle wasted no time in stuffing it into his mouth. Two other, slimmer, tentacles hooked into the corners of his lips, forcing him to keep his lips parted, and no amount of squirming and mumbled, incoherent begging stopped her from scooping another thickly slimy egg from her drone and then another.

Please make it stop...

That was one of the coherent thoughts that Arctic managed to have for himself but the others were not all that much worth repeating as he whined and tried to suck in what breath he could between eggs. Something about the slime that they were coating in, oozing and viscous, helped them slide straight down his throat without triggering his gag reflex, Chrysalis’ tentacle probing and guiding, teasing them all the way down into the pit of his belly. She needed to make sure, after all, that her precious eggs were safe and secure and took care with each and every one to make sure that they were well settled into the lining of his stomach, all sitting as comfortably as they could be.

“My little ones,” she breathed. “You will soon hatch and grow up big and strong for the greater good of hive. For now, rest. Your services are not yet needed.”

Those eggs did not need to be fertilised until the first batch was dealt with, swimming in the goo and cum of his balls, but they could not have found a better body to reside in than Arctic’s stomach, the queen moving on to another drone to rid her of the eggs that she had been looking after in the meantime. A changeling could be freed up to do other things when they were not heavy with eggs, acting the part of a surrogate, and she smiled to think that they would be able to go further on patrols, perhaps even bringing back more sustenance to the hive. They would need more with so many hatchlings on the way. After they were born, the larvae, of course, would need to feed. It would be down to her drones to look after every last one of them.

Arctic whimpered but it was hard to make any meaningful sound at all with a tentacle shoved down his throat, nostrils flaring and puckering for breaths that he could only take when there was not either a tentacle or egg down his throat. Chrysalis, however, very clearly did not care for his comfort, taking her time with each egg in the dim, green glow of the nursery, other eggs settled into the moss, the ones that had not yet found a surrogate to be planted into. He was sure, with a sickening twist of his stomach that he would rather not have felt, that they would find their way into his body one way or another too, trembling as that thick length of tentacle made a huge bulge down his throat.

He’d thought he had gotten away with it, tail clamped down as he coughed up slime, eyes wide and wide, mane clinging wetly to his forehead as sweat darkened his hide. Maybe that was it, maybe he’d be left alone then, given enough time while they thought him sweetly obedient to their whims that he would be able to plot some kind of escape. His hooves settled into the moss and he exhaled as Chrysalis smirked, a tentacle easing out of one of her drones that stood back and to the side where he could not see that there was just the one left.

With his stomach heavy with eggs, bulging out more and more, resting on the ground, he swallowed hard, not expecting the sharp jab of a tentacle up under his tail. Under his tentacle bondage, he could not even squirm as she forced his tail hole open without any kind of warning as to what she was doing or what was happening to him, the curled length taking with it an egg as her slime seemingly numbed him, just a little, to the obscene stretch.

That’s how she got past my gag reflex...

Ah, changeling magic was a wonderful thing to behold but that hardly meant that Arctic was at all comfortable with everything that was happening to him, the chamber full of eggs bar from where the drones, Chrysalis and him were. As much as the pony grunted and whimpered, a tentacle stuffed into his mouth to keep him quieter, he knew just how helpless he was to everything taking place, his tail hole shooting through with pain from that old scar as he was uncomfortably stretched. That had never been pleasurable for him, not unless a lot of play was undergone beforehand or he was serving...who was it again? He sucked on that tentacle as if he’d forgotten where he was all over again, the pony’s eyes half-lidding in a sultry, green glow.

To serve...Chrysalis. That was what he was there for, yes. Not anypony else, just the changeling, the changeling queen. Nothing else mattered but her even as his tail hole throbbed painfully, the tentacle and slime hardly numbing that old discomfort in the slightest even while they rendered him perfectly stretchable for a load of eggs. The last drones had their eggs scooped out as his stomach bulged, a hefty dose of slime poured into him too from the tentacles.

In fact, it seemed like the changeling queen took even more pleasure from that side, letting her tentacles secrete more and more changeling slime, her drones pressing in to rub up against him. They did not possess enough magic to abuse him with tentacles too, but they could nip and bite, saliva coating him, nuzzling his neck and crooning while they pressed into his balls. They adored the fact that his body was ripe and plump with their queen’s eggs too and could hardly stay away as their protective instincts kicked in, wings buzzing as they ground into him, some even managing to find his cock underneath his stomach and tuck themselves into the gap between his nuts and rapidly inflating belly.

There, they could take their pleasure too while Chrysalis dominated him so easily that it was effortless, feeding egg after egg up into his tail hole, although she did spare a couple for his muzzle too, just for variety. His mouth may have been plugged up again after each egg passed down his throat but the seal of goo across the head of his cock, forming a cap, meant that her changelings could ride and mount him time after time again without worrying about him exploding and letting her eggs out. The very purpose of their riding him meant that more cum still flowed back into his balls, his nuts reproducing the seed that they had thought they had lost. Ah, as the changelings understood his body more and more, it meant that they were opened up to abuse him in ever more interesting ways, his body up for use and free for use when it came to them at all times.

His cock ached and throbbed, tail hole trying to squeeze down, pleasure colliding with pain as he was filled from both ends. Arctic tried rock his hips, need coming up trumps in the game of control, but he was tied down by tentacles, his body accosted and mauled on one side by changelings as they pressed their hooves into his nuts and belly, feeling out the shapes of the eggs within. One speared herself back onto his shaft, humping and grinding, taking more and more of his fat length inside her, but whatever pleasure there was for Arctic to take from such penetration was terrifyingly fleeting, his mouth hanging open as his nuts rumbled with a load that was never destined to be spent. It was probably fair to say that it was not just cum that tried to force its way down his cock with the onslaught of failed orgasms, everything denied to him, time after time again. No, it was slime too, plenty of goo, the wetness of it clinging everywhere even as they changelings marked him with it, smearing it in with wicked little smiles on their fanged muzzles.

But the main concern of Arctic’s was in how his stomach bulged, swelling with more and more slime and eggs, lumpy and grotesque and entirely not how his body should have looked. He’d never before considered just how it would feel to have eggs in his stomach but he was treated to it fair and square as Chrysalis’ tentacle thickened up under his tail, tenderly teasing the egg down his passage, through his guts and up into his stomach. It knew exactly what to do without actually injuring her host and surrogate, the victim of the moment, as he was far from the first that she had filled with eggs. Of course, those victims had been tucked up in a nice, cosy chrysalis for their use, the slime covering them and taking care of pesky bodily functions, like breathing, for them, while she thought that Arctic was one that she would have to keep out for use for a little while longer, even if not in the nursery.

The tentacles took advantage of him even more, Chrysalis slowing down and winding down as she took her leave of him like the perfect fuck-toy, something that she didn’t have to consider the feelings of after the act. She cared for her drones more than she did for him (after all, they had been the ones to stay with her through thick and thin) and twisted her tentacle through his guts, stretching them out, easing him out, forcing him into a form that was better suited to her eggs. Her magic seeped into him, allowing his body to welcome in the manipulation, though Arctic’s eyes practically bulged out of his skull as it wormed its way right through him.

Such a disconcerting sensation, a feeling that he should have never have had to have for his own, to bear witness too in the most intimate, coercive, primal form. And yet she had his body with which to do exactly as she pleased, the tentacle writhing inside him as he could only, faintly, thank any listening gods (for Princess Celestia surely could not have been looking in on him at that time) for the fact that he was still there, still alive, able to breathe and carry on the best he could. It was all he could hope for as she pushed out her tentacle through his stomach, laughing out loud with a cruel twang, mocking him for how easily his flesh bulged.

“A changeling exoskeleton would never be so weak,” she pointed out, jabbing a mocking hoof into his side. “Perhaps I could have fit even more eggs into you but my drones are empty... Oh, but why not?”

Her tone rasped out hungrily on those final few words as he shrank from her, breath fluttering weakly in his chest, heart beat growing weaker and weaker under her constrictive grasp and the weight of his body. He was a vessel for her to toy with, her hunger for his lust sated at that time, pressing her slit to his lips again as his tongue, with a horrible kind of hungry, delved back into her. After spending so long eating her out before her throne, it almost felt as if he belonged there, down on the ground, a pony created solely to give her pleasure, running his tongue up and around her tail hold, the web of her tail flowing down and over his head, before thrusting eagerly back in again.

That was something he could do. That was something he could lean into. That was something that was very nearly almost enough to distract him from the enormous pressure in his stomach and balls, how they ached and strained and pulsed, striving to contain what his body had already been forced to. He was not in such a position that he could choose what happened to him as the gush of her orgasm swamped his muzzle, cloying and sticky and clinging to him with such a thick aroma that he doubted that it would ever wash out of his coat. That, of course, was the least of his worries.

Her tentacles helped her take care of what she could not usually do without the aid of magic from such a position, grinding back on his snout with her marehood tugging and winking while the tentacles fed the last eggs from the nursery, the ones that so desperately needed a soft, warm, cocoon of a vessel to carry them, into her ovipositor. The tip puckered and swelled, sucking up the eggs as if they were large drops of water, the bulge of them softly travelling back up into her body, although it was only to be temporary.

Chrysalis groaned openly with her tail flagged, showing off her sex, her enjoyment, everything she had for her drones, buzzing and flitting around her, doing such a good job for her in ensuring that Arctic’s lust never dropped, not even for a second. That was one of the reasons that they managed to keep going and going, the fact that they were drinking in his lust like syrup from a goblet, slurping it all down as they rode his cock with fervent thrusts of their hips. One drone even scrambled too eagerly onto her back to get onto him, only the tip squeezing into her vent before she was howling and writhing in climax, yet the orgasm that she sent through the stallion was one that rumbled right up back into his nuts. Each subsequent swelling of his orbs cushioned her eggs, contained within them, more and more, the queen herself shivering with anticipation of the larvae and drones that would hatch forth, the army that would change the course of her hive and Equestria itself.

Yet that time was for her too and she could not stretch his balls too much, only for fear of her eggs and not due to any concern about Arctic at all. Her ovipositor just could not resist the urge for a little more, a few more, just to see how much he could take, although the queen was sure that she would test those limits time after time again during the course of subsequent years to come. He would not be let go in a hurry, that was for sure!

He should have expected her shifting position, a hoof dominantly pressing into his ball as she nestled in against him, waving a drone off his cock so that she had precedence over his body. There were no kind words and no kind of warning either as her ovipositor pressed up to the tip of his cock again, inserting itself slowly, patiently, having no need to rush things. There was time enough to take what she needed and Arctic panted heavily through his nostrils around a tentacle as she made sure that his mouth was stuffed full in the absence of her cunny.

Another egg, slower and larger than the last ones, pushed down her ovipositor and through the length of his cock, a bulky, visible bulge that could not have been denied even by those that sought to. He had to face up to it as he moaned into a drone’s cunny, his muzzle in constant use while the others massaged his balls, encouraging him to orgasm even as he could not, pleasure denied as one egg and then another plopped into his grossly overfilled nuts.

The pony panted, head reeling, the room spinning about him. Dehydrated, he tried to lick his lips but was only given the pleasure of eating out another drone as Chrysalis finally deposited every last single egg into him, her ovipositor sliding back out with cruel pacing. It was as if she wanted him to feel her complete and utter dominance over him for as long as possible, sensations overwhelming without the bliss that could have at least made them a little easier to bear. Alas, that was the way of changelings and the stallion would have been a fool to do more than shake his head and bow it to their whims, their slave to do with as they willed. To someone who was truly submissive at heart, it was not all that bad, as much as it pained him to think it.

In fact... It could well have been considered to be his true calling and place in life, pushing him on into his destiny. Maybe his time with Fluttershy had been merely a warm-up, breaking him down into the right frame of mind to be used by the changelings, to be of service to a queen and her drones. Her tentacle twisted inside him, pounding his throat and his tail hole, using him languidly, slowly, Chrysalis’ breath coming more evenly than before. While she was working down from a high, her hind legs splattered with slime and her squirting orgasms, he was only just getting started, a part of him already beginning, if only slightly, to accept that his life was going to be different as a surrogate for changeling eggs, a cacophony of sex that a pony like him may not have considered entirely a bad thing.

No...

He had to hold on, had to get back. He suckled on her tentacle, eyes turning adoringly up to Chrysalis, his overlord forever, the one who owned him. What did anything else matter as long as he was protected?

Not here...

But who wasn’t there? Who else mattered? Arctic tried to rock his hips back, as high in the air as they were pushed, the pain under his tail, for he had never been worked up there to the point of pleasure, rising by the second. No, he couldn’t think about that, not her, not anything else. He had a queen to please and serve, after all. What else could matter?

Was there anyone else that could matter? It was a question that his shattered mind, not even then, could answer honestly. His balls were large enough to hold many ponies – perhaps even up to fifteen? It was hard to say but his mind tried to make sense of it all still, his stomach churning, swollen, lumpy, the sheer number of eggs inside him aching to be released. How large was he? He didn’t want to know but it was clear to see that his stomach was larger even than his nuts, swollen with so much slime that everything was padded out, groaning and squeaking, his body a vessel for Changeling destruction.

Arctic whimpered, head hanging as low as it was able, chin pushing onto the ground. He couldn’t put his head flat due to the hugeness of his stomach, bulging out with more eggs and goo than he could have ever imagined was possible to fill a pony while, panting softly, need residing within him but, even then, he knew that it would not be a need that he was due to have fulfilled. What needs could a pony like him have when the queen took care of what needs he fulfilled for her and her drones?

No... No. No, he had to serve them, had to do what they wanted to do. That was all there was for him, all he was good for, to the changelings, yes. No. Yes. Not even his thoughts came clearly as Chrysalis stepped back to survey her work, chin resting on her hoof as her horn glowed green with changeling magic.

“The best surrogate that I could have had... And I shall have more eggs for you again, shortly, yes. You will be filled over and over and never know what it’s like to not bulge with my eggs.”

Her eyes gleamed.

“Is this not the life you dreamed of pony? I assure you that it is far more important than any life you could have been leading before...”

She knew nothing of his life and yet, in her hold and control, she knew everything of his current life, the two things different and the same simultaneously. But what did Chrysalis care when Arctic was solely there to serve a need and, well, he would serve that need better than anyone else she had cocooned to horde her eggs or even feed her drones with lust and a filtering, waning supply of love. Never again would they go hungry after they’d taken over villages, towns and cities – and more still! Arctic was key to bringing forth her army to take back what had been so very unjustly stolen from her, his bulging, swollen body an incubator in which her waiting eggs would rest and her fertilised eggs would soon hatch from.

Was he broken though? Oh, she didn’t care anymore, stringing him up in her feeding chamber, for it seemed to be the best place for him at that time. Hardening goo coated him from his neck down to his cock and balls, although Chrysalis left those ready for the use of her changelings as he was strung up to the ceiling. In the feeding chamber, several feet off the ground, he hung there, head dropped and tongue lolling out, amongst chrysalises containing shadowy figures, not all of them ponies. Although he should have been more interested in who or what was in each of those cocoons, wrapped in slimy goo, perhaps not even alive anymore, it was hard for him to think of anything but his present situation with the drones still set on making good use of him.

He should have been too heavy for the goo hanging him from the ceiling like a fly in a spider’s web, wriggling faintly, broken and yet still prey to leftover impulses of the body. They held him fast and secure, however, Chrysalis most certainly not wanting to risk the wellbeing of her eggs, while the remaining changeling drones who had not yet tired of him played with his body. Even while airborne, they could still grind themselves back onto his cock and fill their passages, bodies stretching to contain him, forcing him to repeat his orgasms even though they were slower than they had been before. Alas, even changelings could not go on forever as his balls heaved, a fresh dose of cum reverting into his nuts to make them churn and grumble all the more fervently.

They did not care for his wellbeing, only seeing him as something with which to sate their desires, perhaps a little more than an object there. That wasn’t so bad, was it, to be something they could use? Arctic did not know, could not have said either way, not even able to hold his own head up as the tag at his throat glinted in the dim, glowing, green light of the chrysalises still containing the hides of ponies, dragons and gryphons alike. Together, they would rest there, waiting, all serving a purpose, although only one of them was actually aware of what was going on, moaning as he held Chrysalis’ eggs, fertilised with his own sperm.

Still... He had not been completely broken.

No.

He held onto the last remnants of himself as the changelings, finally, left him there, aching and exhausted, even though sleep very much was still not to come. Such sweet solace was not yet for him to take as he whimpered and shuddered, trying to find something that could ease him down into a softer state of mind, submission fading as Mistress Shy’s tag hung more heavily and poignantly around his neck than ever. Chrysalis must not have seen the importance of it, not caring for pony ways as others in the world, even though they were not ponies, had come to see in time. But it was that glint of the dangling tag that Arctic clung to as his breath, very slowly, returned to normal, the eggs shifting and jostling against one another in the dark of the cavern, his only friends those who had had their lips silenced.

Arctic clenched his jaw so hard that a muscle jumped at the corner of his mouth, not caring for the pain that it brought with it. It was a good kind of pain, the kind of pain that reminded him that he was still alive, that he had stood up through everything that the changelings had driven him down into, submission aside. It didn’t matter as long as he survived and was still there at the end of it, flanks heaving and his determination ringing through the clamour of a changeling plan that would not come to fruition. Not while he was the one carrying their eggs.

Exhaling slowly, he softened the muscles of his body, relaxing, easing out. Like coming out of sub-space, only, that time, he didn’t have his mistress there to guide him. He could imagine that she was there though, a smile on her muzzle as she brushed out his mane, softening and gentling and all kinds of light and warmth that eased out the tension from his body after a long session. As strong and stern as she was, she was truly kind too and she did all she did to him knowing that all he wanted was to be at her hooves, serving her in any way that made her happy. That was where the difference between Fluttershy and the remaining changelings lay, only Arctic doubted the changelings would ever see that. They didn’t care about things like that.

It’ll be okay.

The eggs in his stomach weighed heavily on his heart. The ones in his balls even more so. Still, the only pony in his mind’s eye was her and that gave him strength. She always gave him strength.

He would find his Mistress Shy again.

He had to.

Author's Note

The Changeling Queen has a plan for Arctic but the grande finale of his oviposition and breeding is only just ramping up...

As always, I am open for commissions starting at 30 GBP per 1,000 words - please e-mail arianmabe[at]gmail.com for more information or see my profile!

Story © Amethyst Mare / Arian Mabe
Character © respective owners

Prisoner of the Changelings

Author's Note

After being taken prisoner by the Changeling queen, Arctic is transformed into a host for her eggs, submissive to their scat-goo and the dirt of their domination of him, all against his will...

WARNING
WARNING
WARNING

This story contains non-consensual sex and fetish in a fantasy erotica context and is not a reflection of reality. This is fantasy, fiction, and intended to be taken as such.

WARNING
WARNING
WARNING

This story has been available for early reading one to two months ago on SubscribeStar and Patreon (SubscribeStar contains extreme content while Patreon does not)! Please check the tiers on the following links if you would like to support!

Patreon (no extreme content): https://www.patreon.com/arianmabe

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As always, I am open for commissions starting at 30 GBP per 1,000 words - please e-mail arianmabe[at]gmail.com for more information or see my profile!

Story © Amethyst Mare / Arian Mabe
Character © respective owners

Prisoner of the Changelings

Prisoner of the Changelings

Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)
Commissioned by anonymous

A continuation of Broken by the Changelings.

Arctic groaned, blinking slowly, coming back to reality. It was not really waking, kind of, in the state he was in, though it was hard for the pegasus pony to think like that anymore, to think of his wings, which were wrapped up in the solidified goo. He was there and that was all there was to his life, his world, everything narrowing in to the Changeling hive as if he had never before experienced anything else at all.

But he was a pony, a pegasus pony, and he knew too that he had to remember that, even as the Changelings used him. Every part of him felt stuffed with Chrysalis’ eggs and goo, so much in his stomach that he didn’t know where the natural shape of his body lay anymore. He was bloated, more of a belly than anything else, another lump behind it proving awkward, pressing up to the heaving, trembling round of his stomach. That second bulge was the organs of his lower abdomen, yet it was so obscene and grotesque that it could not be missed even while it could not honestly be identified as any real, recognisable part of his body anymore, rolls of egg-hoarding belly and gut dominating everything.

His hide had been a light shade of blue, once. Now, that was not the case. He didn’t know what colour his soft fur and feathers were under all of the mess, the green goop that the Changelings secreted clinging to him, coating everything except the holes that Queen Chrysalis needed. Arctic quivered. The queen… Oh, she came for him, from time to time, commenting on him, how he needed her to survive down there. He didn’t know what else his forced mistress thought was the case when it was her that had imprisoned him but, with her making use of his mouth to lay more eggs, using her ovipositor, into his stomach, he didn’t get the chance to ask.

“You will be perfect for my plans,” she hissed venomously, her tone not matching up with her words, on her last visit. “Those princesses will never know what hit them, the fools! To think that they thought that they could cast me out and nothing would happen by way of retribution?”

Arctic had gulped and hacked as a Changeling drone ground onto his mouth, using him for oral pleasure, though his tongue was tired and weak even as it lapped into her cunny, playing over the hole through which she defecated too. It was not the usual anatomy that he was familiar with as a pony but it was not as if the Changelings, of course, were just pony-type bodies, but insects too. That was where the egg-laying came in.

“So big… So powerful…”

He was not so much of a fool as to think that she was talking about him, of course not. No, that was what she thought of her hive, her own power, the plans she had in store for a world that seduced her into so much more. Domination and dominance – the same but different, according to the queen – were her goals, to bring revenge raining down upon all those that had ever wronged her with an army of drones.

Arctic shuddered. After she’d left, his stomach had been left extra-bloated, her ovipositor having been rammed up under his tail for hours, or so it felt. They added more and more eggs to him as if he was an endless type of vessel, though he felt that there had to be some limit, eventually, to the stretchiness of his skin, some boundary that they simply would not be able to cross with him.

Maybe. Maybe not. There was no way for him to tell until that moment was reached.

He trembled, a horde of drones flowing in – how many were there? He couldn’t even move his head as they swarmed him, too many to count, filling his vision. Of course, Chrysalis had left his cock out and hard, constantly, a ring of goo around the base solidified so that the option to soften simply wasn’t there for him. They ground back onto his cock, taking him into what he thought was their vents but he could not tell, because, of course, the drones did not typically breed. Maybe they could, but even though he was perhaps the pony best placed in the whole of Equestria to speak of Changelings and their lives, he didn’t know whether Chrysalis would ever have her drones actually breed.

“Ah, I see they are already making use of you.”

That had to be Chrysalis, but there was nothing that Arctic could see around the rump of yet another drone as they ground back onto his face, the fluttering buzz of their wings filling his senses. His cock was swollen, thick with desire, a good part of the length plunged into a drone, though they could not get the entire fullness of his prick into their depths. That was a shame, but the kind of shame that was derived from lust-fuelled passion, blind to all else. It was not as if, after all, there was anything else in his sex-driven world down there, locked in the hive, held in constant bondage.

Chrysalis laughed, hovering before him as her horn glowed a sickly green and her wings buzzed, easily able to keep even her larger form aloft. Oh, she had drunk down so much love and lust from him that she had grown in power more than she had imagined would be possible from a single pony, her ovipositor out and already aching to penetrate him again. The act of laying, undoubtedly, gave her pleasure too, even if it was more driven by the curling of dominance, the throbbing deep in her gut that told her that it was time, that the Changelings would once again rise up against the scourge of ponies.

He turned his head back and forth, suddenly devoid of any drone making use of his muzzle, though their goo and slickness remained. They seemed to secrete that goo more than any arousal, their bodies different in away that left him trying to catch up on what he knew about them constantly, even if things were not so dire that he had to learn. And yet there was so much slime, coating his body, oozing and dripping from the ceiling, the chamber in which she had bound him large but not large enough that he did not feel the constraints of it around him.

Some goo rang solid, holding him in place, though it was more restrictive than any rope or leather or even latex had been with Fluttershy. His heart panged for her but he had to put his real mistress from his mind, a prisoner of the Changelings even as Chrysalis paused, eyes greedily roaming his thicker, fatter form. With so little activity in his life, he had grown heavier in more ways than one, a little less shapeless still than he would have been if he had not been bloated with the fertilised eggs of the Changeling queen.

Chrysalis’ eyes gleamed.

“Here…”

It was a croon but the kind of croon that he would have done well to reel from, for nuances like that only promised trouble for him. A collar of goo slopped around his neck, stiffening and firming up, but that was not Chrysalis’ reason for finding just another way in which to abuse him. Her hoof boasted a thick dollop of that goo and it was too easy for her to force him to open up his muzzle wide to take it inside, shoving it straight down his throat as he weakly struggled.

“There, there… Just take down the cushioning for my eggs, little egg-whore. Keep them in there, nice and safe.”

Her voice could have been tender if not for the vast amounts of goo that her hooves were stuffing down his throat, again and again, working quickly, his cheeks bloating out as they filled with the slime. His eyes bulged but any weak struggles that he was, in fact, able to make, may as well have not come to anything at all, his tail flicking back and forth faintly where it had, curiously, been left out of the slurp and slop of viscous or solid goo.

“Yes…”

She leaned in, lips parting, tongue dangling out between her fangs hungrily, panting and heaving for more. Always more, yes, always, that was the matter with it, what she had to lean into, all that she wanted to do for her drones, for her hive, for the sake of her power. The bloating swell of his stomach as the goo slipped down, so far down, could not be denied and neither was the rising arousal from the slave-pony before her – the only pony stallion that she had ever found use for in all her time.

He squirmed. He wriggled. His cock throbbed, a load of cum pouring into a drone who had impaled themselves on his cock, though Arctic hardly felt any pleasure from that anymore. He’d been bound and forced to cum so many times over that it no longer was any kind of event, but every orgasm that was forced upon him left him with more strain.

That was why the goo forced down his throat had him huffing and puffing, grunting and whining, more than ever. There were little true pleasures left in his life, though he could not place the taste of it, the slickness of it, the consistency… Oh, it had him thrusting and grinding, rolling his hips, imagining well and truly that he was more in control of the situation than he was. But it was the bondage too that had him panting shortly and sharply through his nostrils, forced to take more and more down his throat, even the lumps.

Arctic quivered, feeling as if his hide was tingling all over without due cause, aching with a strange sense of misplaced glee. Nothing made sense, but it did not have to make sense in his imprisonment, as two drones at once ground up on his cock from either side, using him as a living sex toy. In their service to the queen, their pleasure leaned into the pleasure of the queen, allowing them to be serviced, to be pleased, all for the fact that they could then become more pleasing themselves to the queen.

It was goo, but it was still a waste product that the Changelings secreted, drooling thickly over his lips as the queen swapped to her horn, eyes alight with greedy lust. She moaned out loud, feeding off his sexual energy, as she pushed on, the goo slipping down his throat, her Changeling magic more easily than ever able to make sure that his throat opened up wide around the stuffing of the goo. It was not all easy to swallow but that was quite alright as she was more than willing to make sure that not a drop went to waste, catching any drips that broke free only to shove them violently down his throat.

“Get it all down… Mmmm…”

She had fed him with the goo, at first, with the thought that it would better cushion the eggs in his stomach, but his lust feeding her, fuelling her… Ah, that was even better to push into. She groaned out loud, not the sort of queen to hide her ecstasy in any way, even for something like that. Her tongue lashed the side of her muzzle as if she was savouring something deviously sweet, even in that moment, feeding on his lust. Was he really enjoying it?

Not that that mattered to her, of course, in any way other than what she was able to take from him, to drain from him, sucking it all down, throat working as if it was something that she quite literally needed to swallow. His fat cheeks, goo sliding down his chin, staining what could be seen of his coat… His wide eyes wanted it but the throbbing of his cock still told the tale that had made him perfect for her egg-slave in the first place, the only one that should ever have been kept there, in her hive, for her to feed off. Any other pony would have taken more energy from her and her hive in sustaining than he had required, but all that Arctic was forced to give was reaped back in heaps and piles.

Enough to feed her. Enough to feed her drones. Enough to grow an army.

Yet consent was not in the air, even as more and more thick goo slipped down his throat. Although it had always been all around him, the pony had never paid all that much attention to it, his bondage and use taking more of his mind. Yet the consistency of it differed, some runnier and flowing more freely even though he didn’t quite know what to make of that either, amidst the lumps and bumps of it. The thickest stuff was the most frequent as it slopped onto his tongue and the pungent smell overwhelmed him at such close quarters. Even though it had surrounded him for so long in the hive, his sense of smell and proximity from it had lessened over time, easing down… Yet that could not be denied when he was up close and personal with it.

Chrysalis chuckled. That was never a good sign and yet she hooked her magic into the corners of his lips, forcing him to hold his mouth open, though a gag of hard goo was usually used to keep him in place. Sometimes there was simply pleasure in her doing it herself also, though she could always, at any point, delegate to any one of her drones when she tired of abusing him, one way or another.

Arctic groaned, goo oozing viciously from the corners of his lips, slopping and slurping forth, though it was as if she was trying to overfill him, pushing him too far so that he could not, in fact, handle it all for himself. The pony grunted, cool and wet, wriggling, squirming, yet too many sensations all clouded in on one another all at once that he could not focus on anything to the exclusion of all else.

Chrysalis licked his cheek, one of the only “clean” patches, if he could even be called that, eyes narrowing with wicked, Changeling glee. Oh, he didn’t know, couldn’t know, the filthy stallion… She could never expect anything less from a pony from Equestria, after all.

“You know where this goo comes from, don’t you, slave?”

Arctic blinked, eyes half-lidded. He didn’t even have enough strength to open them anymore, though it was pleasing, in a tiny way, how it filled his belly. In a way, it made it more comfortable for him to hold the eggs, though he was very much aware that there was not much of their goo slopping around inside him as yet.

Chrysalis, instead of telling him, turned her rump to his face, showing him what he already knew. What lay under her tail may not have been typical, considering her ovipositor, but that it was the waste product that he had been ingesting all that time gave things a disgustingly erotic edge. Of course, he could not help but reel from it, his muzzle wrinkled, drawing back and away, gulping down what air there was still available for the soft sanctity of his lungs, yet Chrysalis was not allowing that, oh no. She already had the little pony-slave right where she wanted him.

He shuddered, the dank, stank secretions slipping down his throat as he gulped and almost had to chew some of it. He shouldn’t have gagged but maybe it was Chrysalis’ informing of him of exactly what it was that had his stomach twisting and lurching, suddenly all too aware of the sheer weight of the eggs inside him, how they made his belly sag, pulling down despite the round of it.

There was so much inside him, the drones grinding on his cock, the taste of the scat-goo overwhelming him, bulging, squirming, churning. How could he possibly only think of one thing when he was there, a prisoner to so much, everything at once? He panted and heaved, nostrils fluttering as he did his very best to suck in what air he could. Yet that goo seemed to become more and more watery, a splattering stream coating his muzzle as Chrysalis cruelly turned her back on him, tail lifting, painting him in the excreted mess.

He couldn’t have closed his muzzle if he’d tried, the shapes of so many bulging eggs showing through the skin of his belly, the skin there seeming so thin that any one could burst through without any notice at all. Chrysalis fed him direct from the source, though it did not feel quite like the tail holes that he was used to pleasing as his muzzle was crushed up against it. Too late, he realised that his muzzle had been hooked open with a cruel sort of gag that lay across the roof of his mouth and forced his tongue down, making him gag constantly. It could have been something similar to a ring gag that had been forced back behind his teeth, in an unconventional position, but he was hardly in any position to find out the minute details of it.

The world turned around him, Chrysalis whispering how he would be fed on their scat-goo forevermore, always bound, always fed, kept alive merely by her will and generosity. Of course, that was only for as long as it would last, the pegasus pony shaking, quivering, tongue flickering weakly within his muzzle. It was crude and rude for him to be fed from her rump and he tried to tell himself that he had no choice in it, that there really was no option there for him, exhausted and broken, his will lost.

Only…the act of not resisting was something of a submission in itself, his cock aching, drooling, allowing the drones to have all the fun with him that they wanted too. They did not only use him for their sexual pleasure but took turns using their weaker magic to splatter him with goo as if he was a target, a toy for them to amuse themselves with and nothing more. He shivered, eyes half-lidded, Chrysalis’ shapely backside filling his vision, her frayed tail falling over his head. Yes… That was all he was to them, something that they could take advantage of as and when it pleased them…

Arctic groaned. Wasn’t that what he’d wanted? Wasn’t that what his life was like already? Maybe it was merely a fantasy realised to be bound and trapped, the lines of desire blurring so that the stallion no longer honestly knew what was against his will or not. It was hard to think of his life, his real life, his old life, when Chrysalis pushed up against him, watery goo seeping down his throat, her magic forcing him to tilt his head up.

“Yesss…”

It may have been crude and it may have been carnal, his stomach grumbling and churning, rising more and more as his body seemed to impose in on the walls, taking up more space than ever, but Chrysalis needed to feed. That required magic, a finer touch, licking her lips and dragging herself off him with a heave and a grunt of physical effort. It was harder to drag herself away when there was so much sexual energy flowing from him, intoxicating and alluring, but she had to, had to take his power, his energy, to feed herself and her drones.

All Arctic knew was that the good that had held him suspended in the middle of the laying chamber was suddenly soft and pliable, proving something that he had suspected was possible: that the Changelings, depending on their powers, could change its consistency at will. His worlds shifted, turning head over heels, the lumbering round of his belly gurgling, more and more goo slipping down, cushioning the eggs, softening their suspension within him, though he didn’t know what to think about that. His world had narrowed so much that anything drew on his need more hungrily than ever, attention something merely to break up the lustful, keening monotony of his days.

Feed… His eyes fluttered blearily, the goo hardening again as he was positioned on his front, head forced up as if there was a posture collar around his neck, looking straight ahead of him. The pony’s body was comically small attached to the gluttonous belly and he felt the weight of it sagging more readily than ever, as if his very body was striving to pull him down into the ground. Yet the goo was too strong for that, even though he had gained a colossal amount of weight from the eggs and goo inside him, more forced into his mouth, Chrysalis returning to a more traditional manner of feeding.

The drones used him, slurping on his cock, taking his pre-cum, feeding from him as they fed him with their bodies, though it was Chrysalis that dominated, her horn working overtime as she drank down his energy. More and more goo was forced into his mouth, a never-ending stream, though she was not so mild-mannered by any means to only focus on one part of his body.

After all, she had laid her eggs into a very different hole and part of him…

As she stuffed his mouth, letting the thicker lumps of goo slop down his throat, violently ramming them in when they were too big for the “opening” she had left in his gag, her ovipositor extended, slipping out. It was flexible, able to curve and turn back and forth for her to lay her eggs wherever they were needed, ready to do her job as hive queen. And that was a role that she took exceptionally seriously.

Arctic grunted, his tail hole exposed, the ovipositor stabbing deep, though it gave him something else to think about other than the thick, almost aniseed-like taste of the goo forced into his mouth. It thickened more and more, forcing him to try to push it down his own throat with his tongue – a reflex that he had never before considered coming into play, not even at a time like that. Yet all his body knew was that there was something in his mouth, the back of his throat, and it needed to go down, his gag reflex non-existent after all the abuse.

“I think this will remind you a little more of your past life, pony-slave…”

He blinked. What di that mean? Oh, there was almost no sense at all in wondering, eggs pushing into him, a muted whimper locked in his throat, muffled by the scat-goo. There was no escaping it, evading it, only bearing through it, the incredible strain of being filled from both ends at once burning through him.

He could not have said what was worse, the thickening, lumpy consistency of the goo as she magicked it into his mouth repeatedly, barely allowing him enough time between weak gulps to breathe, or the feel of more eggs pushing up inside him. When they were forced into his tail-star, it was not only that previously tight pucker that took the pain of it, forcing their way, one after the other, past the old scar just inside his entrance, the strain of his passage being forced wider than it naturally should have been able to go seeping through him.

And then there was more, the feel of the eggs bumping into one another, a little slick to ease their passage, the act of their laying, working their way deeper, up past his colon, into his intestines. He had been stuffed with many substances before but the eggs, oh – they were something unique, something to which, with their size and shape, relentless in numbers, there could never be any comparison. They were not all uniform in shape, but he was all too aware of the precious cargo inside each one, the unborn life that was growing, learning, shifting and changing, becoming a Changeling larvae as his body harboured them.

They worked their way through his body, plopping into his stomach from the wrong direction, his gut gurgling and churning as his belly expanded more and more. To think that he had once been able to look down and see his hooves was laughable, considering how much had been forced into him, the goo softening the eggs, incubating them a little better than his body may have been able to do on its own. For that was all he was to them, a vessel for eggs, a creature to be used, always to be used.

He blinked and groaned, thicker lumps of goo that felt more like pony-droppings squelching into his mouth, feeling more and more familiar to something that he had experienced before. But be could not slip back to that, not when he was there, not when he was their slave, panting and heaving, his gut twisting as he wanted to wretch. Yet his body would not even complete the motion for him, as much as he yearned to heave, a thicker reek of something like spoiled fruit clawing at his nostrils.

“Familiar, pony?” Chrysalis’ smirk could not go any wider. “Even my shit is better than that of the princesses! Your inclinations cannot be hidden, weakling…”

Yes, but not in the way she thought, Arctic moaned in the sanctity of his own mind, head swimming. He could not talk, had no need to talk, scat-goo like horse-apples squashing into his mouth, her magic controlling every “dropping” that she amused herself in stuffing him with. It would all serve her purposes, of course, but the abuse and power over him was very much a bonus that she was not at all keen to relinquish her hold on, not as she filled him with goo-scat. No… No, it was potent, alluringly so, and Arctic was starting to believe that there was no other use for him in the world other than to hold her eggs.

He couldn’t concentrate even solely on the bump and grind of the eggs in his gut, the visceral pain as his belly billowed out. Although he wanted to get a sense of the scale of it, it simply was not possible, syrupy, watery goo splattering his muzzle again. More goo dripped from his cock as the drones amused themselves, though others cared for their queen, kissing her, worshipping her, helping her lay even more of her eggs inside him.

There had to be a limit but, if there was one, it was not one that Arctic had found yet as he tried to make his throat work, goo piling up in his mouth. He was tired, so very tired, yet all that was left for him was the act of servitude, doing all that he could for his queen. Whether that was true submission or a survival mechanism was something else entirely, something that he would never know the answer to while he was the prisoner of the Changelings, but it did not matter either. All that mattered was the lumpy, rank, sickly consistency of the ever-changing goo-scat as it was rammed down his throat.

No bodily mechanism was a match for magic, after all, Chrysalis not a queen who took “no” for an answer. If he struggled to swallow, working his throat, she would “help” him along there, yanking his jaws a little wider, stuffing his face until his cheeks bulged. It was forced down his throat like icing from a pipette bag, through a hole that was so small that everything could be directed neatly, delicately, even if there was nothing delicate about what she was doing to him. It squished and squelched, sounds rippling forth, oozing down his throat, softening a little. The different consistencies, in a way, helped him take it all down, for Arctic hardly knew what he would have done if every drop of goo that she forced him to take was like the pony scat that…

No. No, he would not think of that, how he had been stuffed to bursting, hide rippling, bulging, reeking and stinking. He would not think of the past, only the moment, yet he didn’t want to consider the horror in servitude either, not as his gut bulged, the second bulge below his belly larger still. That always grew when he was being stuffed with eggs, but he thought it was part of his body trying to keep things manageable, to do what it could to bear through and live through the horror of it.

“But you have more to give, don’t you, slave?” She smirked, cocking her head cruelly. “Other than being the newest toilet-slave of my hive. Since you love it so much, perverted pony, I’ll be sure to have every drone use you, every day, to dispose of their waste.”

Did he? He didn’t know, no choice in the matter, tentacles of magic rising around him, a sickly green glow lingering. Chrysalis gave her drones a certain kind of look and they backed away, allowing her to take their place at his cock. Of course, there was more still that they could do, abusing his mouth and his tail hole, stuffing him with goo or forcing his tongue to lap at their vents, to please them while they climaxed on his muzzle. It was a distraction, one that he may have been more familiar with, but not one that was enough to distract him from the pressure.

It grew and grew, Chrysalis laughing out loud as her ovipositor found a hole that had not been used as yet, pushing down into his bladder, though the span of his urethra first had to be traversed. If he’d had any breath left in his lungs, Arctic would have squalled and squealed and kicked, but there was a grinding rump on his muzzle, smearing his nose with wetness that he could not tell whether it was arousal, piss or goo. Did it even matter anymore?

That was harder to say than ever, even as the Changelings spread their legs, washing him down with piss. Some of it wiped the goo from his body but served to soak his fur in another fashion, staining him with a light-green paint of it, the reek stark and sharp, pulling at his senses even more than the goo had. Still, Chrysalis had him in a position of complete and utter helplessness, finding the “womb” to fill in his bladder as his cock strained and bulged, taking egg after egg down the length.

His rump shuddered, trying to cum, his huge nuts dangling, fat with eggs too. With his belly as large as it was, they were a part that were sometimes forgotten – or perhaps he only hoped that they would be forgotten. For Chrysalis did everything deliberately, focusing only on his humiliation, taking food from him, the sustenance that gave her life.

“Lick and stroke his shaft,” she ordered her drones, their wings already abuzz with the need to serve. “He won’t cum… Not when I have use for it.”

Of course, her ovipositor neatly plugged up his dick, the pony swarmed with drones, crawling over his stomach, rubbing the eggs through the skin of his belly, grunting and heaving, his throat slick with goo. It clung there, making it harder and harder for him to swallow, drones stuffing him violently with it with their hooves. The tingling pleasure from his aching shaft did not make any of that any better, as much as he may have liked it to, strain forcing its way into the front of his mind as the lump of each egg grinding down his cock into his bladder not his balls claimed his mind.

Chrysalis was only interested in using her vessel in the best way possible, the need to urinate overcoming him, even while that was denied to him. His gut and loins lurched, wanting to expend more than one need at once, yet the room itself seemed to press in around him. Blinking, Arctic tried to shake his head, yet could only weakly wriggle his tail, all else lost to him. Was the room smaller? Maybe Changeling hives shrunk…

It was not the room growing smaller, however, but the confused pony trapped in the middle of it, not realising that his belly was making them raise him, in his goo bondage, closer and closer to the ceiling. He filled the space as if that was his only purpose in life, tiny legs and head strained out, though they would have flailed helplessly if he had been able to. That was lost to him as his bladder strained and bloated, feeling as if he desperately needed to use the bathroom to relieve himself, yet finding nothing would come out. He was stuffed full, his backside still aching with eggs and his bladder overfilled already, eggs jostling up against one another.

Chrysalis frowned. There was not enough padding in there, not in his bladder, despite the piss sloshing about in there – before she took up all the extra space, of course. She could only do what she needed to, however, for the love of her hive, extracting her ovipositor as he let out a moan of relief, broken and strangled through the glut of more goo gargling down his throat.

He thought he was done. She shivered, an odd glow of delight warming her through from that particular nuance of sexual energy. How divine.

But what she had for him was an addition rather than a taking away, positioning herself so that she could drive it back in again, feeling acutely, in the glow of her horn, how his heart sank, his cock throbbing, the ache of deep submission within him not even enough to soften that. His nuts needed more and she could give something other than her eggs into his body, her ovipositor neatly allowing her to piss straight into him.

He was only aware of the hot strain billowing through his nuts, softening the laying of the eggs, cushioning them, though they were too “heavy” inside him to float. It was a natural substance for his bladder to take, even if it was not the same colour or substance as his own urine, though foreign and strange for his balls, as well as it cushioned the eggs, all that his body would ever have to care about again while he was in the chambers of the Changelings.

She did not discriminate between his nuts and his bladder, however, taking her time, spilling her goo into him directly so that it filled both, one after the other. It mixed inside him, cloying and tight, his bladder straining more and more as she allowed it to flow forth, wings buzzing as she held herself aloft, eyes intent with that sickly green glow.

“You will swell, slave…”

The bulge that had already been present under his belly grew and grew, squashing more demandingly up against the bloat of his stomach, though that still dominated, could not help but dominate. His balls would have sagged far lower than they already did if not for the goo wrapped around them, supporting them, though it had to be a flexible, pliable type of goo that they used there, something to cradle rather than to restrict. Piss flowed into him, hot and heady, as he grunted and groaned, head trying to roll back, his grasp on the conscious world lost to him as yet another drone stuffed a hoof and leg into his mouth, forcing goo down his throat.

They were not idle on other parts of his body either, one squashing their slit to his lips, forcing his tongue to please them, while others crowded his cock, using their whole bodies to rub against it. Not that he felt in any way that he could have grown at all soft, of course, but he still knew just how he had to stay hard, everything making his cock prick up to attention, his tail doing nothing at all to protect or hide all that he had to offer them.

She swapped her ovipositor to his balls, taking her pleasure from dominating him, though her lust yearned for another taste of his tongue crammed into the slit that was her marehood. Dominance drove pleasure too for Changelings, though Chrysalis could not help but sigh in relief as she spent herself into his nuts, letting the churning seed in there mix with a good load of piss, all swilling about in his nuts, bloating them out and out and out. Maybe she could even get them as large as his stomach if she tried, though she was still having Changelings work away on expanding the cavern, so that she could force him to harbour even more of her eggs.

Arctic tried to groan, tongue flickering out, yet there was piss flowing down his muzzle, magic helping it not splatter his front, but only because that was where the Changeling drones wanted it to go. Yet it was such a consistency, mixing with the goo, that it became, in a way, more and more difficult for him to tell what was piss and what was goo-scat, everything mingling and teasing together in the most crudely erotic of ways.

It was wrong but it was right, strangely so in a way that he needed, balls bloating, fat and heavy, swollen with life not yet born. Maybe that was the role that he’d always been meant to play, even if he had not known it, his cheeks fat with goo, trying to gulp it all down, head twisting, turning, trying to make sense of it all in some way. But that was not the matter of the moment, not as he grunted thickly, the ovipositor driven down into his balls relentless. Yet he had not even realised that it had switched to depositing eggs into him again. How many could Chrysalis hold inside her?

Of course, the answer to that question was as many as she needed, her exoskeleton expanding to hold all required inside her until it was time to lay them. Maybe she had been fat and round with them but a lust-addled, strained pony-slave would not be able to know or understand that, his mane clinging to his neck, great, fat globules of goo sliding down him. The drones stopped trying to get every last drop of piss straight down his throat, boring of that game, swapping to hosing him down with it, for there was always a drone to replace the one that had gone before.

They let it soak his front, dribbling down, though with his head positioned as it was, a lot dripped to the ground, which was a shame. They’d have to fix that, using thicker, more viscous goo to smear it into his coat instead, hooves working at his mane as if it was shampoo, though the cloying reek of the goo would not sift form his coat any time soon. That would linger, just like their abuse of him, grunting and groaning, his world twisting, turning.

The sag of his nuts and stomach, his bloated bladder… It was impossible for him to bear it all and yet he had to, for a slave like him was not to be given any other choice in the matter. His hide bulged grotesquely and there could be no denying, not even to an outside observer, just what his body and soul had become. A vessel for eggs, for bodily fluids, for waste… No, there could be no other use for him down there, locked away where no pony even knew he was, a helpless body that was only there to be stuffed and filled over and over again.

Arctic groaned. His nuts ached, larger and larger, fat and swollen, growing as his belly churned with goo. It was hard to think of it as anything other than scat with how heavily it weighed in his stomach, even if a dim, faint part of him understood just why it was there. It was needed, for the eggs, for that was all that his life revolved around anymore.

Chrysalis needed more from him, of course, his nuts the perfect incubator for her eggs, his seed strong to fertilise them. He could keep the fertilised eggs warm while she held her young in stasis until they were ready to be hatched, which was only when the hive queen herself said that it was to be so. His seed was siphoned off for fertilisation, used as needed, but she didn’t need him to actually ejaculate for that to happen. No, a weak stream of pre-cum could be seen when required but that pleased her drones, kept them busy and keen about their work – only when her ovipositor was not plugging up his dick, of course.

Still, her rump ached and she panted softly, withdrawing her ovipositor, tucking it neatly away. By no means did that make it so that his ordeal was over, Chrysalis dominating, taking her pleasure, her rump pushing up to his nose to smear him with her juices, her arousal drooling and dripping. The drones, of course, had to make way for that, but magic could be pulled into play too, scooping up dripping goo and slop and stuffing it straight down his cock.

Ah… Chrysalis revelled in his throbbing lust, broken and abused, as she filled his bladder and nuts with the goo too. It was needed, so very much so, mixing with piss and cushioning eggs, though there was nothing that he could do to stop her, not in the slightest. That was a part of his fate that he had, finally, accepted, the weakness of his body, how simply helpless he was, useless for anything else but holding her eggs. That was the best position for any slave to be in, truthfully, for it helped them be consciously pleasing for longer, rather than losing their minds.

She liked a slave with a mind, a tongue that could push out, even with the gag in place, lapping her vent, slurping into her marehood. Her clit throbbed with need and she didn’t need to relieve her bladder all over again to hose him down with her juices, dripping arousal flowing down his muzzle as she ground his nose into the hole in which she excreted goo. It could come from other glands on her body too, of course, but that was the main one and the most demeaning one to drag him down, down, down… Until there was no light for the broken slave to come back up to.

The goo was easily forced down his cock, the opening at the tip held open with a hardened dollop of goo around it. It was by no means comfortable but there was more to cum, the queen herself driving it down violently with stabbing probes of magic. It forced his urethra wide, the tube leading down strained, though the passage of the eggs had, at least, prepared it somewhat for that. But that only added more and more strain to his balls and bladder as she used his muzzle solely for sexual pleasure, her sticky fluids clinging to him, reminding him, once again, just where his rightful, lowly place in the hive was.

“Harder.”

She demanded what she could simply take for her own, moaning out loud, horn constantly aglow. For she fed on very last bit of energy, funnelling it away into the fabric of the hive, locking it away for when it could be later used, for her drones did not need to slurp it all up and down, not in a moment like that. They could feed until they were fat on his lust but she had bigger and better plans for him, his nuts aching, churning, obviously rumbling before everyone’s eyes.

Yet all the pony could do was feel every moment of strain and bulge, his nuts larger, his bladder plumper, trying to make space back into his body, amongst his other organs and the cavity within. His body had to allow it in some way, however, a moan trying to gargle forth, though slick goo poured over him, mixed with Chrysalis’ juices. More and more was required, a pony-slave driven by rampant, raw need, tail flicking, shuddering, trying to push on when he was in such tight, restrictive bondage that the mere thought of doing so was not possible.

The eggs jostled against one another, but no longer showed through his balls as clearly from the outside, the goo softening the shape of them directly. But that only brought in another kind of lusty outline, the shape of thicker lumps of goo, how it was not a smooth inflation, hyper expanded even while some of the walls of the chamber, without him noticing, broke down. All in the nick of time too as the Changeling worker drones opened it up for him, allowing more space for his bloating balls, Chrysalis adjusting his bondage so that, once again, his head was up, as if he was “standing” with his balls on the bottom.

They had to hold everything, only everything, he thought dimly, his body a sea of lust, balls expanding, thinking of himself as a tiny being attached to them. Nothing else existed for him and neither did it need to exist as he whimpered brokenly and moaned, forced to rim the queen and lap up her goo, pleasing her. He was there for her and her alone, his mind slipping down, broken as she wanted it to be, though there no longer seemed to be any other life that he could remember.

It was hard to remember when Chrysalis herself didn’t want him to remember. He was punished and used, broken, his gut gurgling, goo forced down, though he couldn’t think of any singular thing at any time. Drones crawled over him, licking and teasing, chirping and grunting to him even as their queen did all she could for them. Despite the abuse and despite the humiliation, there was a part of him too that understood why she was doing what she was doing, why she had to. In a way, she was just looking after her hive, her drones, and he had become a component in that, even if all against his will.

Larger and larger… His nuts grew to such a point, stuffed with goo, that they rivalled his belly for size, the bulge of them beyond anything that his pony mind had ever considered. His cock, laughable, appeared pathetically small against them, despite its already hyperphallic size, bouncing and constantly smeared in goo. The Changelings helped force more goo up under his tail too, his pucker strained wide, held so, though everyone knew that a hole that was in use as over as his ring was didn’t need to close up or be tight ever again.

He was there for their use, always their use, their eggs, her eggs, only her eggs. His gurgling, churning gut and nuts claimed his attention, forgetting even the lingering, strained pleasure that tried to tease forth from his dick. It was not as if any kind of true orgasm was to be his every again as he was filled with goo, lumpy and straining, the shades of green bulging through his skin more than the eggs ever did. It was obvious what he was, to them, and yet some decrepit, sordid part of him could not help but to lust for it, a goo-scat pony, a pony that didn’t understand anything other than just what it was to be a slave to the Changeling queen, the most glorious queen that there ever had been for such a hive.

His nuts ached, the skin strained, pulling so tight that it could have burst. But that was not to happen, not when there was magic at play, his body safe and sound as long as it served the needs of the Changeling queen. Piss dripped from him, forced into him, funnelled with magic into his nuts and bladder too, though he could not tell anymore from where it was coming.

Did it matter? The question softened away as soon as it was born. There was nothing for him, no one other than the queen, haplessly slurping away at her rump, barely even knowing whether he was licking her marehood or her other hole. Goo slopped over his head, marking him, controlling him, and he should have known long ago that there had never been any point in resisting, even if he had a mistress back home.

There was no more for him, nothing at all, his balls fat and rumbling as if with a life and controlling substance of their own, penetrated and abused in all ways. There was no part of his body at all that was left unused, the Changelings finding some way to bring him down and humiliate him further, each and every time.

Still, the limits of his body had not yet been reached, and his goo-stuffed body still threatened to grow larger, an incubator that breathed and subsisted entire on goo-scat. He was fed, he was used. What more could there be to his life down there?

Arctic knew of no disgust for it, only yearning, craving…but what? Always something. Something more. Something… Something. His mind didn’t work as he expected it to, but that was okay. He didn’t need to think to serve. The taste varied, the days blending together. But it was all he had.

As a prisoner of the Changelings, they changed him in more ways than one.

And his ordeal was not yet over.

Broken by the Changelings: Part One

Author's Note

When Arctic is off collecting herbs for his mistress, Fluttershy, the stallion could not have imagined just what was to happen to him as he is drawn in by the Changeling queen herself...

Nothing good.

Please note that this is a commission, as always. Enjoy!

Story © Amethyst Mare / Arian Mabe
Character © respective owners

Broken by the Changelings: Part One

Broken by the Changelings
Part One

Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)
Commissioned by anonymous

Arctic frowned as he walked along, nose to the ground, sniffing lightly. The Pegasus pony was not used to being so far from home – well, not unless he was attending events with his mistress in Canterlot or entertaining elsewhere – much less on his own. It left him with a disconcerting curl of discontent in the pit of his stomach, shuffling and re-shuffling his pale wings against his back as if that would give him the modicum of comfort that he could continue with.

Those that knew him knew that he was a quiet sort that liked to keep to himself, not taking too much on for himself. The stallion, after all, was kept busy by his mistress, one of the ponies who, before, had been the shyest in Ponyville, and Fluttershy most certainly knew how to whip him into shape. He smiled to himself, still sniffing, hunting down the herbs that she had asked him to gather. It was warmer out there than he had expected to be, sweat darkening his coat in stark patches, but he didn’t care, not even as his dark blue mane soaked down into his neck, tail flattening over his rump.

It was alright as long as he was doing it for his mistress, yes. Arctic snuffled and coughed as he got a mouthful for dirt for his efforts, tail swishing in pony annoyance. She’d had a certain kind of look in her eye when she’d told him to go out and gather the herbs that had made him wonder what she was up to, although he had not liked to ask and press her, not with the tight collar around his neck still. She kept it on him at all times, although most ponies just thought that it was some kind of fashion statement, the two of them and those in the know understanding just what the butterfly-shaped tag (pink, of course) meant.

Yet the grassland was fading to a scrubbier terrain and he still hadn’t found what she’d said she wanted him to bring back, some kind of aromatic herb that she had shown him the scent of beforehand. It was surely going to be used as some kind of aphrodisiac – something sexual, at least – and Arctic was not all that sure whether he wanted to be successful in his task, considering the applications of such things. Even if Zecora was investigating a new brew, he could rest assured that it was him that would be the guinea pig in such endeavours still.

But she was his mistress and his mistress always had to be pleased at all times, always at her hooves and service. Even then, Arctic’s eyes fell half-lidded, wings softening against his back, tail flagging. He didn’t like to expose that part of his anatomy all that often but Fluttershy often made him bandage the base of his tail (carefully, so as not to cut off the circulation) to ensure that her pet always had his very best assets on display. He was fortunate that she had not sent him off with a dildo shoved up there, lacking in pleasure to say the least and more than a little painful for long periods of time to say the worst. Arctic shivered. As humiliating as it was to be a pony-pet at her hooves, not all aspects of servitude appealed to him, especially considering old limitations of his body.

But that didn’t matter as he hunted for her, the thick grass giving way to a scrubbier terrain that he was not sure at all was what he was looking for. In fact, it was kind of barren, the sort of place where ponies should really not have been venturing alone.

This can’t be right...

Dragging the map that Fluttershy had given him from his saddlebags, he pressed his lips together and studied it. Yes, it did look like he’d gone off-course a little from the route she’d given him, though it looked like he should still have been in the area where the herbs could be found, which was something at least. But was it worth hanging about there to see what he could find before getting back on track? Musing, he rubbed a hoof under his chin, losing time and seconds as he waited too long for the right answer to strike him.

Maybe it was that moment of waiting that was his undoing. Maybe it was something else entirely. There was no real way to tell as events unfolded.

“Arctic!”

His head snapped up. That couldn’t be! But the pony before him matched the voice of his very own Mistress Shy, her soft smile lighting up her eyes as she turned her head, letting a curl of her pink mane fall across her face so very lightly and gently. His jaw dropped but the Pegasus pony’s legs buckled as quickly, dropping him to the ground like a stone through water, trembling and whimpering as he prostrated himself before her, front legs flung out on the ground.

“Mistress!”

He didn’t dare say more than that, sweating nervously as she stood over him, a bulky, strong stallion reduced to nothing more than being her pony-pet as her shadow fell across his head. A gentle hoof turned his muzzle up to face a smiling face, though there was something different about it, something that had words catching in his throat that should have been so easy to let out, to pledge his complete and utter devotion to the mare and mistress who had turned his life around.

Had she done something different with her eyes?

Arctic swallowed, tongue working at the inside of his muzzle, head lifting a little more.

“Is something wrong, dear one?”

That could have been her, her words, and yet something was wrong, something pulling in his gut as the tag around his neck seemed to grow hotter and heavier, weighing him down and pulling him away.

“I... I...”

Yet the words he needed would not come, frozen in place as Fluttershy’s smile fell, leaving the coldness in her eyes that had thrown him off to begin with.

“So, you saw through it. You should have run while you had the chance, little pony.”

Yet it was too late for that as his mistress disappeared in a blaze of gear fire, leaving an exoskeleton in its wake. Arctic screamed (something that he would have been embarrassed about if there had actually been anypony there to hear him) and whipped around, springing up to flee, yet he was only caught in a fuzz of green magic, evil magic, the magic that belonged to the small drone changeling who had so boldly accosted him. His saddle-bags fell off as he was hefted up in the air and, flapping madly, Arctic through that he could have fought him off if not for the four more changelings with their tight, smirking, fanged faces that burst from the ground as if they had been burrowing there, simply lying in wait for him or somepony else to come along.

His world tilted and turned, their magic nowhere near as strong as that of a full-grown pony but, after all, they were drones and their magic and abilities were linked to how well they were fed. Arctic had a lot of time to think about that even as fear clawed at his heart, shouting and yelling, kicking out all the while, although not all that he screamed was at all intelligible.

“She’ll come for me, you know! She knows I’m out here!”

“If you let me go, I won’t tell anyone where you are!”

“Let me go and nothing bad will happen to you!”

Maybe they knew that he had nothing with which to back up his claims or maybe he just wasn’t all that threatening to them. Either way, the changelings merely laughed and chattered amongst themselves, their coarse, rasping way of speaking harsh on his ears as Arctic pressed his hooves over them. As much as he twisted and fought, the notion of getting back to Mistress Shy enough to keep him going, to keep him fighting, they held him fast, sometimes carrying him upside down for a while just to keep him in check, blood rushing into his skull.

They took him underground and then the true horror of the hive that he had been walking over was revealed to him, a cavern and nest of tunnels that could only be escaped by one who knew where they were going. The maze would have been impossible to traverse otherwise and Arctic swallowed a groan, the light of the outside world fading behind him, nothing more than a distant memory as the changelings took him deeper and deeper.

Were they going to feed on him? Was it his love and devotion to Fluttershy that had made him a tasty treat? Had that drawn him to him before he’d even realised that there was something else, someone else, there with him? Would they let him go afterwards? All questions unspoken, although Arctic doubted very much that they would have even been answered if he had dared to speak a single one of them allowed.

He hadn’t heard of changelings killing ponies but neither was that a question that he wanted to find the answer out to in all honesty. There were reports across Equestria about ponies going missing from time to time, the search parties sent out returning with nary a trace of them, lives broken and families distraught in their wake. Even if they were not taken by monsters that were a law unto the rulings of Equestria, there was a change, a small chance, that creatures like the changelings lay in wait, lurking in the shadows, lurking to capture, to feed, to wait in the wings for the opportune moment...

The changelings wings buzzed lightly, two half-flying, though their insectoid wings didn’t seem able to carry them very far, having to rest and walk often even in their labyrinth of passageways. That gave the Pegasus a little hope, only a flicker but it was enough, enough to keep him going, enough to let him think that maybe there was a way out of the mess, the exit lying behind him, somewhere, yet it was there.

He had to find it.

Conserving his strength, his mind raced, striving to formulate a plan that changed every few seconds, his mind unable to settle on anything despite needing too, yet being captured by the changelings with the threat of being cocooned in their goo-pods, at the very least, looming over him was hardly something he could have prepared for. Who actually prepared for such disasters in Equestria when there were other ponies, namely his Mistress Shy, to look out for them and rescue them from all harm?

No one was looking out for Arctic. He trembled. His mistress could not have known, would never have sent him into danger. Should the worst happen, he knew that she would come looking for him, maybe even with her friends, and the wrath of her would send the changelings back into the pit of which they had crawled out from. Such creatures had no place in a world and a land like Equestria where harmony and lightness allowed nuances of pleasure unlike anything else to be explored – something that he loved and adored daily in his life with her, always at her hooves.

“I hear my dronesss...”

Her hiss sent a chill down his spine but Arctic was not about to be pushed aside, holding his head as high as he dared, eyes intent. He had to stay strong, had to show them that he was not to be trifled with, a pony with a mistress who made him strong, even if she was not there at that time. That was what made him strong, knowing that he was protecting her by ensuring she was away from harm, one thought colliding with the one that preceded it and none of them making all that much sense. But it didn’t matter as his mind burbled and blabbed, stringing words together nonsensically just to stop his mind from breaking down entirely as he tried to plot, tried to plan, and yet still came up with nothing at all.

In a wider part of the passages, the air dropped a few degrees in temperature, Arctic shivering, though his discomfort was not solely due to their magic surrounding him, buzzing and fluttering weakly. It was in testament to their lack of strength that five had been needed to subdue him and were even struggling with that, panting heavily with their red, flickering lengths of tongue, snake-like in nature, lolling from between their wickedly curved fangs.

Puffing for breath, the drones dropped him on the floor in a puff of dust and he groaned as the pain of impact rang through him, his fetlock aching something terrible. Had they done that deliberately so that it was more difficult for him to run away? In all honesty, he just thought they hadn’t been very careful with him and most likely would have been right on that count.

They backed away, allowing her space, the only one that mattered right then and there. Even Arctic did not have to look up to know who those long, black legs, sliced through with holes in her exoskeleton, belonged to, the terror of Equestria and one of many villains who had not succumbed to reformation as yet. She was supposed to have been turned to stone along with Tirek and Cozy Glow – Fluttershy had told him how it had happened, even though she’d made sure that he was protected and tucked away in her dungeon away from harm for the duration of that horror. She’d protected him, even if she’d told him the tale, though it was well-known too that the spell of stone-encasement did not last forever. Under certain circumstances, it could be broken, though he did not have a chance to think further on just how that could have happened (distracting his mind to soothe his trembling hooves) as she leaned down over him, a slender, forked tongue flickering out against his ear.

“What a fine morsel you have brought me...”

He trembled, not daring to look up, mind racing. Could he flee? Would she catch him? For there was only one horror in the entirety of Equestria that a voice like that could belong to and his heart pounded, blood roaring between his ears, tail clamped down over his hind end. It didn’t do him any good in the moment and would not do him any good going forward either as his flanks shuddered with breath, dragging in all he could as he sweated anxiously.

Think, Arctic, think...

“A fine morsel...”

Her hoof caressed his mane and Arctic leapt him, his body making the decision for him as it leapt away, a squeal on his lips. He didn’t have to think, only act, his mind fixed on Fluttershy and Fluttershy alone as he hurtled down the passageway, one grey-stoned wall looking just like the other. In some places, bare earth showed through and, even in a fit of abject desperation, he catalogued those patches, thinking that, maybe, just, maybe, he could remember his way if he kept them in mind. Like so much else at such a point of fear, it was useless, hopeless, but Arctic could only try.

“I’m coming for you, little pony...”

He still had not seen her, had not seen the changeling queen even though she’d touched him, stroked him. It had even been a tender touch, in a way, but hardly one that he ever again wanted to feel, whimpering as he fled, a shudder that ran through his whole body lending an extra spurt of speed to his hooves. Out, out – he had to get out! There was only out and there was only his mistress, his Mistress Shy, to come, what kept him going day in and day out.

A drone buzzed in front of him but were easily dodged, Arctic’s heart leaping. They were tiring! It was not the drones that he had to fear, the bugs too weak to do him any harm, but the queen that hounded him on his hooves, stalking the labyrinth of her newest hive with a foreboding, ringing step.

“I’m coming for you...”

Arctic clenched his jaw, muscles burning, sprinting madly. Not if he had anything to say about it!

Fear leant him an extra dose of speed, flying down the passages as if he knew where he was going, thinking only of why he had to escape. That was all that could keep him going even as the weight of his bulkier, stallion body slowed him, though his strength too was something that could be used against him. The drones were much smaller than him, a little smaller too than even most ponies, and that gave him an advantage that was imperative in a battle that he had not even known he would be engaging in at that start of that day.

Her laugh rang through, impossibly close.

No...

“Oh, little pony...”

She caught him in a tendril of magic, sweeping around his hooves and dragging him back before he’d even had the chance to draw another breath, eyes wide and wild, a squeal on his lips. Everything happened so smoothly that it was as if it was entirely of her design too, Arctic dangling in the air by his hooves, head down and mane flopping into his eyes so that he could not see even as he flailed, hooves flying everywhere. Laughing, Queen Chrysalis dangled him there with her magic, expending no effort at all, her green eyes shining with the sort of greed for pony-love that only a changeling could truly demonstrate aptly.

As much as Arctic snarled and thrashed, lashing out with his front hooves, she had him right where she wanted him, carrying him along with no effort, no effort at all. Where her drones had weakened, it swiftly became clear that they had been given what they had caught for Chrysalis to feed on, although it was sure too that the queen was not at her full strength. She was much larger than even Arctic, though did not dwarf him as much as she would a normal pony, skinny and lanky, her exoskeleton tucking in close around her waist and the green of her thorax. Unlike ponies, she did not have a coat of fur, not even being the queen, but she did have a sticky haze of a mane and tail that clung to her exoskeleton, draping over her as if she was being draped in the animal kingdom’s spider web jewels of morning, when they laced the grass outside Fluttershy’s cottage so prettily.

It was a strange through to have but her eyes were wide and wild and nothing like the ponies that Arctic was used to conversing with. Could a changeling even be talked to? It was hard to say with the hiss in her tone, though she was something in itself, the dominant changeling holding an air of authority that could not help but make a pony as submissive as Arctic was shiver, a ripple running through him with the most delicious of tremors.

It should not have been, not really, but the act of being controlled tickled all the right spots for him, even the wrap of the changeling’s magic around him something that, shamefully, Arctic yearned to lean into. Fear and lust tangled together as Chrysalis cast an appraising look over him as if she was sizing him up for something more but what Arctic was really wondering was just what it would be like to be at her hooves.

Don’t think like that!

He had a mistress but he could not help but be aroused by a dominant female, his biggest kink and, duly, his lifestyle too. Perhaps Fluttershy had broken him down so far that he could not help but be turned on by anyone that was dominant, going forward, rendering him useless for even helping himself in such a situation. Could he even be sure that he had tried to run from Chrysalis? Arctic swallowed a whimper, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. Maybe he’d wanted to be caught all along... Yet there was no way to tell.

They arrived in what Arctic could only assume was her chamber, a throne made from gnarled swathes of stone rising up dramatically from a tiered stage, seeming unfinished, a work in progress. Maybe they had not been at that hive for very long? Arctic didn’t know whether or not that should have given him hope, his eyes fixed on Chrysalis’ hind end, hating and loving everything in a moment where everything was twisted.

The changeling set him sort of the right way up, though her magic kept him stationary, panting heavily, eyes wide and wild with a rim of fear. She didn’t pay her newest morsel, however, any mind as she called her drones to her, the five that had captured him at the front, although others appeared from her private chambers too, bringing the total up to ten, on Arctic’s count. That must have been all that was left after she had been defeated and the majority of her drones transformed into a different kind of changeling under the leadership of Thorax. Arctic had even met him once – he was nice. But what Thorax was, Queen Chrysalis most certainly was not.

She paid him no mind, her drones crowding around as even her stern muzzle softened into something that could have, very faintly, resembled affection.

“I think you’ve found me a fine one, my dear drones, I am very pleased with you.”

One of her drones (they all looked the same to Arctic), pressed up to her like a cat, rubbing his body up against hers as his wings fluttered. Again, Arctic supposed they were male, though there was little way for him to tell and he was hardly going to ask.

“Yes, such a good drone,” she cooed, showing a softer side that he was, perhaps, not supposed to see, rubbing her drone’s head as his eyes half-closed. “We will feed well... Did you catch this one for me because you saw what he had beneath him, hm? Did you?”

The sweetness in her tone took on a more lustful edge as her tongue snaked out against her maw, a hungry gaze locking on the pony held in the grip of her back. Chrysalis focused it around his torso as she kept him hovering there, just about high enough that his hooves could touch the ground without supporting his weight. He flailed and grunting, trying to heave himself away, though his efforts only made his nuts and fat sheath all the more obvious, as if he could have thought that it was possible to hide them in the first place.

“So ripe...” She hissed, pupils dilating with greed. “So round...”

Her hoof shot out and caressed his nuts, not even asking permission – as if Arctic could have possibly have expected her to! He squeaked and swallowed his fear, as useful as it was, trying to shrink back even in the hold of her magic. It was good, in a wrong sort of way, his breath coming in shorter and sharper pants, eyes half-closed, trying to take him away from the situation at hoof. It was not as if it was going to do him any good but his mind would go where it wanted to go, Chrysalis laughing cruelly as her hoof massaged his nuts, pumping and teasing, almost as if she knew just how he would react.

Stop...

Her tail flicked and his heart leapt, hide tensing, as if he was anticipating the lash of the whip. It was foolish to expect as the changelings had no luxuries down there and neither did they need do as the drones crowded around, only allowing him a modicum of space out of respect for their queen, who he supposed always got to feed first at all times. The queen nuzzled his neck, brushing his fur with her fangs, and he shuddered, openly moaning, not knowing whether he should have or not and not really having any kind of choice in the matter.

What did he want? His sheath plumped out with his pony-cock, though it was the size of it that drew the eye, something that had been both a blessing and a curse during his adult life. Of course, he didn’t need to work much anymore with Fluttershy taking over what jobs he did and didn’t do (and finding more interesting ones usually for him too) but it could not be denied that he was packing far more than the average stallion under his belly, his hindquarters strongly rounded out with muscle just to support the weight of it.

Chrysalis appeared to appreciate that too, hissing and craning her neck for a better look, a glint in her eye, as she peered at the throbbing emergence of his cock. It wasn’t out all the way as yet, just a peek, but it was enough to stoke something within her, to tell a tale that Arctic could not have spoken out loud if he’d been pressed to under any other circumstances at all. The massaging touch of her hoof bore down insistently and his breath caught in his throat, head trying to roll back as the grip of her magic closed all the more tightly and dominantly around him.

Don’t stop...

Where had that come from? Arctic’s neck grew hot, trying to turn away but her hoof caught him again, eyes blazing intently into his own. There was no denying the changeling queen what she wanted as she flickered her tongue out to lick his nose, a little taste of the delights of the feeding that was still to come. All the while, his balls ached, his body responding to her touch just as he had been conditioned, something that the queen could see even if she could not, as was the way with changelings, sense his emotions already. That was how she’d known when she’d sent her drones after him that he’d be perfect for the task she had in mind.

Arctic, however, did not know what the changeling Queen had in store for him, quailing before her, a sob on his lips that he could not hold back, panting and heaving, fear clawing at his soul. He could not stay, he had to run, had to do something, had to get away through some means. There was nothing for him there but sorrow and suffering and Chrysalis did not tolerate fools in her domain lightly either. She was the Queen and the ponies of Equestria had done nothing for her kind but shun them, their love locked away from changeling hooves.

But it was her time to take charge as she formed a whip out of magic, cackling as she paced around him, the perfect semen-store, something to hold her eggs, nothing more than an object to her. Arctic flinched as she tested the whip, which was like an elongated flogger, for it was never designed for the fun sort of play that he was interested in. It was for him to bow, to bend and to break, before her, knees quaking, fear ripping through.

Yet that was nothing in comparison to the line of pain streaking his back, the shriek leaping from his lips. Arctic barely had a moment in which to register the pain before it cracked again and again, laying down multiple lines and welts across his body. The tails of the lashes sped up as they wrapped around his hide and Chrysalis laughed out loud.

“See how weak you ponies are?” She taunted him, breaking him down, bending his knee, his whimpers music to her ears. “Fall before me – your one, true Queen!”

And on and on it went, Chrysalis changing her implement as it pleased her, a long, hard length of solidified sap acting as a tool of pain as she toyed with him, though he did not bend before her. Arctic was still in there, fighting and pushing, clenching his jaws, his arousal simmered down and ramped up at the same time. How many times had Mistress Shy beaten him? It had always been surrounded by something sexual and his body recognised that even then, panting and heaving, wings tucked in, trying to protect them at all costs, still caught up in the notion that he could escape, somehow. Little did he know that the changeling queen was more devastating than even he could have imagined. And there was no one there to save him as the blows rained down and down and down, his hide searing with lancing pain.

Grabbing his muzzle, Chrysalis forced him to turn his muzzle up to face her, ignoring his sobs. Her magic wiped the tears from his face, numbing him enough so that he could be coherent, for she would have him just as she wanted him for the fury of her lust that was still yet to come.

“Should I tell you why you’re here, pony? Or should I let you find out for yourself? Oh, the decisions... There’s too many of them in the lair of an evil queen. But each one is all the sweeter for it being mine to make!”

She was going to tell him anyway but the play on letting him think that he had a choice in the matter was too alluring still, Arctic’s cock twitching and throbbing as more and more of it pulsed out. Pain was there, yes, but it was overruled by the dominance of her, one who was, truly, even more formidable than Fluttershy, tapping into every last bit of conditioning that had been locked into his soul. His cock was pushing out fully, now that the onslaught had stopped, whether he wanted to seal it softly away back within his sheath or not and the changeling queen hefted it up in one hoof, running the edge of her hoof down it as he grunted and tried not to groan, pushing down his lust even as it grew all the more obvious to her.

“Along with feeding on your lust for this...Fluttershy,” Chrysalis said, hissing as if saying the pony’s name left a foul taste in her mouth. “I have a brood of eggs ready to be fertilised. This is of the utmost importance to my hive and I, considering how that traitor Thorax took so many of my changelings away from me.”

Her expression darkened and Arctic quivered, true fear swamping him as his lungs tightened, taking away even his ability to breathe. The pain lanced through, welts rising, sore and aching, sweat marking his hide. Was she going to take her anger out on him again? He wasn’t responsible for anything, not even what Fluttershy had done before, though he would stand up before Fluttershy to the end of Equestria and back again. With a cruel creature like her, it would not have been unheard of in the slightest.

“Nevertheless, I have the chance to build a new hive – a better hive! And the seed of a pony just like you, Pegasus, is what I need to bring my clutch of sweet drones to life. For I only have the organs of a female for birthing and not the seed of male to fertilise them.”

Chrysalis smiled, the light of it not reaching her eyes. It never did.

“You will do this for me. You don’t have a choice.”

Her saying that out loud brought a shiver to his hide, as much as he didn’t want to show it, didn’t want to show just how having every last nuance of control stripped from him made him shiver so wonderfully. It was almost like having Fluttershy there with him but Mistress Shy had never once before made him actually fear for his life, Chrysalis making him feel even smaller and more insignificant than she had. Yet Arctic was to be of the utmost importance to a changeling who saw him as her ticket back to creating a hive that she could be proud of, feeling on love, emotions rising up and leading her on into a new world of glory.

With the drones closing in, flanking him on all sides to ensure that he didn’t even consider escaping, Arctic quailed, set down on his hooves and shaking terribly.

“P-please,” he stuttered, even though he tried not to. “D-don’t hurt me...”

To be continued in part two...