Doting Mother
‘Gig’ was probably the best term.
In her mind, Vinyl Scratch held fast to a personal concept of the word ‘concert’. These were performances she enjoyed in her youth; from the wide-eyed days of fillyhood, to those years where she could attend on her own and not tell her parents about it. Concerts had live musicians thrashing about on stage, singers, and the odd smashed guitar amid a sea of glowing horns from the unicorns and bracelets from everypony else. Of course this was not a complete definition of the term ‘concert’, merely an aspect - but it was how she saw them to be.
Her fans might have called her a genius, even a savant, but spinning records was just something she liked to do. Sometimes they were her own songs, sometimes those of others; but she never sang them in person nor played live on stage any of the instruments that made their melodies. Indeed, so quiet was she outside of the confines of a recording studio that many thought she was incapable of speech entirely, and a few among the conspiracy theorists even claimed the words were therefore not her own.
Thus, though her own performances were called as much, she rarely thought on them as ‘concerts’. The truth was much simpler. They were her beats. Her children. And though she was as proud a parent as any in displaying them to the public, giving birth to them was a personal experience. Thus she mixed them in all manner of ways, spinning and scratching the vinyl that made up her name for the joy of those who wanted to experience them, but it was no ‘concert’.
‘Gig’ was probably the best term. But at the moment, she hardly cared.
Though she knew not when, at some point in the performance she had hurled her body into the fray and placed herself at the mercy of those who carried her aloft. Their hooves had been all over her, every inch of body; each little touch was a pebble disturbing the pond of her tranquility, only to send her hurtling into the throes of pleasure. The blacklights in the pit had brought out the luminescent paint they had dragged all over her body in clumsy streaks, making her entire body resemble the spiral of a lit unicorn’s horn.
In the cool backstage lighting, the glowing colors were instead splotchy sigils reminiscent of zebra tribes. Unsteady in her gait, she floated about the disinfected halls, seeing the world through her rose-colored glasses and thinking it all so very, very easy. Her ears swiveled like antennae, picking up the sounds of enraptured ponies squealing her name. Among them were the sounds of the band that often hastily closed for her, whenever she happened to wander away from the audience.
All of that for her. Just for doing something that came natural.
The colors swirled, dipping and dodging over blank white walls. A green glow-light from a necklace was passing back and forth before her eyes. She giggled, reached out to poke it, and only then realized it was caught in her own magic and moving at her behest. She let it fall about her neck and glanced down the corridor, which she found to be tinted with a similar glow. It wasn’t normal for the cold white service lights to be faintly green, but the color was pleasing. She went among the winding halls, following the green-brick road in the presumed direction of her dressing room.
She was no fool, and this was by far not her first time in the underground scene. They had obviously slipped her something during the performance, which she had willingly taken from their offered hooves and washed down with liquor. It felt good within; wrapping around her sensibilities like tendrils and prying apart the petals of her desire. It was a common enough substance - there was no harm in it, and the euphoria melded well with the rivulets of hard-rocker sweat that ran from her disheveled, cerulean brow. It would pass, but while it lasted, she swaggered past the flicker of a weakened bulb and touched in passing a haphazard flyer denoting this month’s performance.
Her own image. Famous now, and far beyond performances to meager crowds in sleepy, faraway Ponyville.
She found the door with her stage name, pausing but a moment until her addled brain attributed the title ‘DJ-Pon3’ to herself. The door was open a crack and smelled of nectar - the honey of bees. She knocked anyway, and called out to the one she knew would be there. The one who was always there, though she loathed the lights and the cries of the performance.
“Hoi…’Tavi…” Vinyl muttered. “Mmm’comin in kay?”
There was no reply, but cloying about the syrupy scents was a familiar lilac odor. It was too sharp for Vinyl, too full of pomp and circumstance, but Octavia adored it, and thus it was one of the strongest and most familiar scents tied to Vinyl’s memory. At the Meyerhoof recitals, Vinyl was always there to support her friend. It was much the same here, and Vinyl brushed past the door to bathe the room in her illustrious presence.
Immediately she held up a snowy hoof. “Now before y’say anything, I’m totally not drunk. M’just...you know…” she glanced up at the ceiling, holding out her forelegs and spinning with the track lighting as if in a meadow full of dandelions. “...woooo...eh heh heh…it’s all good, you know? All good.”
Within was a multi-use chamber with modular walls, intended to be modified on a moment’s notice for whatever purpose was required. The bare concrete floor had been laden with all manner of posh rugs in Vinyl’s favorite colors, adorned further with myriad soft and comfortable pillows to suit the natural tendency of ponies to lay upon the floor just as often as a couch. Couches weren’t Vinyl’s style anyway, and as such the room sported a cozy looking bed with heavy blankets. These she preferred in any weather, for she liked their weight. This particular specimen of purple and blue blankets was heavy and large, but bore no canopy, allowing the naked ceiling lights to pierce in from above. It had probably been quite the ordeal for the roadies to wheel it in and set it up for their Lady’s siesta, but if they were going to go to all that trouble, they could have at least added some posts.
Upon the bed was a pony - a small mare of modest color and bearing. She bore a treble clef upon her flank and seemed not afraid to show it off with her uncharacteristically languid posture. The pink bow tie that was as religious an accessory for her as Vinyl’s shades was absent, and she lay like the Venus of Urbino, her head propped up by a gathering of silken pillows fit for a harem. Her slate gray hoof was making small circles on the rumpled mattress beside her.
“Oh yes, very much,” the mare agreed. “All good indeed. You look tired.”
Vinyl swayed into the room, bapping the door closed with a thrust of her hind leg. There were shapes all about...shapes unfamiliar, but not worth focusing upon when compared to Titian’s masterpiece on the bedspread. She grinned, a squiggly line upon her muzzle, and traipsed to the edge of the bed, where she needlessly tested the springiness of the mattress with one hoof.
“They got it right this time,” Vinyl observed. “I like ‘em firm. Good for my back.”
“Some would say they like a soft mattress for just the same reason,” Octavia replied. “All that raving must take a lot out of you, mm?”
Vinyl wrinkled her muzzle, tasting the question as it emitted from somepony who full-well knew the answer. Ignoring it as nothing more than a quip, she brushed a sweat-matted lock of blue out of her eye and levitated her shades off her face; whereupon she came down on the mattress with a puff of stale air from her lungs. She hadn’t even noticed her own panting. It had slowed, but the pace of her heart was not giving way. It raced, along with her thoughts, and she filled her vision again with the image of the earth mare beside her.
Octavia cocked her head to the side and smiled amicably. “Yes?”
White cheeks had never done Vinyl any favors. She blushed, and found herself diminished by the feigned ignorance of her partner. Hairs rose on the back of Vinyl’s neck - the scent of honey, sweet and luxurious, seemed to focus on the Earth mare.
Vinyl coughed lightly “...you gotta...new scent…?”
Octavia’s eyes lidded, her bedroomy lashes bouncing as she reached back to fluff her ebon mane. “Do you like it?”
Vinyl had no dislike for honey, but neither was it on the top of her list. Something here was different however, and the miasma floated about her head until she could nigh dip her hoof up into it, like breaking the surface of a hot tub from below. It took up residence in her mind, manifesting until it was a tangible thing to her perceptions.
“Y-yeah…” she muttered, “...s’nice…”
From the ‘concert’ hall, crowds continued to boom. There were shouts for an encore of the main act and Vinyl turned her head in that direction, but a hoof caught her and turned her eyes back into the room.
“Do you…love it…?”
Vinyl blinked. She was half a pony nearer to her companion without remembering how she’d closed the distance. The heat of a steamy hall filled with a hundred dancing ponies was upon her brow. It was emanating from within, not without, and it came on the cusp of the rising scent of mare.
Octavia patted the pillow. “Come. Lay your head down.”
Vinyl obeyed without question. The ceiling lights bit into her eyes, but with a mere wave of Octavia’s foreleg, they softened like pilot lights until winking out altogether. There was a glow that lingered, and Vinyl looked down to find the swirls of iridescent paint upon her body, reacting to a blacklight source from somewhere she couldn’t see, had become quite green indeed.
Her glow was not the only one. The objects in the room, heretofore not worth her examination, now gave off an eerie light not unlike the green from her necklace. They resembled stout structures, somewhat grotesque in chambered design, and were rooted to the floor, ceiling, and walls like...hives.
The diva of the evening opened her mouth to speak, but a muzzle buried itself into hers, capturing her in the depths of an erupting kiss. It was long and lingering - the kind of kiss she had a weakness for, that elicited smacking noises until it drained away whatever resistance she brought to bear. Vinyl whimpered, her muscles slackening, and accepted the offering with a silent gusto even she had not prepared for. Soon her forelegs were around her companion, who had straddled her with a mingling of tails and mutually unkempt manes.
It was unlike Octavia to look as though she had been in the throes of passion for hours before even beginning - so too was her come-hither stare. The gray mare slipped her tongue into Vinyl’s maw, and the harder musician accepted it. Vinyl suckled upon the offered tongue, milking it with the dance of her own as she felt the familiar desire to slip to a level of depravity that none but her private lovers ever saw. It was a release - a suspension of all the intensity and trial in Vinyl’s life that her one friend could provide, and she took to it eagerly.
But she was not prepared for the rest.
The tongue penetrated her until it began to slip entirely down her throat, investigating her depths in a way that no magic ought to have made possible. Vinyl opened her fiery eyes wide and muttered, but the writhing thing had her rooted to the spot. It elongated and sprung a fork at the end that she could feel tickling halfway down to her stomach, leaving her quite helpless to do anything in response to its exploration. It probed her body, like some perverse imitation of a dog sniffing out a bitch’s virility, until it finally began a path of slow and orderly retreat.
Octavia’s tongue was not in flight; rather coiling, as if again to strike. It paused somewhere in Vinyl’s throat, and the latter whimpered again, her body shivering on the bed as the wet muscle flexed and whipped into her depths anew. A green glow manifested somewhere atop Octavia’s head, and the tongue began to do the impossible as it wound past Vinyl’s stomach and through her to near completeness. It laid her bare in a way no amount of exposure could ever hope to, and doubled back along the path it had blazed until finally slipping back into the darkness of the room.
Vinyl panted, gasping for air, and looked weakly to her companion. Octavia’s features were partially masked by the darkness, but the light atop her head came from a jagged horn, and the yellow glow of her sclera was home to a pair of catlike irises.
“...just as I thought…” Octavia cooed. “Not only ripe, but fit and of appropriate breeding. Not every pony is you know, and not all of us are so gifted with smelling out the good ones.”
Vinyl said nothing. Her irises battled with the low light to bring the contours of her partner’s body into focus. The rolling warmth inside her turned her thoughts to the kiss she had just experienced. It had no compare in all her experiences, even the wilder rendezvous in the earlier days of her career. The tongue snaked out again and caressed her cheek, whereupon it was replaced by the gentle touch of a hoof.
Octavia giggled. “You still have enough clarity to guess at who I really am. I can see that much in your eyes.” She shifted her weight, and made it clear that she had the white mare, who had somehow become slightly smaller where she was once a hair larger than Octavia, pinned. “But you’re wrong. I am of my queen her as much as my thousands of brothers, but we females are a headstrong lot, and are destined for greater things than they. Thus we set out, as early as life allows, and seek to build our own broods to advance the influence of our Great Mother.
Vinyl swallowed ineffectually through a lump in her throat. “T...Tavi…”
Octavia tousled her bangs and ran a hoof through the mane that was broken up by a jagged horn, just to show her body off. “You probably don’t even know if you’re asking for a different pony, or if you still think her me. Don’t worry. I didn’t hurt her.” The false Octavia gestured to one of the hives. It was sealed unlike the others, and within the glow of miasmic liquid rested the closed eyes of Octavia as Vinyl expected her to be seen, with a perfect mane and bowtie to boot. “There’s no need to hurt her, for she will be useful to me one day too. You see, I’ve been watching you. For a long time now.”
With that, Octavia’s features melted into those of a young stallion Vinyl vaguely recalled as having once been a roadie. They changed again, this time to a mare with a beauty mark and punky mane she had once had a stand with, and a third time to a concert staffer she had flirted with but not seen in nearly a year. The last face blackened and twisted, until in place of the many ponies was a lithe and virile changeling female. She bore the look of her brothers, though she was commandingly taller, with a seagreen mane like her forebearer, long lashes, and transfixing eyes. The creature licked her lips, bore her fangs, and save for these, the horn, and her otherworldly eyes, she became a version of Octavia again. This time however, she was of sufficient size that the pony beneath had little hope of dislodging her.
“You like this form though, even if you know it is not mine.” Octavia grinned, her lips drawing close to Vinyl’s ear. The latter whimpered again, but she cooed her into silence. “Shhh. This will be so easy for you if you just let it happen. I know you, after all, though you may not have known me at the time. You are not the only one that I’ve scouted, but you’re certainly the most suitable. You should be proud that I’ve chosen you to be the first.” She traced the perimeter of the quirking white ear with her tongue and gave it a sharp nibble with her fangs, drawing from her toy a hard breath. “Mmhmm, you like that. I know what you like. I know everything that you like. When you think about it, you can’t possibly have a better lover than me, because I can be your everything. All you have to do--” she stroked Vinyl’s pert tummy, “--is bear my brood.”
Vinyl shuddered, thoughts of escape made malleable in her mind by whatever she had ingested at the concert and her own loose sense of lust. “...I...I’m not--”
“Shhhh,” The changeling repeated, anticipating the comment. “Yes you are. You’re perfectly ripe right now. I’ve already seen to inducing that in you. And when we’re finished, you’ll never know how you got by without me.”
Vinyl struggled, but found her hooves would not obey. She hadn’t even noticed it happening, but upon them she felt a gelatinous substance that quivered with her, but refused to let go. She was spread eagle on the bed, her captor free to rise up without fear of her untimely escape. Vinyl squinted, trying to bring the world into focus, but her ears were filled with the set of the playing band, and her eyes with the streaks of neon green, yellow, blue, and purple that reacted to the room’s small light. Octavia drew close to her neck, nuzzling her pulsing jugular, and whispered anew.
The changeling bore her fangs. “I can see you’re still just a tiny bit uncertain. You see, I like my broodmares to me more useful to me. As you are now you’re of very little value beyond mere potential, so you require some preparation, that you might be of more use to my illustrious species. This will help, hold still-”
The changeling then bit deeply into Vinyl’s neck, but instead of taking from her like a vampire, the creature gave, until Vinyl’s blood blossomed with cozy warmth.
“...nnh…”
Octavia was at her ear again. “That’s right, don’t fight it. Changeling poison doesn’t last long, but it will make you nice and weak, and open to suggestion. Suggestions about things you actually want to do will work better, but...I don’t think we have to worry about that, do we?”
Vinyl’s body began to pique like that of a horny teenager. Her already heightened sense of touch doubled yet again, until mere breath blown over the inside of her foreleg by the creature made her whine with need. Octavia giggled and sat up, looming over her wiggling new lover.
“You’re wet, and your body is ready to play host to my brood. You’re going to adore them, but you’ll have to show me how eager you are to have them inside you.”
With that, the changeling Octavia shifted, and at once a spire bounced into Vinyl’s view. It was erect and stiff, ebony black like an obelisk of obsidian, with a stallion’s medial ring and flared head. Like the room it too pulsed in a slight hue of green below the flesh, that followed the contours of each vein down to a heavy sack that promised a gift beyond mere pony semen. The girthy thing prodded Vinyl’s lips with insistence, painting them with slickness.
Vinyl Scratch didn’t hesitate. With a swirl of her tongue she greeted the new friend, wondering in the back of her mind if she had not already met him in some other form sometime in the past. It pushed at her, filling her vision, but she was careful and adoring in her motions, as thoughts of everything but having it within her vanished from her mind. The organ loomed over her, its owner planting a hoof to either side of Vinyl’s head and presenting her with the underside of it to cup her tongue about and lick in long strokes.
“...mmmh...that’s it...welcome me…”
Vinyl worked, lavishing the creature’s rod from base to tip until Octavia’s fuzzy black sack presented itself. It was much larger than Vinyl thought normal, but she mashed her snout into it, drawing deeply from the scent and marveling at how familiar it was. It smelled like all of them - stallions and mares of the past, each passing through her life on one road or another, and all belonging to this one being who had spent so long sizing her up. She couldn’t have explained it, but despite the situation, Vinyl felt flattered.
Octavia reared, and her plump head again came into view. From its tip oozed clear pre-seed, but it too had an ominous green tinge, and glowed thus as though radioactive. Vinyl went cross-eyed staring at it, but her hesitation was short-lived. The pulsing sight, the syrupy scent, and the powerful girth reminded her how long she had gone without such a companion, and she wrapped her lips around the head, drawing its offering into herself. Octavia obligingly slipped forward, and the throbbing penis robbed Vinyl of her pitch-perfect singing voice.
“Nnnh…” Octavia rumbled. “...it is not the same this time. I have mated many times, but this night will be a first. For you are she whom I have chosen to begin my brood.”
Vinyl’s ear flicked in the direction of the words, but she showed no sign of understanding. She bathed the penis with the soft warmth of her maw, her tongue now able to trace the contours of every vein from top to bottom. From her position on her back she could do little to facilitate bobbing, but Octavia began to pump on her own. The pump soon became a thrust, and Vinyl fought through gags to earn her mate’s gift.
“...ahh...hahh...y-yes…” Octavia muttered, her hips hammering away. “Worship...beg for it...beg for my eggs, little pony…”
Octavia fucked the hot hole beneath her with abandon, sparing no thought for her partner save for the tease of her tail over Vinyl’s spread marehood from below. She had been denying herself for weeks while she made a final decision on her prey, and now she felt the plump heaviness of changeling eggs churning inside her. They were a rare gift from her queen, but they were no use where they lay. Fertilization required a host to carry them to full maturity. For that the female changeling required stimulation - another fine use for the pony she took.
Vinyl whimpered, but to her credit kept pleasuring the organ that took her so roughly. Octavia was so far inside that she was spreading the back of Vinyl’s throat, and with one great thrust she paused, as if to let loose a torrent of semen as from a stallion in climax. She held Vinyl’s head in place with both hooves, waited a moment in enjoyment of the ecstacy, and then confused the mare with a strangely-timed giggle.
“You are expecting something unique to your people,” the changeling whispered, “but that’s not how it works.” She reached down and softly stroked Vinyl’s plump pony tummy, not giving an inch on the depth of her penetration. “By now my essence is working inside you - coating passage walls and organs, moving things about as pregnancy does to make the perfect chamber for my young.”
Vinyl winced. There was indeed an odd feeling of churning inside her. She felt a sense of expansion within, as if she were waxing pregnant by months with each passing moment. Her questioning eyes were all she could bring to bear, and the changeling laughed when she caught Vinyl trying in vain to spread her hind legs.
“My. Did you think that’s how it works?” With these words, Octavia reached back and shoved a hoof entirely into Vinyl’s moisture-softened flower, drawing from her a sharp whine. “Did you think I’d breed you like your kind do, or like my personas have taken your body before you knew me? My dear, we changelings are far more egalitarian than that.”
Octavia the changeling suddenly dismounted, pulling her wriggling leg free from Vinyl’s channel. She sat then on the bed, presenting her spire, which was now rumpled along the bottom by a chain of changeling eggs that she was ready to release. It oozed with green ichor and the promise of fertility, even as she flashed her horn and Vinyl felt her bonds soften.
“I didn’t choose you because you are a mare,” Octavia whispered, her eyes transfixing Vinyl’s. “I did it because your body is ideal for mine. It hardly matters what’s between your legs. One day, in a future beyond even my brood, all ponies will be full of our superior genes, and will want nothing more than to be filled again and again. Your kind will be genetically manipulated and infused from birth with a latent desire to want us, and when you become ripe, you will each seek out your destiny in our broods. There’ll be no worrying about life, making decisions, or falling upon troubled times in a rat race world. All you’ll do is make us strong. You’re all going to love it.”
Vinyl, panting hard, glanced wearily at the sleeping form of the real Octavia.
“I already know what you’re thinking,” the changeling cooed. “And yes. I plan to take her next. You’ll even help me. You’ll still be together, forever, raising my eggs.”
It was the last clear thought Vinyl had. The last worry in a long string of rough decisions and focused passion. Her path had brought her fame, but never had it filled the hole in her soul is this night promised to.
The changeling tapped her thigh, and then ran her hoof purposefully along the glowing lumps of egg waiting in her ‘penis’. “Come to me, little host. You’re going to love all the new thoughts my eggs will put into your mind.”
Vinyl didn’t quite understand that last part, but neither could she think long on any other. The bobbing spire before her was hypnotic. The essence inside her, mingling with whatever she had already swallowed during her set, made her flower drip with nectar and her body burn with an estrus that came too early. There was nothing in the room now but the gift, and though her limbs were heavy and hard to move with the goo that encompassed them, she lurched and drew herself onto her tummy. Oozing toward the spire, she nuzzled Octavia’s head, planting upon it a deferential kiss.
Octavia’s hooves came down upon either side of Vinyl’s head, holding her again in place. “This won’t hurt...much.”
With that, the bestial penis showed its true colors. It began to split like a ripe banana, revealing within a harder, thinner protrusion that marked the changeling’s ovipositor. The flaps of flesh around it wriggled, producing tiny teeth throughout - meant to bite into a host and hold on tight. Vinyl gasped and jerked her head back, but the flaps lunged for her and snapped over her entire muzzle like flypaper, the teeth digging in to lock in place and fill her with enough pain to bring a tear to her eye. Vinyl wriggled, gasping again, but the changeling merely petted her like a dog and chuckled.
“They won’t let you go until we’re finished,” she explained. “You think you won’t be able to breathe like that though, don’t you? Try.”
Vinyl, finding herself quite trapped, did as she was told. She found that she could in fact draw breath, but each such breath was marked by the honeysweet scent of changeling essence. Thereafter a liquid began to fill her nostrils, and though she was frightened, she found that she could not only breathe through this as well, but the very urge to breathe at all had been lessened, such that her survival instinct began to relax.
“Each breath fills you with more of me,” Octavia smiled. “It’s like a diver’s mask in reverse, forcing you to depend on me for everything you have. Open.”
Vinyl’s lips were already being stretched apart by the pulling teeth, but her instinct thusfar had been to fight them. She received a hard smack for her trouble.
“Open.”
Vinyl’s encased limbs became heavy again, rooting her to her place. With her ears folded in submission, she placated the teeth and let them pull her lips wide. There she lay, feeling the ovipositor extending into her throat. There was a bulge, and she felt something round moving slowly into her.
“Mmh...th-they feel lovely on the move...nnh…breathe deep and do what comes natural, p-pony…”
Vinyl gave in to her debasement. Her hoof moved, and soon she was rubbing the changeling goo upon it between her legs, permeating her blossom with it and dipping it into her channel. The substance tingled like thousands of fingers, and her weeping sex came alive with it as though a powerful vibrator had just touched her most sensitive places. She wiggled, her eyes shut tightly against the pain of the teeth and the stretching of her throat with the first changeling egg. At the same time she cried with climax, her walls going into spasms of release. Another orgasm came quickly on the cusp of the first, and as she rode it she managed to glance towards a dressing room mirror upon the wall. Her throat was glowing a soft green; each hoofball-sized egg showing its path as it traveled under her coat to her waiting tummy.
“Ahh...mmmh…” the changeling Octavia grunted as egg after egg slipped through her body; from the sac that falsely resembled a scrotum into the body of their new host. “...s-so exquisite...I p-pity you for not knowing what it’s like to be a future broodqueen...hahh…”
Vinyl’s eyes clouded with tears, but she was not weeping for her fate. Pleasure from her marehood mingled with the pain in her muzzle and throat, producing an elixir along her nerves that associated the two in her brain. She wept, but with every tear she dug into her own channel with her foreleg, coating her insides with more of the warm slime that brought her to orgasm upon orgasm until her legs were as jelly and her knees buckled beneath her. The encasement seeped up her hooves and stole to her knees, straightening the joints and keeping her aloft. Her mind whited out and she lost count of her climaxes, but she couldn’t help the glances at the mirror. Her tummy was distending beyond the size of typical pregnancy. It too glowed green, with a bumpy texture, and she wondered if her hooves would even be able to touch the ground when it was all over.
Vinyl could never have explained it, but as the eggs found a home inside her, voices came along with them. They spoke not to her in words, but as thoughts appearing in her mind - half-hers, and half those of the little lives who bade her protect them. The thoughts became clearer - commands that became her own desires even as she heard them:
Breed.
Accept.
Obey.
Vinyl had little experience with changelings beyond the usual rumors; thus she was surprised when she felt the intangible love all ponies shared inside her seem to move from her extremities like an electromagnet to her core. Unhatched, the eggs were already feeding, and she wanted nothing more than to shower them with every ounce of love her body could produce.
The would-be queen noted the soft acceptance in her host’s eyes, and she grinned again, licking her snout and fanged teeth with her serpentine tongue. “You’ll lay them all and care for them tirelessly, save for the one that never leaves you...the one that will keep you always desirous for more…” She grunted as a few more eggs passed from her body, and reached down to caress the climaxing mare’s cheek. “Feed them your love...don’t worry, they won’t take it all...but you want them to have it…”
Vinyl began to feel woozy, love draining from her like a deflating balloon. Her eyes rolled, and she hung there without control as her queen fed her still more eggs. She felt bloated and fat, uncertain if she could move even if set free, while by contrast the changeling thinned out, gaining energy and litheness with the release of her progeny. At length Vinyl felt the ovipositor begin to recede. The teeth let go, leaving a pattern of small wounds on her face that marked her as a changeling breeder. At the same time the encasement loosened, and she collapsed upon the bed in a whimpering heap, her thighs rubbing together with warm afterglow as fresh air came again to her.
The music had stopped, though Vinyl had no idea how long it had been silent. There was a knock at the door. She couldn’t speak, but heard her own voice ensuring the staff that she was well, and planned to spend the night in her dressing room. The request wasn’t so untoward for an underground club, and so they left her to retire in presumed peace.
With her cheek to the mattress and dull gray in her eyes, Vinyl blinked thricely before bringing an object into focus. She had never seen such a thing before, but she knew instinctively from the green glow that followed along beneath its translucent shell like veins that it was one last changeling egg, that hadn’t yet found it’s way inside her. With the encouragement of those already within, she found the strength to pick up their brother and hold him close, caressing him lovingly even as the ooze he gave off burned slightly into her coat.
Octavia, her ‘penis’ reformed, lounged on the bed in contentment. “Ah...to get all of those out, I’ve been waiting a lifetime…” She reached over to tousle Vinyl’s hair, and laughed at the sight of the mare opening her mouth, as if intending to voluntarily swallow the egg whole.
“No, no…” the changeling cooed. She lit her horn and ensorcelled the egg, pulling it away from its reluctant host and levitating it to a different opening. “This one is your companion - the gallant who sacrifices his own pupation to ensure that you stay a good girl. He needs different parts of your body to make his.”
With that, Octavia began to shove the egg slowly into Vinyl’s marehood, stretching the opening wide and twisting the tapered egg until it began to disappear. “...relax...let him in to his permanent home...he’ll keep you from the wrong kind of breedings, and make you needy at all the right times….”
Vinyl couldn’t see what was happening over the bulbous green of her distended stomach. She felt weak and small, and merely cooed sensually as the egg slipped in. The voices directed her, and with her vaginal muscles she somehow found herself able to pass him up towards her womb. She paused only when the egg came in contact with her cervix, and lay uncertain until the changeling spoke again.
“They may cause you pain. But that is a gift for you to treasure, and a burden to carry with joy.”
Perhaps the essence from her benefactor’s bite or magically-enhanced tongue had made it possible, but the egg was actually spreading her cervical opening and worming its way into her womb. Vinyl writhed, the pain like a knife, until a popping sensation melted the discomfort into an enhanced feeling of afterglow that caused her to shiver and sigh with delight.
“Already he rewards his host for good behavior,” the changeling Octavia commented. She smacked her thigh again, sitting with her ichor-slickened spire still erect. “Clean your queen. Then you will sleep. Tomorrow you will declare a leave of absence from your tour as you learn how to put my hatchlings first in all things.”
Vinyl did as she was commanded, carefully taking her queen into her mouth and even drying her afterward with the sheets. The egg in her womb vibrated with approval, affecting her nerves without even having access to her button and sending gentle waves of sexual pleasure throughout her yielding body. When it was all over she sank again into the sheets, in such bliss that she thought she might indeed melt into the cotton and become one with it.
Sorcery lifted Vinyl’s form and hovered her in the air, pausing long enough to allow her another glance into the mirror. She hung there as a stuffed toy, and stuffed she was with dozens of changeling eggs, her body now aglow with luminescence from within and without. The magic moved her again, and on instinct she knew that she was being placed in a cocoon much like the one that held her real friend. The very thought of the real Octavia, stuffed blissfully with eggs and subject to the same voices in her head, nearly brought Vinyl to climax one final time.
“You will incubate in your cocoon every night,” the queen said. “You will return to it willingly, and allow it to close around you and hold you helplessly through each night, where you will be lulled to sleep. Your night life thus shall end until you have given birth, for your new charge must be the most important thing to you.”
Vinyl felt the words sink into her mind, each one soon to blossom into an absolute truth. The cocoon was closing around her. It was transparent and she could still see without, but as it closed over her the membrane knitted together solid as though it had never been apart. The organic, fleshy bag that contained her began to secrete a viscous liquid that quickly filled the entire chamber. Panic gripped her as the fluid inevitably filled her lungs, but as before, she found not only that she could breathe it in, but it instilled in her less of a desire to respirate at all. Each inhalation made her sleepier and sleepier, until her eyelids began to give way. The companion egg buzzed, and she felt herself sinking into deeply sexual dreams involving her new queen.
Somehow, Vinyl knew these would be her only dreams from now on.
“You are the first of many,” Vinyl’s queen said from afar. “Breed, and serve me well.”
* * * * *
Vinyl Scratch, stage name ‘DJ-Pon3’, was a star.
From her humble roots in the cradle of her hometown of Ponyville, she had risen through a turbulent adolescence and young adulthood in a tapestry of sex, drugs, and rave-drenched musical madness. Those who sought to write her biography cited a time, after a performance at a certain club with a modular dressing room, where everything seemed to change. Her career had continued to explode, but somehow her countenance, from that point on, never seemed to tarnish. Turbulent and wild in the ‘before’ time, she had changed over, somehow, into a happy and contented mare, who went on about the business of her art with boundless energy and few creases in her brow.
Hormones? Instinct?
None could say. She remained a spinster, loving but never committing, and seemed to have no interest in foals of her own. Her constant smile was infuriating to those who envied her for her happiness, and aside from the bouts of bizarre behavior (for she had a habit of taking several months out of every year to sabbatical in parts unknown) she seemed never to be the worse for wear. Her ‘mental health vacations’ became a fad like the latest trendy dieting techniques, with other beleaguered celebrities choosing to vacation to faraway islands for a month or more at a time in hopes of finding true solace. She would return with her signature sunglasses and a few extra pounds around her waist, suggesting that whatever she was up to, it was a matter of indulgence. She might have been even richer and more famous if she would only stop taking such long trips, but no amount of interview or suggestion could ever sway her, nor would she explain herself beyond obfuscating commentary.
But she was not the only one. In more modest walks of life, other ponies had begun a similar trend. These were usually not famous and thus not as easy to notice, but if one were to scrutinize, there was a clear difference in those who followed Vinyl’s lead just to seek respite from their lives, and those who truly possessed her unknowable sense of devotion. These specimens of ponykind, who seemed as pleased with their lives as she whom they emulated, passed one another on the street with knowing smiles, always keeping others out of the joke. Some among their number were influential still, living quiet lives in strategic or socially influential posts that were of greatest benefit to their ‘queen’.
There was only one way to understand, and this was beyond the faculties of anypony to bring about on their own. It was only by the behest of the high queen, dispatching one of her rare daughters on a mission to acquire yet another breeder, that mere ponies could ever know the bliss of being implanted with a companion. It was the companion who drove them through their days in peace, and sexually charged nights where they rubbed themselves silly pining for their next time to play host. When they were called, each pony went away willingly to incubate in a cocoon, lay their eggs, and care for the new generation of the changeling race, until time called them again to serve. They were never alone, for the voice deep inside spoke to them, guiding them to their true roles in life.
They were little ponies, one and all. Little ponies set on a path that one day they would all share, and none of them would have to hide the pleasure and pain that so enraptured them. They slept each night, borne through the middling hours by thoughts filled with the heaviness of eggs. Each day they tackled with gusto; the voice inside bidding them to stay healthy, sound, and good breeding stock for their queen.
Vinyl Scratch answered to her princess. But with her dear friend and lover Octavia, she devoted her body to her hive, and her actions to the subtle conscription of more hosts. In so doing, she served her queen.