A Pear of Potions

by Incandesca

Rating: mature
Tags: Porn, Fetish, Bright Mac, Sex, Anthro, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Pear Butter
Length: 7359

Lately, Pear has become frustrated with her husband's lack of sexual attention. Luckily, family friend and local alchemist Zecora has a solution in the form of two curious potions. What do they do, you ask? Swap their sexes, obviously.

For years and with three kids under their belt, Pear and Bright Mac have been living happily married on the farm. But recently, Pear feels like she's gone somewhat underappreciated by her husband in the bedroom.

Luckily, family friend and Ponyville's local alchemist zebra Zecora has two curious little potions she says will fix everything. Just what exactly they'll do, Pear hasn't the slightest idea.

But it'll certainly spice up the bedroom.

Contains: Male/Female, Gender Transformation, & Impregnation

This story was commissioned by FriendsForever. If you enjoy this story and would like to receive one of your own, see here for more details!

Published 2023-07-08 19:20:00 UTC
Last updated 2023-07-08 19:20:00 UTC

The Pear Apple Switch-Up

Sat in the old family recliner, Pear Butter stitched her daughter's clothes.

She was the youngest of their children, an adorable little troublemaker they'd named Applebloom. She reminded her much and more of her father, not only taking after his coat and mane but also his adventurous exploits of youth. Those two fillies she played with were certainly no help in that regard either. So it was the task often fell upon her or Granny to fix any rips or tears that resulted from their escapades.

She didn't complain. While sewing may not have been quite her forte as with her eldest daughter's fashionable friend, simply sewing and mending seams she enjoyed to do. It made for a good way of relaxing at the end of a long and arduous day spent homemaking and groundskeeping.

Those days were not uncommon of late.

Sighing, she set the needle and thread down.

"Hey Granny, ya mind puttin' on the radio for me?"

"Mmno trouble at all, dearie."

On uncertain legs, the Apple Family matriarch got up from her rocking chair. She offered Pear an understanding nod, the shared knowledge that she knew the reason for the request without asking, and made her way towards the nearby kitchen. A short while later, Pear heard the crackle of music from a generation past fill the silent air.

Picking up where she left off, Pear called out her thanks.

In, out, in, out. Nice and simple, 'cause simple was nice.

That was how she liked her songs, too. She'd tried listening to some of the music hip and happening ponies jammed out to these days, but she could never get into some genres. Others weren't so bad, like that fancy electroswing, but pop and electronica? And by the Princess' name, don't get her started on what passed for modern 'country' music.

Inwardly, she laughed at herself. She was only in her late 40s, boasting a full if chubby figure, but already she was starting to sound like Granny. Or like Grandpear, the last time she'd seen him, too sstuck in the past.

Not that she wasn't happy. To the extent she cared about, she had led a fulfilling, productive life. She loved her husband in spite of their relationship troubles, and together they'd made a family - three kids, one of whom being a several times savior of Equestria. Few were lucky enough to be half so fortunate.

Around half an hour later, she finished. Getting up, she prepared on going out to do some yardwork when Bright Mac came inside. Behind him stood Applejack and Big Mac, the three of them panting and sheened with sweat.

Applejack flicked the sweat off her brow, fanning herself with her father's former stetson. "Woo nelly Ma, let me tell you. Summer time is a rough'n this year."

"Eeeeyup."

"Speakina which, me and Mac're gonna shoot down ta Sugarcube Corner fer some frozen drinks. Ya want anythin'? Same to you, Pa."

"Oh ah'm good, thank ya kindly though," Bright answered.

Pear wasn't as humble. "Ah'd love one. Gimme one 'a those, oh what was it that pink one calls 'em?"

"Bubblegum Berry Lemonade Burst," Big Mac intoned.

Pear Butter snapped her fingers, grinning. "That one! Thank ya'll so much. Mah sweethearts." Before the two siblings could escape, she swept in, hugged and pressed a kiss to each. "Wha'd ah ever do to deserve such wonderful kids?"

Applejack and Big Mac alike pulled away, blushing fiercely. Aj held her stetson close to the cheek, hiding her expression. Both looked anywhere but their mother.

"Shucks, Ma, ain't nothin' special. Anywho we're out! Be back in an hour."

Pear and Bright waved at the pair as they shrank down the road. When they were out of sight, Bright shut the door and went straight for the kitchen.

Pear pouted. "What? No smooch from mah honey bun?"

Bright halted, and Pear saw the initial tensing of shoulders before they slumped, along with a low, quiet sigh. "Sorry, Buttercup. Just real tired's all."

That made her pout harder. Frowning, she crossed her arms over her chest - not an easy feat, considering its size. "Ah love you baby, but you've been sayin' that every day for Luna knows how long now. Ah miss you, Brighty. When was the last time we even made love together?"

Coming up from behind, Pear wrapped her arms around his broad chest. Fingers playfully pinched the fabric of his white tee, cheek pressing into his back, but he pushed her hands aside.

Pear's frown deepened.

"Ah don't know, what's it matter ta you? We've already had three kids, don't need a fourth."

Pear pulled back, snorting angrily. "Ain't about kids, Bright. And wouldja at least look me in the damn eye when ah'm talkin' to ya?" Slowly, Bright turned, only to be met with the glaring emerald irises of a very unhappy wife. "Ah'm a mare, damnit, and a mare's got needs. So do stallions, 'cept you, apparently.

To punctuate the statement, she jabbed her finger into his chest. His own expression, previously sullen, flashed with irritation to match her own.

"Ah got more important things ta worry 'bout than our sex life." He held up a hand, began counting on his fingers. "Got a farm ta run, apples ta harvest, gotta make sure Bloom ain't gettin' 'er damn head shorn off on those crazy little crusades 'a hers-"

Pear placed her hands upon her hips. "You sayin' ah don't got mah own stuff to worry 'bout?"

He rolled his eyes. Quietly, Pear raged, and dug her nails against her jeans' denim.

"What work do you do that's so exhaustin'? Cookin', cleanin', stitchin' up little shirts and shorts? Psh. You ain't been a help on the farm in years. Our business's bigger than ever and ah gotta make sure we can deliver!"

She fought the urge to slap him.

She'd just need to do it verbally, instead of physically.

"How fuckin' dare you. First of all, ah ain't even gonna begin ta tell ya how demeanin' that is. All ah want from ya is a kiss on the cheek, maybe a little lovin' once in a while, and you come ta me spewin' that kinda sexist garbage? You really are a piss poor excuse fer a husband if you can't even get yer dick up fer yer damn wife. Second, ah never devalued the work yer doin' out there, so ah don't think it's too much ta ask for some gratitude fer the work ah do! Third, those ain't the only things ah do 'neither. Ah was right about ta work on the yard, maybe do some paintin' on the barn 'fore ya came ridin on in here with yer bullshit. And fourth, in case ya fergot - ah've had three buckin' children! Three, Bright. Count 'em if yer brain matches yer name. Three pregnancies ain't some walk in the Sun-damned park!"

She saw him, wide-eyed, fumbling for an answer. Before he could get a word out she stormed off, slamming the door so hard the hinges rattled and she thought it might crack.

If it did, she wouldn't have cared.

Away from the farm, fire accompanied her every hoofstep.

She saw only red, and wanted only to be as far removed from the Acres and her husband as possible. Along the way acquaintances and passers by asked after her. She ignored them, glowering.

On the horizon, a crossroads appeared. Several park benches populated the trodden center, but grass, hedges, and flowers lended it a simplistic, calming beauty. She slowed her pace, and upon reaching it seated herself.

She balled her fists, hard enough the knuckles ached. If she wanted - and she did - she could have punched through solid oak. It wouldn't be a challenging feat being an earth pony. Though, she suspected, Town Hall wouldn't be as pleased with the notion of wanton property destruction.

Instead, she simmered alone in her fury. Many ponies passed through with the time. Most gave her a concerned glance. A few others asked her if she was alright. To them, she would simply say she was fine, and no more.

Soon, Celestia's golden Sun turned amber, deepening the sky from blues to pinks and purples. Shadows lengthened, and with the fading orange light her anger too waned.

Yet she felt no less upset. While the cauldron within her had settled to a stillness, the reasons for her ire remained unsolved.

Looking back on how she reacted to Bright she felt embarrassed, although believing herself ultimately justified. Perhaps now that she had cooled down, they could talk like normal, rational adults.

"A rather sullen mare I spy, beneath the darkening sunset sky."

Pear's ears flicked upwards at the deep, rhytmic voice, gaze following. "Oh, hello Zecora. Mah apologies, didn't see ya there."

The zebra woman offered a plaintive smile. "Do not feel need to apologize, for anger and sadness blinds the eyes. I must of course ask if you are alright, and where my dear is your man Bright?"

"Back at the farm. We had a fight, and it got a mite ugly."

Zecora seemed taken aback. After a momentary pause, she placed a striped hand upon her shoulder. "I must admit I am surprised. Everyone knows your relationship is quite the prize. I do not mean to intrude, but would you be willing to describe your issue?"

A deep, forlorn sigh escaped Pear's throat. "Sure, but... Maybe somewhere not so public? Problems we've been havin' get a bit personal."

She received a sympathetic nod. Wordlessly, Zecora took her hand and helped her up, then walked her through the darkening streets.

Guilty as it made her feel, Pear was never quite comfortable in Zecora's home. Perhaps it was lingering biases, or perhaps it was the knowledge only oaken walls protected her from the deadly Everfree.

Whatever it was, the spooky masks didn't help.

"Now that we are in a place mor private, come, relax, and have a sit."

Pear did as offered. Without any proper seating however, she contented herself with the floor. She had plenty of cushion in her motherly rear, so regardless of where she sat she could almost always find herself a comfortable seat.

Zecora did not extend the same courtesy to herself. Rather she busied with her cauldron, some potion or another brewing when they had arrived. It was a dark mahogany concoction, fizzing and foaming at the top. And, if Pear's nostrils did not fool her, it smelled of sarsaparilla.

"What are you cookin' up there?" she finally asked, and Zecora cracked a lopsided grin.

"In the time I have lived here, I have grown fond of a certain beverage named a 'root beer'. This cauldron I'll have you know is not only for potions. If so desired, I can make anything from a drink to skin lotions. If you would like a sip, simply ask and I shall pour you a cup, quick as a whip!"

"Sure, ah wouldn't mind somethin' to drink."

Nodding, Zecora let the large wooden spoon slip from her grasp. She grabbed a heavy mug from the shelves, wooden and banded with iron. Into it she ladled the root beer, until it was dribbling out the sides. She handed it to Pear, who took it in both hands, and gingerly nursed the deeply colored liquid.

"Oh! It's cold, like a right proper soda. Ah don't see any ice in here though."

"Aha. Well you see, while I admit I do not make potions purely, this little brew has a certain alchemical structure, which makes it feel chilled no matter the temperature."

"Well if that ain't right 'n neat ah don't know what is," she said, taking another sip. The cool liquid flowed down her throat, its pleasant sweetness welcomed on her tastebuds. It wasn't the best root beer she had ever drunk, but that was a difficult bar to pass. "So, ah guess it's about time ah explain what's the matter."

Zecora nodded, now sitting before her, cross-legged. She waved her hand, urging Pear to continue.

Pear took a final, deep glug to prepare herself. Setting the mug down with a hearty ker-thunk, she began.

She explained her situation, how with each pregnancy she'd been expected to do both farm and house work, and how both that and the strain of thrice motherhood had begun to drain her. She explained Bright Mac's lack of intimacy, an issue that had been going on for a few years by then. And lastly she explained the fight - the ugly comments she had made, and the dismissive ones he'd given to start with.

Throughout the tale, Zecora listened intently. When Pear was done, Zecora wore a look she did not entirely understand.

The zebrican mare stood, and searched for something in the room. "Wait just a moment for me my dear Pear. I believe I should have the solution to your woes somewhere in- There!" She pointed towards a corner filled with various wood and bamboo boxes, before squatting and rustling around.

A moment later, she exclaimed and pulled two small flasks from an open crate. Both were roughly the size of salt shakers, one hot pink and the other a rich indigo. The latter stood taller, though by only half an inch.

"What're those now?" Pear asked, eyeing them curiously.

Zecora winked. "It is better if I keep it secret, you see. But before you take them you must answer this - do you trust me?"

Pear frowned. Though disquieted by the idea of imbibing random elixirs that did Celestia knew what, Zecora had been a friend of the family for years. Pear herself didn't know the mare as well as her daughters - Applebloom in particular - but she knew Zecora was good people.

"Alright," she said, nodding. "Ah trust you."

Zecora beamed and handed the flasks over. Pear took them graciously, and rotated them between her digits, observing.

"Now I must tell you these potions are no mere tools. If you are to use them correctly, follow these simple rules. The blue is for you, do not forget. The pink is for Bright Mac. Do these things, and you shall not regret."

Nodding, Pear slipped them into her jeans' pockets. She got to her hooves, tanking the rest of the root beer, and readied herself to depart.

"Thank ya'll for the hospitality, Zecora. Always appreciate your help. If this works, and ah'm sure it will, ah owe ya."

Zecora shook her head, opening the door for her. "Think of it not a thing. And before you go, I warn you, do not mix those elixirs, or you may not like what it brings."

"Roger that, commander." She giggled, and stepped outside. "Ah'll speak to you tomorrow if ah get the chance. Thanks again for your help."

Once more Zecora assured her it was no trouble, and shut the door. The path back to Ponyville was blessedly short. While logically she knew this part of the forest was free of dangers, the nighttime atmosphere of the Everfree spooked her something fierce.

By the time she reached the orchard, night had fallen. Luna's Moon shone brightly above, her tapestry of starlight woven to twinkling perfection.

At the home porch, Pear stopped and did not move. Supper would either be underway, or just having finished. Going by the general quiet she heard from behind the door, she assumed it must be the latter.

Breathing in, Pear worked up her courage. She had to go inside at some point and face her hubby.

How the conversation might go she tried not to think on too much. More vexing to ponder was how Bright would react to the potions she'd brought.

Fiddling with the two bottles in her left pocket, she pushed the door open. Its old hinges creaked, as did the floorboards beneath her hooves.

"Buttercup."

Pear cursed. She had hoped to start the conversation with Bright on her own terms, but he was already there on the sofa.

"Hey, hubby," she answered, shutting the door behind her. "Ah know ah'm late, just had to-"

"Don't worry 'bout it sugar." He stood, and made his way to her. In the time she'd been gone he had taken a shower, his apple red mane still wet and shiny. What surprised her was the kiss on her lips, and the deep embrace he offered. "Ah'm sorry for what ah said earlier. That was no way to speak ta mah beautiful wife, er anypony else fer that matter."

"Ah... well, thank ya. Ah'm sorry for what ah said too."

He shook his head. "Ah was the one who belittled yer efforts in the first place. Ain't nopony's fault but mine. And ah've been doin' some thinkin' 'bout what ya said too. Yer right, Buttercup. Ah ain't been near good enough a husband for ya, certainly not to the standard a mare like you deserves. Can ah make it up to ya?"

Pear smiled, soft as a bed of flowers. She leaned up on her tippyhooves, palms flat against his chest, and pecked his lips. "Ah can think of a couple things. But first," She retreated, and dug the potions from her jeans.

"Whatcha got there? Those some sorta paints er somethin'?"

"Nope. After ah left ah went for Ponyville, sat myself on a bench. Zecora saw me there and we went back ta her place. Ah explained our bumps in the road, and she gave me these. Said they'd fix us up right proper lickity-spit."

"What do they do?"

"Ah got no clue. She just told me to trust her. Blue'n's fer me, pink fer you." SHe handed him the pink bottle.

"Ah'm not so sure 'bout this. We ain't got any clue what it does."

"Ah understand yer concern, darlin', but this is Zecora we're talkin' about here. She ain't gonna do us any kind 'a harm."

Bright sighed, defeated. "Suppose ya got a point there." He smirked. "Between you and me, you always were the more level-headed one. Guess it's bottoms up."

Uncorking the bottle, he gulped its contents without a second thought. He smacked his lips after, licking the stray droplets from his muzzle. "Interestin' taste, sorta like bubblegum and pepto. Bitta cherry in there too, but not the nasty medicinal sort."

Seeing him so easily take his, she saw no reason to hold off hers for any longer. Off the cork popped, down the potion went. It was thick on her tongue, sticky like... well, a certain thing she'd not say in polite company, but it left no residue behind.

"Mine's kinda like blue and blackberries. Little salty, too, but ain't bad. Ah'd probably drink more 'a the stuff if it were just a normal drink or somethin'."

"So now what?"

"Sun if ah know. She didn't give me any more information."

Her stomach rumbled.

"Tell ya what though, ah ain't had a dang thing to eat since lunch time. Did ya'll have dinner already?"

He nodded. "Granny made a cabbage stew. S'got taters 'n apples. Should still be warm. You want some?"

"Duh."

Humming in the affirmative, he went to the kitchen. She followed, and watched him spoon the mixture into a wooden bowl.

"Oh, by the way," he said. "Yer smoothie's in the fridge."

"Thanks sweetie." She kissed his cheek and pulled out her drink. Sipping it from the straw, she closed her eyes and groaned. "Mh mh, just as good as the first time. Ah dunno what kinda magic that Pinkie gal works but she sure do got a talent fer sweet things."

Chuckling, Bright handed her the bowl and spoon. She ate it ravenously, between slurps of her smoothie. Within a few minutes, she was finished with both.

"Now that that's outta the way. Where's everyone got off to?"

"Mac's out in the shed, doin' some repairs ah think. AJ's sleepin' over at Rarity's with Applebloom. She and Sweetie Belle 'pparently got some kinda school project t'gether. Granny's asleep, surprise surprise."

A wicked grin spread across Pear's lips. She came close, breathing against his neck, and traced circles on his collarbone. "So what yer sayin' is..." She reached down, lower, lower, until her fingertips brushed his jeans. She found him there, soft but unsheathing, and squeezed. "We got the whole house to ourselves."

"Heh. Sure do. Ah'd still recommend we get in bed 'fore we do anythin' frisky though."

She mhmed, but parted from him with a last grope to his bulge. Swishing her tail teasingly, she strut out into the stairwell, beckoning him with a crooked finger. "Then ya'd better get yer hot self over here, huh? Mah pear pie's been burnin' for a good ruttin' for months."

Not waiting for his reply, she started up the stairs. A glance behind showed him trailing, and his jeans progressively tenting as his stallionhood slid out and stiffened. She had to stifle a whine seeing it, squeezing her plump thighs together in the hopes she could last a little longer.

It had been too long.

The second they were in the bedroom, she shut the door quickly, quietly. Immediately after she was behind him, nudging his arms to raise and working the shirt off his body.

"Yer awful needy, ain'tcha?" he chuckled.

"Hush you. Ah've been needin' this for Princess knows how long."

Once the shirt was off, he tossed it to the floor. With his upper torso exposed, she explored. Her fingers, slender though calloused from hard labor, teased at the musculature beneath his pale yellow pelt.

"It's amazin' to me just how soft ya are. You think you'd lose some 'a that luster."

"What can ah say. Mah Pear makes sure ta keep me all Buttered up."

She snorted, punching him lightly. "Shush, ya dang flirter."

She worked his pants next. There was no belt for her to undo thankfully, only a button and zipper. Fingers fumbled at the release, then eased down the fly. Inching the pants down an inch or so to reveal his fresh gray boxers, she pawed at his bulge. Hidden only by the cloth of his undergarments, she felt its shape and size so much more sensately.

"Seems like you're awful worked up too, big guy. Or is this thing tellin' dirty lies to me, hm?" She punctuated her question with a full-fingered squeeze. He grunted.

"Might be, just a little."

"You've been workin' yerself too hard. Gotta take a break once in a while. AJ and Macintosh are there for a reason. They can handle the farm themselves for a few days, dontcha think?

He huffed. "Ah s'pose. Don't mean ah gotta like it."

Inch by inch, she worked the denim down. Squatting as she went, she got a good view of his tight, muscular behind, the strong tree-like core of his legs. When the jeans touched the floorboards, he stepped out of them and kicked them to the growing clothes pile.

"Now you do me," she whispered, on her hooftips into his ear. She felt him shudder, and slinked her way around, trailing her nails along his bare naked waist.

"Anything fer you mah darlin'."

With her back to him, his large hands seized upon her narrow shoulders. Against her thighs and cool jeans she sensed the heat radiating from his cock, the steady, rhythmic pulsing.

One by one, he unbuttoned her blouse. Then, when her breasts were exposed, he groped them briefly, before moving to pull the article free. She put her arms up, helping her do it. Next came her bra, unclasped. Her jeans, undone and unbuttoned, and at last they were clothed only in the warm summer night air.

She turned to him, bearing her nude form, and appraising his. Where she had gone soft with the years, gaining meat in her belly, thighs, butt, and breasts - all good places for squishing - he had barely changed. His muscles were only a little less visible than they had been in his youth.

"Yer beautiful," he said. Taking a strand of ginger ringlets between his fingers, he brushed them aside to see her face. She smiled up at him. "Ah'm sorry ah've been ignorin' that fer so long. Mare like you deserves better."

She kissed him. "Well, stop talkin' 'bout it then and gimme what mama wants." For emphasis, she reached down and grasped the turgid base of his stiff, mottled mass. She gave it a pump, and received a throb in return.

"Nnf, damn that feels good. Ah forgot how good you were with yer hands."

"I'm good with a lot more than that," she teased coyly. But she stopped as she reached to cup a testicle.

"Somethin' wrong, Buttercup?"

"Ah... feel a bit strange," she admitted. "Like a tinglin'. Kinda warm in mah belly. Ain't arousal. It's... somethin' else."

Her muzzle turned down into a frown. She felt odd. Not bad or uncomfortable, but simply strange.

"Ya'll think it might be the potions?" he asked. After a moment, "Ah think ah'm feelin' it too."

She pulled away, reluctantly. She felt almost dizzy, needing to sit down. He seemed to as well, finding his seat upon the bed's edge where she leaned against a stray chair.

"Ah, ah think it might be."

The feelings intensified. She felt it spread within her, reminding her of the way dye would bloom when dropped into water. The cloud would grow, blotting out the original transparency to fill it with new and vibrant color.

She wondered what her own was being substituted for.

The tingling and heat concentrated in a few key areas. She had to piece them out one by one, being that her brain swam in a fog. The most intense region was between her plush thighs, centered around and inside her love canal. Second were her breasts. Following them and of equal strength to one another were her shoulders, her abdominals, hips, thighs, and face.

Suddenly, she was too preoccupied to think about herself. Watching Bright on the bed, she saw his body burst into sweats, and...

No, that couldn't be right, could it? She blinked, and swore under her breath.

No, she'd seen that correctly. He was... shorter. Slimmer, too.

"Brighty, ya feelin' alright? You're lookin' kinda..." She glanced at his package. It was stiff as a curtain rod, but retracting. Shrinking. "...smaller."

"And yer lookin' bigger," he said. Was his voice lighter than normal?

His comment prompted her to look down at herself. Her hands did seem a bit larger, barely noticeable however. Maybe the ground seemed a touch further away, but she could hardly tell that sort of change.

What she did notice, rather distinctly, was the size of her bosom.

Or rather, the increasing diminutiveness of it. She took the mounds in her palms, watching as they collapsed inwards. Not deflating, she noted, or sagging. Shrinking, from the full, bountiful fruits of a thrice times mother to the pert, perky chest of a young mare.

Her hips too were narrowing. Her thighs and belly alike were swiftly losing mass, at least in the fat department. In terms of muscles though, well. For the first time in a decade she could push past the chub and touch rock hard, steely abs.

"What in the world is goin' on?" she heard herself say, but in a voice she hardly recognized. It was so much deeper, smooth as silk in the way it'd always been, but now tempered by thunder.

"Ah... ah dunno."

She barely recognized his. His pitch was high, effeminate.

She looked at him again, and understood. Where her breasts were getting smaller, he was gaining. His shoulders were slimmer, his waist too, but his hips had spread outwards. His features were softer, rounder in some places and more angular in others. His muzzle was shorter, littler, cute and adorable.

His stallionhood too, or what was left of it, was severely diminished. No longer visible it had retreated into the sheath, which itself had become no wider than two fingers placed together. His balls meanwhile were scarcely the size of large grapes.

"You're turnin' into a mare," she said.

"And yer turnin' into a stallion."

She knew it before she looked down again. A spark of electricity ran up from her cootch, and when she reached to find her slit, she found nothing.

What she did find were the beginnings of a pouch. Her clit remained too, but it was pushing forward, thickening outwards. By now her chest was flatter than a pre-teen filly's, and she saw her own stomach for the first time in Celestia knew how long. On it was the well-defined physique of a workhorse, sculpted and chiseled for plowing the field and lifting pretty girls off their hooves with ease.

Feeling up her arms, they were changed too. Bending it inwards caused the bicep to bulge visibly, the muscle beneath the fur and skin taut and large.

She glimpsed downwards again, and reflected that perhaps she should start considering herself a he. His new stallionhood was fully formed, though not at full mast, not yet anyway. It was a gentle brown, like the color of his nipples, or the same as medium-tone wood.

The initial spell of dizziness had passed, so he pushed himself off the chair. Grasping his head, he touched his hair. No changes seemed to have been made there. It was as long and lustrous as always.

Good, he thought. He'd always liked stallions with a bit of a mane going on.

His husband... or, wife? In contrast, hers was shorter, long but not as much as his, reaching down past her shoulders.

"This is weird," he mumbled. His prick stood at attention as he scanned over Bright's new body, the curves and swells. As a mare he'd liked other women, but now he found himself more atttracted than ever to the female form.

Where he used to be bottom heavy, she was decidedly more endowed in the breast department. That wasn't to say she was any slouch there either, providing more than enough cushion for pushin', but her ripe melons were the size of beachballs, easily, capped with thick dark cream nipples.

She was more fit than he used to be as well. He supposed that made sense. He'd gone through multiple pregnancies, but she hadn't. Although, why he had gained newfound power and physique rather than maintaining his initial chubbiness, he didn't know.

"Yer... yer tellin' me. Ah feel... so weird. Ah got this strange ache between mah legs, worse than anythin' ah ever felt. It's like ah'm on fire, inside and out."

Looking up at her face, hearing her words, he knew what she was going through. Her face was flush, near red as her hair, drenched in perspiration. Her inner thighs were no less soaked. He could see where the wetness of her fresh cunt had spilled out, matting the fur.

He could tell, too, by the smell.

His cock throbbed with need.

"That's... ah'm afraid you're in heat, Brighty."

"Ah'm what?!" she shrieked. The moment it came out, she placed both hands on her lips. "Oh mah gosh, ah sound hysterical. This is insane, Buttercup. What the fuck did that Zecora mare give us?"

"Ah feel like it's pretty clear. She gave us potions that swap our sexes."

"Why? What good's that do? Feels like a prank more than anythin'. I can barely even talk, can't keep mah eyes off you. Ah feel weird, Buttercup."

He sat next to her. Compared to him, she was so small. He could easily have wrapped his arms under her and lifted her up. Everything he did felt easier now.

"Maybe," he said, soothingly. He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Maybe she was tryin' to show us what it's like for the other. Only thing ah can think of."

"Ah... ah suppose. If this is what heat feels like though..." She hissed, ground her thighs together. "Ah definitely feel terrible fer what ya'll musta been goin' through. This is like torture."

She didn't mean for the last word to come out as it did, high-pitched and keening. He could tell by the way she averted his gaze, the fiercer blush upon her features.

It was adorable.

"Ah could help ya know," he said. "Ah'm- or, ah was a mare. Ah know all the right places to, er. Pay attention to."

She did not meet his gaze, but he felt her tremor beneath him. He knew, from experience, that she wanted it.

In that state, going by the potency of her scent, she had it bad. Whenever he'd been like that, he was desperate for just about anything.

Ah... ah..." He could tell she wanted to deny it. But," Okay," she said. "Ah'll go fer it."

He smiled as she looked up at him. He felt his own cheeks flush, and leaned in to kiss her lips. "I hope ya know," he murmured, rubbing a thumb over her cheek. "That you make a positively gorgeous mare."

"Y-you too. A-ah mean, you make a handsome stallion. Ahem," she cleared her throat. It sounded more like a squeak. "Yer... not as bulky as ah was, if that's any consolation. And, you definitely got a stallion's look to yer face, but with yer hair and eyes, ya look real pretty."

He giggled. It was an odd sound coming from him now. "Thanks. But let's get to fixin' you up first."

He started with her lips, kissing them another time. He moved down, keeping his snout in contact with her fur. Shivers rolled across her body, and they intensified the lower he went. He stopped briefly at her neck, breathing in the essence of his husband-made-wife, and nipped the flesh. Drawing a girlish gasp from her, he nipped again, between the neck and shoulder.

More kisses and bites peppered her as he went. When he reached her tits he halted, took a cork-like teat into his mouth. That got a proper squeal from her, a desperate whine and clutching of the bedcover. He swirled his tongue, pulled at the flesh, then swapped to the other. When he was done, her nipples were diamond-hard peaks, jutting out shiny against the moonlit room.

Tenderly as he went, he reached her belly button. The heat wafted off her as though her pussy were a boiler, making his face break into sweats the second occasion that evening.

Slowly, cautiously, to not push things too fast, he eased her legs apart. She allowed him, one hand stroking through his curls. Taking this as permission granted, he dipped lower, opened his lips, and pressed her tongue to her slit.

"Shit!"

The word came fast, breathy. She panted hard, quivered, and the hand in his mane grasped tight.

"Want me to stop?" he probed, looking up at her face. Or, trying to - he couldn't see much beyond her fat breasts.

"No, no, please no. J-just, r-really intense. That's all."

He nodded, and closed his eyes. His tongue extended again, pushing open her virgin marehood.

While he had always liked mares, he'd never gotten the chance to sample one before. He and Bright Mac had been together as long as he could remember, and he'd always been faithful, as had she. There'd been many times where he'd been tempted, no doubt the same went for her. Mrs. Cake, or as he knew her early in life Chiffon Swirl, had been one alluring option, but that was a long time past.

But he had sampled himself before, when he'd owned a marehood. Bright tasted similar. Hers was a honeyed dew of a taste, and a thin, sticky texture. Having swallowed Bright's loads in the past a mare's womanly nectar was nowhere near as thick, but it was comparable to a stallion's pre-cum.

He lapped it eagerly, savoring the ambrosial flavor. From his own experience he knew, just as he'd promised, all the right places to make a mare squirm.

And boy howdy did she squirm. Her legs wrapped tightly around his back, urging him deeper, and her hands clawed at his scalp, tugging his ringlets.

His motions were careful and considered. An inexperienced stallion might simply thrash their tongue wildly about like a serpent. A beginner might trace letters. But someone with the knowledge of a mare could find the exact points of sensitivity, paying attention to when the muscles tightened, the breath hitched, went up an octave. Soon, he was plumbing her depths with thorough enthusiasm, wiggling it here and there, making her groan and writhe.

Before long, she came to her peak, splattering her feminine juices across his snout. He lapped it up like a thirsty dog and retracted.

Spent so long without attending to his own needs, forced to inhale the pheromones of a mare in deep estrus, his cock ached so hard it hurt. It was an interesting sensation, somehow just as awful, worse, and better all simultaneously compared to the feeling of a sore, needy cunny.

He needed her.

He felt the call to breed, to push himself inside something, anything, hot and moist and grasping. To feel it milk him for every last drop.

To put a nice, ripe bun or two in that sweltering oven.

Standing, he looked down upon her. She had leant herself prone onto the sheets, rippling breasts rising and falling.

"Th-thank you, Buttercup. That was... ha, amazing..."

"You ain't seen nothin' yet," he purred, and began to crawl over her.

Her eyes, round and wild, locked with his. "Wha- whaddyou mean? What're ya'll doin'?"

"What do you think ah'm doin', sweetheart? Ah'm takin' what's mine."

Punctuating the statement, he bit down on her neck, hard. She moaned, and shook beneath him. Her eyes, full of need, were also full of trepidation.

"B-b-but, what if ah, what if you get me pregnant?"

What if ah do?" he teased. Thumbing a nipple, he was completely above her now. His hips were drawn back, angled so that his flare throbbed millimeters above her steaming entrance. "If Zecora gave us those potions to see what it's like on the other side, well."

He chuckled. "What better way than ta give you a taste of what ah gotta deal with?"

She whimpered. He waited for her response, not wanting to do anything she didn't want to.

Then, slowly, she nodded.

"There we go. Now, ah ain't got any clue what this is gonna feel like, but ah do reckon ah got some clue what you're about to go through. Ah'd recommend pickin' a pillow to bite onto."

It turned out the pillow was a good idea.

As Pear slid himself inside his mare, she unleashed what could only be likened as a banshee's scream. Instantly, Bright's legs were up in the air, flailing, and her moist cunny gripped vice-like around his member.

To steady her, as he himself breathed a rattling groan and shuddered, he steadied her legs. Taking her ankles into his hands, he slid himself out, as he'd only managed to fit the flare and a few inches of turgid horsecock inside his lover.

Pulling out that tiny bit created a slick, suckling sort of noise. It reminded him of the sound a boot would make when yanked free of thick mud.

Her lower lips clung to him dearly, as if begging him not to retreat. Her eyes said the same, and fortunately for her he had no intentions otherwise.

He shoved forwards, managing another few inches. Again, then again, and again. Progressively her taut tummy bulged with the vague outline of his shaft, til it pushed between her heavy tits.

He really got going then. Drawing himself out with another 'squel-schlurp!' his next thrust threw both mare and stallion an inch back onto the bed. His balls, pendulous and yearning to unload their contents, slapped meatily against her considerable hindquarters.

Huffing, he grinned down at her. "how ya doin', baby?"

"G-g-good. R-r-really good."

"Ah'm glad. What... w-what about you?"

"Ah'm fuckin' perfect," he growled. The f word was rarely one Pear liked to use, he only did so when he was either very angry, or very passionate. Earlier that day it was the former. Tonight, it was the latter. "Ah can't believe how good it feels bein' inside you."

She opened her mouth to respond, but never received the opportunity. He slammed himself forward again despite being buried so far, and felt his cockhead brush what must have been her cervix.

Wanting to see if he could break that barrier, he kept driving his hips into hers. The hard, raging 'whap whap whap!' of flesh smacking flesh filled the room, and inside Bright's body Pear's flare punched her poor cervix.

With a final, bestial grunt, he forced himself inside. He was in her womb now, dickhead, shaft, and cum-filled testicles aching more than ever.

"Ah'm gonna fuck a foal into you," he snarled. She whimpered submissively, and exposed her neck for him to bite. He did so gladly, making her moan and squeal. "Tell me you want it. Say you want me to breed you."

"A-ah do!" she cried. "Ah want it bad. A-ah ain't been puttin' out for you like ah should, s-s-so this is the least ah can do. Breed me, Buttercup. Knock me up. Gimme yer babies!"

"Good girl!"

He shouted the words, damn near roared them. Punctuating each one with a thrust forceful enough to substitute a jackhammer, his sack cinched tight around the bloated orbs within. A pressure unfamiliar to him rapidly built, then all at once exploded out from him and inside her.

The steady, quiet sounds of his cumshots painting her womb reached his ears.

It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard.

She wailed. She clawed at his strong back, arched her own. Her eyes rolled up into her skull, pupils shrinking to pinpricks. Hot tears brimmed at her vision, and rolled down her cheeks like twin waterfalls.

He kissed her, pumping rope after rope inside his wife. Her tongue wrestled with his, competing enough to keep from being boring, but was ultimately subservient. She was his, he hers, and she wanted to make that known.

Afterwards, both their long-waiting, extended climaxes coming to a close, they fell together. She went limp underneath him, and he remained buried inside her, not finding the energy to pull out.

He reached for her hands, and she took them. They squeezed, and he snuggled up close.

"Ah love you," she said.

He pecked her left cheek, her right, her nose, forehead, between the eyes, last her lips. "Ah love you too."

For some time, whether for an hour or a minute, they laid together unspeaking. Gradually, Pear's erection waned, flared head softening and retreating, though it didn't go right back into his sheath. Being inside Bright's pussy forced it to remain there, and for that he was happy. He loved the feeling of being so close to her, the same way he'd loved her being inside him when he was a mare.

"So," she croaked. "Whaddyou reckon we gonna do now?"

"Heck if ah know. Should probably talk to Zecora 'bout it though, see how long the potion lasts."

"Dunno why, but ah got the feelin' it's gonna take a heckuva lot more time to wear off for me than for you." To communicate her meaning, she moved his hand to her spunk-pudgy belly. "That's yer fault, ah'll have you know. If yer potion wears out sooner you'd better get another one and start helpin' out on the farm while ah carry 'em."

"Ah will, lovely. Promise."

Sweet, blissful quiet reigned. Outside, crickets chirped, cicadas buzzed. An owl hooted in the distance, and the gentle sway of rustling apple trees floated through the curtained window.

Until Pear realized something.

"This, uh."

"Hm?"

"This is gonna be real awkward to tell the family, ain't it?"

"...shit."

Author's Note

Author's Note:

This story was commissioned by FriendsForever. If you enjoyed this story and would like to receive one of your own, see here for more details!