The stallion wears a cordial, pleasant smile as he opens the door, but it very quickly morphs into an expression of gaping astonishment as his eyes drift up and down.

Chrysalis frowns—only because she has enough restraint to keep herself from outright sneering in disdain. Customers who haven’t interacted with her yet tend to be the most tedious, as she has to get over the hump of their initial stupefaction. There’s only solace in the thought that there’s hypothetically a finite amount of this category. And this one didn’t go straight for trying to cop a feel.

She slips her free hand into her shorts pocket and fishes out a crumpled notepad. “I’ve got two large veggie pizzas, one with extra mushrooms,” she reads off of the page in a flat monotone.

For a few seconds, the stallion just stares in a daze before he blinks and stammers, “Y-yeah, uh, that’s right.”

Chrysalis huffs, snorting through her nostrils, while she pockets the notepad. Then she reaches into her cleavage and tugs out a jangling jar full of bits and bills. “Bug Bites Pizza” is printed on its surface, with a scrap of paper taped to it that says, “Tips appreciated!” It’s quite large, a volume that must be nearly a gallon, and it holds what looks like a small fortune in change, yet it slips so easily into the obsidian valley. “Payment up front, please,” she commands sternly, saying the last word with a subtle yet potent venom, as she holds out the jar with one hand.

“O-okay.” He fumbles with his own pockets for a few moments. Chrysalis suspects that he isn’t really thinking about what he’s looking for from the way his eyes keep flicking toward her chest. She doesn’t need to be able to sense his lust to tell the way his arousal is surfacing. After another few precious moments of wasted time, he blurts out “Oh” and turns to the side of the door and picks up a pile of bits sitting on a table. Chrysalis’s lip curls, exposing a sliver of pointed teeth, but she withholds her commentary while the stallion reaches to drop them in the jar.

Of course, this is easier said than done because this customer just had to not be a unicorn. Chrysalis can only reach so far herself, so in order to get closer the stallion has to wade into the fleshy embrace of her bosom. He presses on the center strap connecting the cups of her bikini top—an extremely atypical piece of her uniform, but they gave up trying to make a jacket that can keep her covered, forcing her to keep the lapels open—and this results in pulling the sides together, squeezing her breasts around him. He shudders as the pliant black chitin envelops his torso, a blush overtaking his cheeks. Chrysalis winces and hisses, but the source of her discomfort is not so much this contact in itself as the heady stimulation which seeps into her, welling up within.

Then he finally lets go and the bits clink in the jar. The ink on the glass flashes, an enchantment to detect that the proper payment was made, with a few smoky hearts fluttering out to indicate a tip. The changeling hardly thinks about how the weight settles and tugs on her. “Thank you, sir,” she mechanically announces as she stuffs the glass container back into her cleavage. She’s taken great care to keep herself steady while her other hand holds up the cardboard boxes, even as she leans toward the door, but now that the transaction is complete she’s all too eager to be rid of her charge, enough that she nearly thrusts the boxes into the stallion’s face.

“Th-thanks!” he exclaims, “Have a nice night!”

But Chrysalis is already turning away, muttering crude curses under her breath as she strides down the path to the street, certain that she’s behind schedule despite her best efforts. She wraps her thumbs under the straps of the enormous, insulated backpack she’s carrying, harboring the rest of her cargo. She wishes so desperately that she could just fly from location to location, something she can do as part of her parole, unlike magic, though not as long as she has to carry the orders like this, the backpack covering her wings. She swears that it’s putting a dent in her elytra.

The time limit on her deliveries imposed by management doesn’t matter as much to her, though, as the limitation that comes from her swelling bust. It’s slight, but even that hint of lust which she absorbs from such a demure client makes a difference. Her top digs into the flesh of her bosom just a little more than it did before she knocked on the client’s door. It may be an expansion of no more than a centimeter in diameter, but those centimeters add up over the course of a night.

Chrysalis grumbles as she takes off down the street, torso-occluding breasts heaving and bouncing with every step, the heat of pizza seeping into her back.

Author's Note

Originally written 1/2/25

I was on something of a pizza stint at the start of January.

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