Author's Note
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Shagged and Tagged
Badge? Check.
Utility belt? Also check.
Magic-proofed horseshoes? Check, check, check, and—
Wait.
Hold on one second.
What the flock was that ink-black stain on the scruff on his hoof?
With that realization, embarrassment flashed through the stallion’s mind, making his brownie-colored coat flare with heat. Snarling at the mirror for not revealing this earlier, he focused on the imperfection. Soon, a green spark of light flashed several inches from his temple, and that patch of shiny shelling on his leg vanished in a puff of emerald flames.
Sighing in relief, his eyes focused on a more appealing target, the badge bobbing on his tan shirt: Officer Goldstar.
His teeth bared in a sharp grin, and it wasn’t just over the lofty title.
“If only that fool Princess Luna knew,” he said. Even this early in the morning, his voice was getting squeaky over the thought of that naive alicorn's gasp when he bowed at the hooves of his true ruler.
Even the cloud of X’s covering the calendar Goldstar trotted past only spirited him on as he prepared to head to the police station. All those marks represented the batteries of endless exams and pointed interview questions by his fellow Canterlot cop-ponies, ones which he prided himself on fielding perfectly. Each one was a mark of how long he’d patrolled the streets of this over-complacent capital, every nod of a pony toward him as reassuring as it was laughable.
Most importantly, each one of those X’s on his calendar represented the most important goal in his time here; the time until the 30th of this month.
The time when Princess Mi Amore Cadenza and Prince Shining Armor would be wed.
At least, so the pony populace of Canterlot thought.
Chuckling again, Goldstar stopped one last time at the door, to perform one of the more crucial rituals he’d adopted in his time here. After all, even if Luna was too trusting for her own good, the starched shirts of the Canterlot PD were always looking for tells in the faces of everyone they met. The last thing he needed was to be told ‘Oh, Officer Goldstar, just one more thing…’ before being pulled into an interrogation room because he’d shot somepony the wrong look. No need to risk the changelings' infiltration of the cop-ponies now.
The Queen would have his head for that, and he wasn’t too sure he wanted to know which one.
So Goldstar schooled his expression into the perfect combination: level in the rise of his cheeks and the corners of his lips, steely in his eyes just in case danger passed them. There. Perfect.
Throwing open the door to his little lean-to—another product of fast and dirty changeling magic—Goldstar trotted into the bright Canterlot day. It seemed to be another routine morning shift now, unlike most of the last few months. Perhaps things really were quieting down in the wake of the Wedding. Perhaps even she…
Shaking his head, Goldstar picked up his pace, nodding to everypony he met. Nevermind. It wasn’t important. He’d had enough distracting him from his mission; it was a week to showtime for his fellow drones. Changelingkind’s future rode on him, and his legs would not buckle; in fact, pony and changeling-kind would soon speak of him with awed tongues.
Maybe, one day would come time for a different royal couple to take Canterlot’s twin thrones.
One throne for Queen Chrysalis… and another for him, King Thorax.
“Glad your all here, officers—especially you, Goldstar. Your tireless work ethic is exactly why I’ve called this meeting before we start the rounds today.”
‘Goldstar’ nodded, his pride swelling despite himself. He knew that this likely meant his job was going to get harder; being this noticeable was usually bad news for a disguised changeling. That meant there'd be more scrutiny. But if Queen Chrysalis could thrive in such conditions, in the guise of an alicorn princess… “Just happy to be recognized, Captain Spearhead.”
“Well, here’s hoping your lucky streak continues, officer,” Spearhead said, before wrapping his tail around the ring of his projector screen and lowering it in one mighty tug. “Because a ghost of vandals past is messing with our streets again. Cadet Shoestring; the lights, please.”
Even before the picture flashed onto that square of flickering light, the incognito investigator knew who Spearhead was talking of. Even at his hideout, the sight of that wretched mare seemed to dance over all his well-laid plans, impish smirk and all.
“Fresh Coat? Again?” ‘Goldstar’ asked irritably.
For once, his drop in mood was mirrored by Spearhead. “Yes. Fresh Coat, again.” Captain Spearhead’s hoof tapped on the photo of that very same graffiti-happy unicorn. Even looking at a still photo, the officer saw several cop-stallions near him tug at their collars, and little wonder. Even in the mugshot, Fresh Coat was shooting them a hungry look. “For those of you new to this beat; she’s 22 years of age, dangerous with a spraycan, and slipperier than primer.”
Murmurs burst out around him, but ‘Goldstar’ was deaf to them. His eves stayed locked on that mugshot mare, one who had done something no other target of his had before; Fresh Coat had evaded him.
Evaded him, a master of disguise among a hive of ponykind’s betters!
He wanted his stomach to clench at the thought, but instead, his heart did. It was… strange.
‘Well, slippery to all but one,” Spearhead continued, breaking ‘Goldstar’ out of his reverie as the Captain’s eyes locked on him. “We have you to thank for this contribution to Fresh Coat’s profile, Officer Goldstar. I don’t know how you managed to catch her when no other officer could, but I’m hoping we have as quick a resolution to this reopened case now as we did then.”
“Don’t worry, you will.” It was four words that felt less like a motley agreement from 'Goldstar', and more of a solemn vow.
“Good.” Spearhead turned to the rest of the crowd. “Now, to what we don’t know—we are still working to gauge exactly how many vandalizations around Canterlot are due to her. Luna has even suggested the idea that she does not work alone. It may be the reason she managed to slip out of custody after Goldstar apprehended her—but we’re not taking chances now.
Much as Canterlot might gush at her art, she is defacing our invaluable monuments and soiling our reputation, and we will not let this slide so close to the Royal Wedding.” Spearhead’s gaze panned out over the crowd, and several cop-pony spines creaked as they stood stiffly. Nopony would be allowed to slack off this time. “So you will head out in pairs of three today, combing the northern edge of Canterlot—her last known locations.”
‘Goldstar’ nodded with the others, already mulling his next move. That buddy system would prove problematic now, especially if magic had to be marshaled.
“Anyone locates her, you are to call Officer Goldstar immediately. Your duty rosters are on the corkboard behind you. Dismissed.” Spearhead then clapped his hooves, and the projector was turned off, magic-ignited lamplight soon bathing the briefing room again. “As for you, Officer Goldstar, you will make your rounds alone.”
This time, the changeling cop stiffened. That… was surprisingly good news for him. Even now, curiosity prickled along his back like dry ice. “Why so, Captain?”
Ah yes, Spearhead’s syrupy-sweet grin; now ‘Goldstar’ had a reason to fight to keep the smile on his face. So confident about his domain, was Spearhead! So clueless to the snake in its midst! “Well, I can only assume your mastery of this city’s terrain is what let you get the drop on her. I don’t want to have a giddy green—” Spearhead jerked his head to two other stallion cop-ponies, drooling over the picture of Fresh Coat until a sharp grunt from the Captain had them scrambling for the doors. “—Or a captivated patrol pony force her to run. She’s good with her horn too, if you recall."
‘Goldstar’ shot a look at his magic-proofed horseshoes, replicated a dozen-fold among his fellow cop-ponies. “Yeah,” he said. “Shoulda guessed she’d find a different way to trip me up.”
“Well, that’s no issue now. Besides, you have a radio—give the word, and we’ll be right on her.”
The changeling cop worked his bottom lip between his teeth. Oh, somepony here had been on Fresh Coat, all right. Regardless, he had to make sure Spearhead held to his word. What better way than a little self-deprecating flattery? “Captain, I already feel so rotten about losing her twice; maybe I should have a unit with me? Probably might need it with my four left hooves.”
“Well…”And ‘Goldstar’ grinned devilishly on the inside watching Spearhead fumble for words. “It’s more than just not spooking Fresh Coat, actually.”
The changeling infiltrator’s eyebrows shot up in shock. “Really?”
“You’re the patrol pony everyone in Canterlot sees as a barometer. Everyone loves to approach you, everyone always can.” Spearhead said. “If they see you have more of the force flanking you now…“
‘Goldstar’ nodded, his eyes shooting to the alert system looming over the spot where the projector screen was. Even now, there was a different mark gracing its surface, in contrast to his calendar; golden stars, as numerous as his X’s and likely there for a similar reason. “So you want to keep the townsfolk from panicking?”
Spearhead nodded. “Precisely. You’ve been a life-saver for me with Shining; he’s been pressing me for reports ever since we started testing the anti-changeling shields. Thank heavens he stopped lately, I don’t know what I’d do if I got sloppy now.”
‘Goldstar’ could take a guess as to what had made that prattling Prince so docile these last couple of days. But the officer kept that snippet—and his shit-eating grin—locked behind a curt nod. “Then I’ll make sure Fresh Coat stops being your problem by day’s end.”
Spearhead, after a while, patted ‘Goldstar’ on the withers. “Stay Canterlot cool then, officer.” And with a flash of his purple tail, Spearhead disappeared back into his office.
‘Goldstar’ waited until his hoofsteps took him out of the police HQ before he shuddered violently. By god, if he ever saw that buck-chinned idiot after his Queen had Canterlot in her hooves, the first thing he was magicking out of Spearhea’s peabrain was that stupid motto! From top to bottom pony society was just full of stupid slogans and sickly smiles. And every time, at the center of it, was that stupid need for ‘harmony’.
As if survival was possible without structure.
As if struggle could be avoided without strength.
No, ‘Goldstar’ and his fellow drones knew what really lay behind every quadruped’s heart, much as they crowed about truth and love.
As he strode again into the now pony-thick streets of Canterlot, he knew he’d likely get reacquainted with one particular pony’s lewd sense of expression.
'Goldstar' knew that Fresh Coat resided in the opposite end of Canterlot that Spearhead had filled with patrols. It was something that made the changeling chuckle, as many traits of this perverted painter pony seemed to do for him lately. Did everybody in this capital think that scofflaws always slept where they shat? No, Fresh Coat was smarter than these cops wanted to admit—well, the pony cops, anyway.
And yet, it took ‘Goldstar’—no, Thorax, he was not obliging that fake name anywhere he didn’t have to—several minutes to find the familiar buildings this painter pony made home. For all of his knowledge of Canterlot’s less-beaten alleyways, the surroundings always threw Thorax off in this southern end of the capital.
Mainly due to what decorated them.
Swirling and flowing around him like waves were the wall murals of countless taggers. They seemed to alter from day to day, now depictions of crooning hippogriffs and fighting dragons making the shadows recede in their presence. Even Thorax wondered if some of the lines framing these fantastic creatures weren’t glow-in-the-dark.
‘Well,’ he groused as he turned another corner into the courts, ‘At least someponies here remember there are creatures to be feared outside this mountain.’
The clearing that Thorax turned toward was another microcosm of this side of Canterlot: weathered with use, yet tirelessly up-kept. Right in front of him was a makeshift hoofball court, the hoops made of trash cans and stacked crates. Yet each one looked as sturdy as the legs underneath Thorax, not even listing in the breeze that threaded through this court.
Thorax’s eyes scanned for a different goal.
And for a second, he thanked his pony-form’s ears for helping out. Before, the clamor of his clicking mandibles would have drowned out the faint noise he heard. It was like the hiss of a steam pipe, broken often by the swickaswickaswicka of something rattling in a closed space.
Ponderously, Thorax followed that hiss, and finally, Fresh Coat was revealed to him, focused on her newest tag. Her eyes were as rosy as the magical glow over her spray can, the outlines of a white-spotted rose forming under its steady stream. Her lemony coat seemed to shine in the morning sun, what little of it leaked into the cubby she and Thorax now occupied. And… well, for how tight that shirt was pasted to her hourglassed form, it was also all she had on below the barrel. Meaning that Thorax had a bird’s eye view of her puffy… of her…
He shook his head, now put off by the continuing hiss of Fresh Coat's spraycan as she worked. Impressive as that flower she was imprinting on the wall was, Thorax could never stand sharp noises like that. It reminded him too much of his Queen when she was angry, when Throax was about to receive punishment.
Thorax’s clearing throat finally stopped that infernal hiss of paint.
“Aw dang, you caught me again!” Fresh’s eyes flicked over Thorax’s borrowed form, but she didn’t turn to run or even face him. She had nothing to fear, or so she believed.
Thorax’s teeth ground at how much his contact with her lent to that confidence. So did a different part of him, despite how his closed hindlegs tried to stave it. “So I have, Freshmouth.”
Fresh’s eyebrow cocked up. “Guess I should change up my routes more, then.”
“That won’t be a problem.”
“Oooh, so direct today, Officer Goldy,” Fresh purred, firing up her spray can again despite the twitch in Thorax’s eye. She had to know how much it drove him up the wall she was painting: the spraying and that nickname alike. And yet, that insolent smirk. “Just let me finish this up and—”
Before she could even blink, Thorax was flush against her, clipping her right hind and foreleg in the pair of cuffs hanging off his belt. The snap of both that metal and the dropped spray can brought a devious smile to his face.
Fresh was… less impressed. “Oh, what the buck!” she whinnied, her horn sparking and snuffing out in a futile attempt to break her bonds. “Is Canterlot magic-proofing everything these days?!”
“Clearly not, and I think you know that,” hissed Thorax, raising a second set of cuffs in his other hoof. “Now stay still—agh, damn it!”
Suddenly, he and Fresh Coat were ping-ponging off the tight walls in this alley, the unicorn ready for some roughhousing. Thorax growled as he shoved back, keeping back the urge to use his own magic. Besides blowing the cover he’d worked so hard to maintain, he’d just lost all want to treat Fresh Coat that directly. She wasn’t worth scratching that itch.
Especially with how close she’d gotten to him already, in ways Spearhead would never hear of.
But shockingly enough, that rock-bottom regard Thorax had of Fresh seemed to rise with every hit of Thorax’s she shrugged off. It was almost like their first meeting, Thorax’s curiosities—and libido—brewing more and more with every second she continued to match him. Only now it was in strength instead of speed, Thorax’s body soon smarting with hoofprints and scuff marks. And with one free forehoof, too!
It took a lucky kick to her restrained limbs to finally end the match in Thorax’s favor. Both disguised cop-pony and detained mare were glaring holes through each other’s skulls, sweat and grit clouding their bodies as their breath clouded each others’ senses.
“So, Goldy…” And this time, Thorax could hear the acid bubbling behind that nickname now, Fresh’s face twisted in defiance. “This how we wanna end this, huh?”
Thorax should have said yes. He should have heaved her on his back and walked her back to the precinct, closing the page on this wrinkle in his plans and Canterlot P.D.’s reputation in one slam. Every part of him screamed to put her away, put her out, of his misery and his way.
But Thorax’s head was too light, and his undercarriage too heavy, and Tartarus knew what it was that prompted his next words, but they came nonetheless. “What… end… Fresh?”
Fresh raised an eyebrow, but snarled on. “You know, that’d sound a lot more intimidating if I didn’t have your balls under my tongue a week ago.”
Thorax stiffed harshly, cursing herself for still reacting like this to something so… crude. He was Thorax! Clopping was all a part of the mission of draining love! So why…? “Shut up, Fresh—”
“Make me, officer. You’ve got the inches for it, dontcha?”
How had the conversation taken this turn?! “And what makes you think I’m so easy!?”
“Oooh, calm down, Goldy,” purred Fresh. “Not gonna pretend y’don’t have the pipes to back your ego up.” Then that salacious wiggle in her eyebrows started up. “But the sooner you stop pretending you don’t like seeing your dick wedged in between this—”
And Fresh left Thorax a way-too-wide-to-be-truly-sweet smile.
“—the sooner we can start this morning off right.” Fresh finished.
Thorax snarled. “Figures. A week of fluke-granted freedom and all you think about is painting and putting out.”
Fresh stuck her tongue out at Thorax. “Not the only one, if your face’s any clue.”
Thorax raised a hoof to his face, certain that his chitin was showing. Nope—just the cloying heat of his cheeks. “W-what makes you thi-”
“First meeting; 8:00 pm, three weeks ago, you caught me doing a Meadowbrook portrait on the side of Sapphire’s studio. You hollered at me that you had me now, so I dared you to come and catch me first. Before I took a step, you did the same thing I did; trip me up with my own hooves. You pinned me to the ground, saying I was under arrest. I ground my ass up under your barrel and said that’s not the only hard time I wanted to be doing.”
Thorax remembered that time well—his photographic memory was a native trait of his. In fact, it was why Chrysalis had tapped him for this duty; no other role in Canterlot would put him all over the city to find any place to hide the changelings. But that Fresh Coat remembered this moment—and so vividly—made his jaw drop.
‘Just… how observant is this mare?!’ he inwardly wailed, even as Fresh Coat continued talking.
‘You, unlike every other patroller who got that close, didn’t freeze up and let me slip away, you scolded me for such a bad pun." Fresh's smile grew. “I shot out more puns about how much spraying you could do with nopony else watching, how cute you looked under horn-light, all that jazz. You started saying ‘shut up shut up shut up’ a lot and the—”
What happened next almost seemed like a dream to Thorax. Even now, he could hear his voice from that time, squeaky and desperate, pounding with the need to keep this snippy mare from carving into his pride any further. Her words had cut to the bone, leaving him sprouting a boner hard enough to crack the cobblestones under her twitching hooves.
And yet, all that had filled his vision back then was the violet-red of Fresh's alluring eyes. Then Thorax’s lips had crashed into Fresh’s, the taste of her fruity lipstick flooding his senses.
Oh, wait, he was doing that now, too. He and Fresh were kissing roughly, right in that alley, barrels flush against each out. His cock throbbed needily between the pert valley of her teats. Even now, with the sole scrap of sense Thorax possessed, this situation beggared belief. They had just spent minutes before-hoof arguing and fighting! He’d been in combat like this a thousand times, won a thousand more, without even the thought of obliging such raw intimacy!
Yet it was all Thorax could do to remember his name, let alone how fast Fresh wrapped her free forelimb around him to deepen their liplock.
When they pulled back, only a string of saliva separated their shiny lips. Thorax had never seen anything more dazzling. It was like a thread spun from a black widow’s dewy web.
“So…” Fresh asked. “We done beating around the bush?”
Thorax, for once, was speechless. There had to be a reason why he and Fresh were so privy to doing… this. But despite their many meetings, they saw just how guarded Fresh was—all that licentiousness had done a great job keeping that file on her thinner than the paperclip holding it shut. And his sane mind was whittling away with every slow blink of Fresh’s eyelashes; soon this would end with them as snoring, seed-soaked lumps.
So Thorax did something he never thought he’d do trying to scope out a pony; he asked. “W…why? Of everyone in this city, why me?”
Fresh was silent for several moments, Thorax feeling beads of sweat sting his snout in anticipation. When he was about to pull back, the mare under him spoke. “Well, you being as fuckin’ hot as you are has a lot to do with it.” Ignoring Thorax’s indignant snort, Fresh went on. “But if I have to think real hard—it’s prolly because of how alike we are on the inside.”
Thorax’s sense of ire started creeping up again. “Really,” he said disbelievingly.
"Lemme take another guess—" Fresh said, her gaze turning sharp in an instant. "You came into Canterlot with barely a bit to your name? Had big plans to take over this city? Ended up stuck in the grind of some day-to-day, your hopes of sitting at the highest tables spiraling further away with each card you punch in? Feeling like… you just want to be dangerous, if you can’t be dazzling?”
Thorax’s tongue ran over suddenly dry lips, stunned at how many of those emotions this artistic mare mentioned had lingered in his mind. Yes, his role had left him stewing for some action. Yes, being able to just let it all out with—and inside—Fresh had felt so dangerous. Yes, he wanted to feel that surge of power, even this far from his hive and his Queen.
“And… what does this have to do with me?” But even that retort was empty on Thorax's lips, something to keep away his true self from Fresh. He had to, didn’t he? Ponies would never accept a changeling like him… would they?
“You’ve got something you’re hiding too, Officer.” Suddenly, that sexy hitch in Fresh’s voice was back, and so were her lips as she pecked at his snout. “Something you want more ponies to see. Probably makes you crazy you’ve been tapped to keep me from doing my thing.” A little laugh from Fresh, and Thorax felt like a hatchling under her warm gaze. “Probably why you left the cell open the night you did catch me.”
Shame, hot and coiling, roiled in Thorax’s belly at those words. It had been more simple than that; their romp at the time had gone on so long that Thorax had blacked out. It’d been all he could do to convince the cadet who saw him alone in that cell that Fresh had knocked him out. Thank goodness that whelp had galloped off to warn Spearhead instead of taking a step closer—and noticing the white stains around the cot were more than just weathering marble.
“But…” Thorax continued, his hooves nestling into Fresh’s neck. She let him, her head weaving like a snake’s into his embrace. Damn it, didn’t she know just how deep the trouble she'd find if she ever saw beneath his stolen fur? “Why continue this game? Why stay in the same place, if you know… that soon, it might not just be me you stare down?”
“'Cuz you want as far away from those stuffed shirts as I do, silly,” Fresh continued as Thorax shuddered. It was just because of the cottony feel of his mouth. Just that. Honest. “And you love the thrill of doing this behind their backs as much as I love doing this so close to my masterpieces. Someday, I’ll really make something of this talent I have. Become a decorator that ponies love to see turn a corner. And maybe… maybe you’ll be in some station you’re happier in then, too. Us two wild spirits, finally right where we should be.”
Thorax mulled this over. It was a rather—level-headed, was that the word?—look at the world from such a feisty felon. Maybe… maybe Fresh was right, and things would work their way out. At least without him covering every little angle and reconsidering every move.
“But until then… what’s wrong with a little fun?” Fresh asked. “Celestia knows two very special ponies are gonna have plenty of it in a week.”
That settled it. Even if Thorax wanted to resist, Fresh was staringat him just a little too cockily, flicking her pierced tongue at him a little too brashly. He wanted to see pleasure mold her into a statue all his own, a twisting tableau of temptation molded by his hooves. He wanted to explore more of this raw intensity, to drown in love from another the old-fashioned way.
Plus, his dick was raging hard right now.
“Well then Fresh,” Thorax whispered, leaning down until he could taste Fresh’s slutty grin against his own. “Let’s get to that slammer, shall we?”
Then their lips crushed together again, soft smacks filling that brick-lined alley. Thorax’s last shred of sense soon took a personal day as his tongue painted a trail down Fresh’s neck.
“Umph! Ooooh~” was all Fresh could get out, and Thorax found that his smile could get wider. His hips ground further against his perp—his fuckmate—and his twitching rod wept in gratitude, staining Fresh’s barrel in drops of white.
But Thorax needed to see more. “Fresh…“ he panted hoarsely against her neck, before sinking his teeth into a small patch of skin at its base.
Fresh let out a slatternly wail, but a “Y-yes…?” spilled from her mouth regardless.
“Turn.. .around. Against that wall.”
It took seconds for him to realize two of Fresh’s limbs were still linked together by cuffs, then another second to marvel at how the mare still obliged him. With flexibility he’d only seen in Chrysalis herself, Fresh was suddenly on all fours, braced against the brick, tail flagging to let her favorite fuzz see all the goods.
And by the fucking hive, did Fresh Coat have plenty on display!
“Fresh… it’s so…” Thorax’s hooves would provide the praise his words failed to, sweeping over her flanks like they were eggs. They were firm enough to be mistaken for such, two globes of honeyed fur that rippled around his touch beautifully. Even Donut Joe’s pastries couldn’t compare to this, in texture or taste, as he licked a trail over one of Fresh’s cutie marks.
“Ooooh, keep g-going…” purred Fresh, her legs shifting.
Thorax soon felt a shimmering tug around his belt, and it soon fell around his hindlegs. Fresh Coat followed suit in a twirl of limbs, on her haunches and ogling his titanic tool. Her forehooves were already alinged just past its tip and they barely got past its head. And despite how far Fresh reached with her questing limbs, they only just reached his cock’s base before the cuffs' strain forbade her any further fondling.
“Gotta be a foot of it here, Goldy! Sheesh, did it grow since last we met?“ Fresh bubbled.
Thorax’s grinned pridefully. “Maybe.”
Fresh snickered. “Right. Maybe.” And then her mouth was full of Thorax's cock.
The changeling had to admit, in what little part of his mind could still manage complex thoughts; having a horsecock was far nicer with Fresh’s tongue all over it. Every vein of Thorax’s dick twitched in glee under Fresh’s treatment, and she’d only started slurping on the head. It was like a flash-fire of his senses, and the gasps that slipped from his lips felt so… inadequate to describe the bliss pumping through him.
So Thorax responded with some pumping of his own—right into Fresh’s perfect mouth. His hooves nestled under the straps of Fresh’s tanktop, using them for stirrups as more of his stallionhood swabbed Fresh’s gullet. And the mare not only let him, but purred in shameless need. She wanted to be a cock-sock for him, and his thrusts doubled in speed over that fact.
Then, that wondrous moment arrived; the moment Thorax could feel Fresh’s lips crash into his sheath in one pop. She’d taken in all of his dick, past the medial ring the bulge obscenely prominent in her throat.
Thorax’s hooves then closed around a far closer target—the cap atop Fresh’s head—and he yanked her off him in a spray of saliva and gasps.
“S...shit... Goldy!” Fresh panted, her chest ballooning as she stared up at him. Her face was pink with all the oxygen she’d been robbed of—but the whites of her rictus grin told a far lewder story. “Y…you usually blow your fuckin’ load now! Sure you didn’t have any before you got here?”
Thorax didn’t have the breath to tell Fresh she was wrong. All he was focused on was how sexy Fresh looked with saliva and pre-cum painting her face. A thousand statues could be erected and crumble, and none would leave the impression on his mind as this juice-thirsty slut did.
His juice-thirsty slut.
“Sorry, Fresh.” Thorax leveled his shaft at her face again. “This meat-fest’s only booked for one.”
After several more rough thrusts into Fresh's lips, it was taking Thorax had to keep up his guise. The sensations assaulting his brain was making his hidden horn ignite with maddening light, his coat darkening where the sparks landed. But Fresh was too busy drooling on his stallionhood to ever notice that fireworks show.
For once, Thorax collected enough good sense to realize; Fresh was right. He really did seem to explode in her gullet a bit too quick for his tastes, especially considering he could go for far longer. But before this, they were at a studio; the time after, in the cell of a HQ thick with cop-ponies.
Now, he could take his time with her.
So again, Thorax pulled himself from Fresh’s lips, hauled her up to her feet, and caught her lips in another bruising kiss. Both ponies were on their hindlegs now, braced against the wall. Fresh was stealing the breath from Thorax’s mouth as he had taken hers. And like an ironic frame to their fuckfest, the mural Fresh had been spraying up was right across from their bucking bodies.
Yet, the paint upon that wall wasn’t half as wet as what one of Thorax’s forehooves slid down to rub.
“Oh! Fuck! Goldy, stir my pussy! Just like that!” Fresh cried, throwing her head back as Thorax’s hoof moved around her clit in circles. It was perfectly wedged between her teats and soaked to the touch—just as both ponies liked it. Every time that Thorax’s hoof scraped against the bead at its top, another wave of cunthoney sloshed over his limb, a fountain he could never draw enough of.
Thorax’s lips were staying busy too, now that he wasn’t wholly focused on keeping up his appearance anymore. His pupils dilating upon seeing the inky marl his teeth left on Fresh’s neck, so he leaned down to give her a few more. Fresh’s skin felt divine between his incisors, and the rumble of her sultry purrs as she gasped at each bite was music to his ears. Apparently, Fresh could produce some lovely noises from time to time.
Not just from his ministrations too, as he’d soon find out.
“Fres-ah! Damnit!” The artistic mare’s hoof found a familiar target, rubbing at his ponderous cock as it tapped against her thigh. More pre-cum bubbled out of its slit as she ground against it, the friction making Throa’x eyes roll into his head. He didn’t stop his love-bites though, peppering Fresh’s neck with reckless abandon as his orgasm crept closer. He could feel the love surging through Fresh’s body, so thick that he took it in with each inhale. No way was he blacking out now.
Not with Fresh wailing like a cat in heat, and the tantalizing squish of her loins being prodded, and the citrusy smell of her perfume—
“Mmmmphhh~!”
It felt so good, cumming against the scorching hot coat of this paint-happy pony. Thorax’s cock throbbed once, twice, then nearly drowned out the cutie mark on Fresh’s flank with strings of sticky seed. Soon, the changeling cop was drooling against Fresh’s neck, rubbing at her pearl and sighing in relief when he felt her erupt around his hoof. His ears perked to the cacophony of sounds around him, not knowing where his gasps ended and the unicorn’s cries of “YesyesYEEEEEES…” began.
But both ponies stood their ground this time, rather than fall in a heap of satisfied limbs. Thorax had absorbed too much of Fresh’s love to be out for the count, his dick hardening again right as Fresh ground her ass against it. His spunk soaking into her fur seemed to be like water from a desert with how much life it brought into Fresh’s lagging legs.
“That's all… you got?” she whispered, shooting Thorax a look no G-rated thought would survive.
Thorax was flush against her rump in seconds, the fire in his heart at a raging high. “Like fuck it is,” he hissed.
Then he hauled up Fresh’s cuff-restrained legs, making her brace them against the wall to keep her balance. And after a few pumps to his shaft, Thorax plugged in.
With an ease he didn’t even think was possible, he soon found himself six inches deep in Fresh’s wet walls, with plenty of cock left to go. The smack of her hips against his rang out through the alley, and knowing that nopony would answer it made Thorax’s pleasure rocket through the roof. By Chrysalis’ grace, they could fuck for hours here and never summon a soul.
“...Ooooohh…” Fresh cooed from beneath Thorax’s body. This was technically the first time that Thorax had ever actually buried his fucklog in her, and she’d wondered how it would feel. But her pussy was clearly thrilled for the contact, clenching around the hoof-thick head of his erection like it was a scaler’s rope. With Thorax’s teeth-gritted breaths washing along her neck and the thick heat pouring between her legs, Fresh was quickly approaching nirvana.
“Do… does this hurt?”
As surprised as Fresh was to hear it, Thorax was twice as floored to have said it. Since when did a pony’s welfare matter to him when his hive was set to take over their biggest city? And yet… he could feel a chill clench his heart when Fresh hadn’t moved, had only let out that noise he wasn’t sure was all in joy. He had to know, had to grasp, every inch of this mare undulating below him—physically and mentally.
It was an addition to him, one he was only now realizing was such.
“No…” Fresh finally responded, her eyes swinging down to her well-plumbed core. “No… I love it. There’s so… much of you and I… just keep going.”
Consent of the cockteased acquired, Thorax’s hooves crept up to Fresh’s flanks. Then he gave a light slap to one of her cheeks to see how it’d jiggle. Fresh’s mouth shot open in a thrilling moan, and the changeling cop repeated the move, a bit harder. The rippling around his ramrod that resulted—a vibration that shot its way into his chest—was suddenly something he’d shear off life-bearing limbs to repeat.
A small part of Thorax wondered if Fresh was part-changeling, too. The mystery of who was falling under whose spell was getting muddier by the minute.
It wasn’t like Fresh seemed to tire, either! The second Thorax pulled back and crammed more of his breeding tool into her slit, another glorious scream ripped from her throat. Even with her last orgasm minutes off, she arched and flexed for the changeling, not a hint of pain on Fresh's bliss-wracked face. With another thrust, Thorax crammed all fifteen inches of himself into the wanton wall-painter, the joining of their hips making his mind short out in overwhelming lust.
“Faster…’ Fresh said, her eyelashes fluttering.
Thorax took that as a challenge, sucking Fresh’s tongue in another sloppy liplock as his hips picked up speed. Past the meaty plaplaplaps and Fresh’s string of lewd curses, he had more in mind to plunder. One of his hooves moved down to Fresh's center again, roughly kneading one of her teats. That nipple felt like the tap of a water fountain, one he drove at with every throat of his hoof, and his reward was more love juices drenching his cock.
Now Thorax could feel his second orgasm coming upon him, the shudder of Fresh’s hips and the sensation coiling in his loins just gradual enough for him to direct the tempo. Control was his again, and the mewls of the artistic unicorn he was railing roughly was all the drive he needed to keep it. And with her center being stimulated from two directions, Fresh was soon a begging, braying mess.
Thorax just needed her to beg for more than just his fat, fertile fuckstick.
“Tell me, Fresh…” he gasped, his eyes boring into Fresh’s. “Tell me who you really do this all for.”
Fresh, delirious with desire and deep-drilled by Thorax’s dick, wouldn’t keep him waiting long. “Y-you!” she howled, her tongue leaving patches on the brick as she shook. “Y-yours, I’m yours! Ahh! Oh, fuuuuck~!”
Another thrust by Thorax and Fresh came first this time, her juices spurting around his colossal cock like a burst seam. Thorax followed seconds after, his stallionhood like a firehose as he screamed Fresh’s name. Sweat and semen glued them together as they thrashed against the wall, the soft patter of their juices falling to the floor all they could hear above their pants.
Thorax pulled out with a bestial hiss, and with the vicious rise and fall of his chest, he knew he was reaching his limit. But it was pushed away, yet again by the deep wellsprings of raw want that he drank in from Fresh like manna. The wall-painting mare was keeping the both of them hovering on the edge, and she didn’t even know it.
And she was far from out of ideas, too.
“On your back, hot stuff…” she whispered, Thorax still too short of breath to ask if Fresh could even take any more hot stuffing. “I wanna be face-to-face with you when you spill your last into me…”
Thorax gulped audibly but didn’t break his stare. As engrossed as he was with her come-hither eyes and her iron-tight curves, he would not let Fresh prevail in these perverted games.
If this mare wanted him to fuck her senseless, he’d fuck. Her. Senseless.
No words were given at that point; none were needed. The second Thorax laid on his back —and stripped off his sweat-drenched shirt—Fresh was on him like white on Celestia’s ass. She wolfed down a foot of Thorax’s stallionhood before hollowing her cheeks and vacuuming every drop of cum off his shaft. Then her tongue snaked out, spinning around his still-glazed shaft and crotch that her lips deliberately played keep-away from. She was deepthroating him again, vertically this time, and his hips jackhammered into her face to get himself further in her throat.
When Fresh pulled back from his erection, she had a shocking amount of cum filling out her cheeks—something Thorax hadn’t seen before, since his eyes were squeezed shut in glee. Swallowing it down with a flick of her tongue, Fresh then crawled over Thorax. The look on her face felt like it roasted him through to his chitin, as she readied herself to ride her favorite cop into his final peak—
—until Thorax pulled her onto her side in a sudden motion, leaving both fuckmates lying against the floor. Fresh’s legs hindlegs windmilled to try and right her, but she quieted down as a leathery, pulsing heat nestled against her rump.
“So kinky, Goldy….” purred Fresh, twerking her ass against his stallionhood. “So you’re an early bird, hm? Yes? No?”
Then Fresh’s hoof strived to her soaked snatch, plunging a hoof deep inside her folds. Her eyes rolled into her skull just as Thorax claimed her mouth again.
“...maybe?” she moaned.
Thorax licked a strip up Fresh’s neck, then swiftly arched up and clamped his teeth onto her ear when she tilted her head back to let out another gasp.
“Yeah. Maybe.” Thorax taunted around her lobe.
This time, Thorax’s dick pushed against Fresh's plot, smearing it with the cum and saliva still coating his tip. The puckered ponut accepted his treat eagerly, gaping and throbbing as his tip started to burrow inside. With the arch Fresh was locked in, she couldn’t do anything but keep hoofing herself, now feeling the colossal bulge of Thorax’s fuckstick as it pushed at her pussy-stuffing hoof. It didn’t stop her mouth though, and she cried slatternly as she let Thorax take the last virgin hole she possessed.
This time, Thorax gave her everything he could handle. Fresh’s assets were soon roiling like a rain-pounded lake, cushioning his every thrust as her ponut milked Thorax for all he was worth. The swift pops of his medial ring flicking in and out of her wrinkled hole was a melody to the changeling cop, and he softly slurped on Fresh’s ear to take the edge off. This was a raging storm's worth of emotions assaulting the changeling, and he wanted to twist in it as long as he could.
Fresh Coat, at this point, was a pile of overstimulated goo in Thorax’s clutches. She groaned wetly as she felt one of his forehooves wrap around his neck from behind, the other moving downto grope at her teats again. He was so omnipresent, especially with how thoroughly his dick was hollowing her ass, thrust after thrust spiking her libido to the stars.
“M-more… more!” she pleaded, her brain in too much of a lewd haze to voice any other word.
She felt Thorax grin against her before letting go. Then a twist of his hips brought her upright, bouncing atop his mammoth member. Thorax was quick to keep her from just falling back and crushing him, though, as the hoof once around her neck was now stationed against her back. Still, she braced her other foreleg against the ground to add to the sturdiness.
Swiveling her hips, Fresh started screw-driving herself around her hoof and Thorax’s dick in perfect sync. Moans bubbled from her throat at the feeling, the fires of her sex-loving soul being endlessly stoked by two thick limbs. Even Thorax’s growls were spurring her own, as unhorselike as they sounded. But it wasn’t like she was going to tell him to stop, not with her eyes locked on the hoof of his still roughly tenderizing her crotch-tits.
She was impossibly full, and Thorax’s only drive was to make her fuller.
For the course of changeling history, it was probably for the best Fresh didn’t glance back; the glamour around Thorax’s face had broken completely, his chitinous face and gleaming fangs now on full display. But he could care less about this disguise slip, his grin wide and feral as he smacked Fresh’s ass and plowed her vicelike ponut. Each time he buried himself deeper into this slutty wallpainter, all that filled his mind was the thought of doing this after they crashed the Canterlot Wedding.
Oh, by the hive, watching the Princesses’ face twist in confusion and rage as he took Fresh on their throne! No borrowed form to hide his intent, no altered anatomy to keep him from planting something thicker inside Fresh’s waiting womb! That was his dream now, as dominating in his mind as Fresh’s musk was to his nostrils.
But it didn’t mean he couldn’t get a pound(ing) of flesh from Fresh now. Just as a prelude.
“Scream for me, one last time…” Thorax rumbled as his hips turned into a jackhammering blur. “Do it, Fresh… make me cuuuuum…”
“Fu-FUCK! Yes Goldy, don’t stop!” Fresh yelled, jamming her hoof deeper into her pussy. Her tail whipped at Thorax’s barrel, treating him as harshly as he had her backdoor. “I’m gonna—”
Their release came simultaneously, a lake of ecstasy and lava-hot heat that blossomed inside Fresh’s deepest depths. Thorax’s cum filled her canal from the first rope, rivers of white soon dancing out from her ponut to leave trials over her ass and Thorax’s hips. Each time Thorax thought her insides couldn’t hold any more of his gooey release, another flick of her hips brought him deeper into her, wringing more spunk from him.
Then Fresh’s orgasm came calling, making the floor under their scrabbling hooves sparkle more. Her jaw creaked open in a silent screech, but her cunt was noisy enough for them both, the squelching as it spewed her love=juices making her drool. Thorax’s hips surging into her only extended her release, the mare twitching helplessly as she became a fountain of fuckbatter for her favorite cop.
After what felt like an hour of cumming her brains out, Fresh’s floor-bracing foreleg finally gave way. Slumping onto Thorax's side, his cock still trapped in her twitching rump, Fresh finally pulled oxygen into her greedy lungs.
Thorax gave a few last feeble pumps into the sweetest ass he’d found, the coating he’d given to her still latched to his crotch in sparkling strings. He stared up at the sun, his tongue flagging and mind sluggishly reassembling itself. He’d never felt so gorged on love and drained of strength at the same time, and yet… he couldn’t complain at all. The burn around his muscles that made his vision blur was a welcome one, pulling a dreamlike pallor over the debauched session he’d had.
And the wonderfully hardy mare he was welded to being at the center of it all was just… perfect.
Until that very mare turned her half-lidded eyes to her, and said in a bemused voice, “Shoot, I knew there was some reason you actually made me sweat first-you’re a changeling!”
Thorax rolled his eyes, certain Fresh was still grasping at straws. “Hardly, but I’m flatt—” And then he caught a glimpse of his tongue, still dragging out of his mouth.
And a foot longer than any horse’s should be.
And blue-green.
Scrambling to all fours, Thorax slammed a hand over his face, and his heart started ricocheting in his chest the second he felt chitin. His breath came out in despairing gusts, and his mind was going a million miles a minute, so much so that it threatened aneurysm.
He’d dropped his disguise! He’d let his true face show to Fresh Coat, of all ponies!
He was doomed, and so was his Queen’s mission!
Even now, he couldn’t move anything below his heaving chest, even as Fresh slowly rolled to her hooves and approached him again. He was so sure that the magic would be flying for real this time, yet his mind refused to do anything but pore over his incomprehensible failure. Paralyzed and yet panicking, all he could do was watch as Fresh got closer, her uncuffed forehoof rose up—
—and she laid it upon his chest.
Slowly, Thorax’s breaths calmed down when she saw that Fresh mean him no harm. In fact, that hoof felt nice again the chocolatey fur of his chest, sparse as it was as the edges of his compromised glamour. When Fresh gave no answer behind her calming action, Thorax again sought an answer in the only effective way he knew how.
“W…why?” His voice was chattering and hoarse again, for far different reasons than last he’d asked.
This time, Fresh’s response was immediate. “All this talk about you guys stalking the shadows of Equestria to tear it apart at the seams, all this talk of being this ravaging, heartless threat… and yet…” Her eyes swung down to the peat pushing against his chest. “You’re so determined, so intense, so… caring at times, and yet… so raw.”
Thorax’s one flickered back to that question of comfort he’d shot Fresh’s way, a thought he still didn’t have an answer for having giving voice to. Had he… really been that concerned about Fresh getting hurt? Had he been so blind to all but his mission of conquest for his Queen that he didn’t consider… just who he was conquering?
“So…” Fresh mulled, her words coming slower as if she was considering each with tender care. “I mean, I meant everything I said. About you being hot, being denied, so out-of-place. Guess the question now is… do you think the same about me?”
Thorax’s ears stiffened at that saying. Fresh had said ‘her’. Not ponykind, not Equestria… just her. But perhaps how he regarded ‘her’, neutral and curious and full of his seed, was where she would gauge his own response. And for once, he felt doubt plague his heart; about taking her in, and even his own mission.
But as soon as the thought of defying his Queen’s orders rumbled into his bran, it dissolved with the speed of a thunderclap. Surely not. It would be for the better for all of them. He had to believe this, that the Queen knew what she was doing.
Still, Fresh wanted an answer, and Thorax gave her one.
“I… I just want you…” That was all Thorax could keep constant in his mind. Then his lips clamped over Fresh’s again, a much more passionate kiss ensuing. Their tongues tangled, saliva poured from their mouths, and their forehooves wound around each other. Even with this loss of veneer, even with the feeling of shame still making tears sting at his eyes, Thorax could lose himself in this unicorn’s love.
As their lips broke again, Fresh gave him a dopey grin, nuzzling her face into his chest fluff reassuredly. “Well then… I have nothing to worry about, then! Besides, it’s just one’a you in Canterlot—what’s the worry?”
Thorax nearly spilled to her that that wasn’t the case. His tongue moved to deliver the words. But duty reared its ugly head, and his tack switched instantly. Maybe he couldn’t tell her of his Queen’s plans. But… “Do-do you wanna stay with me for a bit? L-like a week, or so?”
He swore he could see the hearts forming in Fresh’s eyes “Do I?” she yelled joyously. “You bet your ass I do! Shit, I’ve always wanted to see what regimen you do to get something this big!”
Her hoof poked at the ponderous breeding tool of his—which hardened instantly, to Thorax’s dumbfounded shock. Goodness, Fresh really was cock-hungry, wasn’t she?
Yet, all he could feel in response was a scorching vein of avidity. Even with the threat of the Queen finding out, even with the possibility of the changelings’ plans for Canterlot going sideways… he was not going to lose Fresh no matter what happened. He didn’t know what he’d do, but not being able to see her ballroom eyes… or feel her juicy, needy holes… was out of the question.
Fresh was his. And he, Fresh’s.
Come whatever may.
“Well…” Thorax offered, reaching to pick up his shirt. “I’m at the lean-to next to that palace. Between Minuette and that red-and-purple-maned recluse. Can’t miss it.”
“Oh, Moondancer?” Fresh said. “Sweet. I was planning to swing by and paint her room tomorrow morning. First legit job I’ve scored in a while.” Then she chewed her lip. “Guess I keep all this quiet still, right?”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.“
From the look on Fresh’s face, wild timberwolves wouldn’t pull that secret from her lips. “Oh, we’re going to get up to so much fun these next few days. Count on it. Though, if you could…?”
Thorax nodded gratefully, then ignited his horn. In an emerald flash, the cuffs still around Fresh’s left limbs fell off, the unicorn wall-painter bopping on the spot in impish glee.
By the time Thorax had gotten the shirt over his head—and magicked his head back to the pony’s look it was supposed to represent—Fresh Coat was already trotting away. Her tail swung back and forth, barely keeping the glimpses of her cum-packed holes from the changeling cop’s view. Playfully flitting her tongue out at him, she let her last words strike through to his heart.
“See you again soon, hot stuff.”
And then she was gone. Thorax’s eyes scanned over the alleyway for any other incoming ponies, found none, and decided not to push his luck. One pony finding up what was under his fur was enough.
As he made his way out, though, a curious sight caught his eye. Fresh had apparently walked from their romp (another mind-boggling thought for Thorax, he literally fed off desire and fucked her twice, how was she still skipping away from that?) without taking her spraycan. Thorax wondered if he should get this back to her, but shook his head.
They’d be meeting again soon enough, right?
Besides, there was one last matter to finish anyhow.
Several seconds later, the re-glamoured ‘Officer Goldstar’ trotted back to civilization, narrowly missing a group of foals running to make use of the courts. On the wall away from those buckball hoops, however, was a sight they’d probably never made heads or tails of; well, besides how unerringly spotless the path was.
Specifically, it was a painting of a ruby-red rose that took up most of the wall, a spilling paint can adorning one of hits leaves. Stamped on the crimson leaf at its other end were a simple set of letters;
K.T. & F.C.
