Bug Bites Pizza is more than just a fresh new business startup in Ponyville. It’s an ambassadorial effort by local changelings to introduce their culture to Equestria at large. The business is entirely run by the colorful bugs, those who were united by their shared interest in equine cuisine. While they carry many of the offerings that are expected of establishments like theirs—pizza, naturally, as well as sandwiches and salads and breads—they also offer options which differ from their competitors. Changelings harbor no moral compunctions about meat products, giving Bug Bites an appeal to other non-ponies such as gryphons and dragons. Their menu also includes traditional changeling fare; they are particularly vocal about their nectar, which can be used as a dip or a substitute for tomato sauce. They insist that you can taste the love in every bite.

And all their ingredients are naturally sourced, of course.

The groaning gasps of breath echo in the enclosed back room. Chrysalis huffs and wipes her brow. The sweet, heady smell of nectar fills her nostrils. To her, it is just an aroma, but to ordinary changelings, even those who have long forsaken her leadership, the green goo filling the vat carries potent pheromones that make it utterly irresistible. As long as it’s in this raw state, she has to handle it all by herself, limiting exposure to the other employees.

On the one hand, it gives her much-valued alone time away from prying eyes.

On the other hand, she has to deal with the extraction process without any assistance.

She leans against a metal bar, pushing into the hard ridges of her collar. Her breasts hang low from her chest, nearly reaching to the floor, so far beyond the span of her arms that it might as well be a world away. The cups around her nipples tug and pump, sucking up all the juice that leaks from within her and collecting it within a large vat. She tries not to think about how much she’s producing; all she has to do is remain lucid enough to listen for the warning that the collection vat is nearly full so she can turn off the pump.

This process is nothing like it was when Chrysalis was queen. There is much that she could be indignant about in what this has turned into. Milking her precious nectar for profits. Giving it out to ponies instead of her young. The unfeeling automatization of it all. It’s sickening.

But as long as the room is closed, there’s no one to tell her she can’t take pleasure in the stimulation involved. Producing nectar in the past was something done out of necessity and only in small quantities, now her glands are so much more sensitive and can express for minutes at a time. She gasps and croons, her jaw hanging loose and her tongue lolling out, eyes half-lidded, while rocking gently back and forth, her breasts swaying pendulously. The pumping only requires that she take her top off, but she’ll often remove her shorts as well so she can have better access to her loins. No reason not to make the most of her circumstances before she has to go back to deliveries.

Author's Note

Originally written 1/22/25

Obligatory horny side to this mundane business.

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