Chapter I
Lyra sees Bon Bon cast her a forlorn glance and sigh while walking by with another mare. Lyra longs for the sweet taste of Bon Bon's lips, among other parts of her, but she knows discovering the truth has to take precedence over her base desires. On the other hoof, she hasn't had sex in weeks. Her efforts to pleasure herself, magical and mundane, have paled in comparison to Bon Bon's skillful tongue, and the longing is driving her mad.
Seeing her with another mare, though, Lyra has to wonder if Bon Bon hasn't already found a replacement. Maybe that's a good thing, though. Maybe Lyra can find somepony more accepting of her unique passion. The cute librarian who lent her the conjuration grimoire, Twilight, is a possibility. Twilight had taken a passing interest in Lyra's studies and wanted to attend the ritual herself to be one of the first ponies to see if humans are real, but she couldn't make it.
Lyra considers visiting the library to see if Twilight might be able to attend after all. Lyra smiles. What a first date that would be. Ultimately, she decides against it. She can't risk missing her window of opportunity. Lunar eclipses only happen two or three times a year, and this one has nearly reached its totality.
After sparing a moment to marvel at the moon's appearance, which reminds her of a tea-soaked breakfast cracker, she rolls onto her belly from her humanoid sitting position, steps off the bench, trots in her front door, and locks it behind her. She extinguished all the oil lamps to give the impression that nopony was home, so the only light in the room filters through the windows from the moon and stars. The last thing she needs is to be interrupted during the casting. Twilight warned that the target could get garbled in transit and arrive as a twitching blob of broken bones, ruptured organs, and bodily fluids.
Lyra levitates a book of matches from the cupboard as she slips into the pitch-black cellar. When all four of her hooves are safely on the cement floor, she tears out a match and strikes its head against the red phosphorus strip, filling the mostly-empty room with dim yellow-orange light.
Chalked into the center of the floor is a scale drawing of something she saw on a tattered sheet of parchment during her visit to the Canterlot Archives' Ancient History Wing called the Vitruvian Man. She's not sure why it has eight limbs, as the few other images of humans she's seen only have four. Unlike the original, her version was surrounded by two concentric circles, between which are twelve arcane glyphs spaced evenly apart and accented by twelve crude tallow candles—those had been the hardest things to acquire. Fortunately, a tragically misinformed griffin trader passed through town the other week hawking salted meats and other animal products. Before he was run out of town, she bought his entire supply of tallow and shaped the candles herself. Bon Bon would have a conniption.
Having counted off the seconds since she went inside, Lyra is confident the time to begin casting is upon her. She stands between the stairs and the head of her drawing, braces her hooves, shuts her eyes, and lights her horn.
The glow starts slow, but as the same golden aura that surrounds her horn begins to creep around the circles, snake through the glyphs, and finally fill out the Vitruvian Man's figure, its brightness amplifies until her horn looks like a sparking torch and bathes the room in rich golden light. Fortunately, the cellar windows are blacked out.
The candles flare brighter until they appear to be twelve shining stars descended from the sky, accelerating their liquidation. As the tallow melts, it fills out the lines, and the magical energy already stored there boils it and ignites the vapor.
Lyra feels her awareness drift away from her body and conjoin with the magical energy crackling in the air. She worries she's losing consciousness until she remembers what Twilight said about this part of the spell. Not only is everything going according to plan, but the really fun part is about to begin.
Lyra barely finishes the thought before it hits her. Unlike her past experiences with various mind-altering substances, the peak doesn't come gradually. Instead, she's launched out of her body and into the sky faster than the speed of light. She waves to the photons radiating from Celestia's sun as she soars past and gazes out across the universe at the nearby planets, stars, and galaxies. She sees them all in a panoramic view. Though she never feels herself turn, probably by virtue of her lack of a body, she finds herself careening back to her own galaxy, her own star, and her own planet.
She slows impossibly quickly as she reenters the atmosphere, but she's still going fast enough to snap her neck when she careens through the roof of her house. Instead of dying instantly, she phases through the roof unharmed and lands in her bedroom—only it's not her bedroom at all. The wallpaper is different, the furniture is too big, and a slender, hairless primate is occupying the bed. Realizing she has some semblance of a body again, she walks over. Her bangs fall before her face, but she sees through them as they're not really there.
She raises herself onto her hind legs, balances her forelegs on the bedspread, and stares down at the being which she now recognizes as a pale-skinned male human with short raven-black hair. Only his head and shoulders are visible. Fascinated, she reaches down to pull back the blanket and get a closer look at him, but her hoof phases through to his skin and a blinding flash envelopes the room. The floor falls out from beneath her hooves.
The human awakes to a golden light piercing his eyelids. He rolls onto his chest, feels cold cement press against his bare skin, props himself up on his arms, and opens his eyes.
Dilated amber eyes stare back. They belong to a kneeling mint-green unicorn pony with a white-highlighted turquoise mane who must have evolved in an environment where cuteness is the most favorable trait to survival. He's no expert, but her facial features imply that she's a mare. The light is coming from her horn.
"I must be dreaming," the human says. Until that point, he was sure her eyes couldn't get any wider. They did.
"You can talk?" the unicorn asks, her mouth agape. She rises to her full height—about four feet.
For his part, the human is less surprised by her ability to talk than how his gaining lucidity hasn't woken him up. He decides to play along while it lasts, grins, and says, "Shouldn't you be more surprised that we speak the same language?"
"Huh, that is weird." The unicorn taps her chin with her hoof. Her nose scrunches up in adorable concentration. She gasps. Her entire demeanor changes. "I haven't introduced myself yet! I'm Lyra Heartstrings. Do humans have names? If so, what's yours?" She squeals. "Oh my gosh, I have so many questions, and you can answer them because you can talk!"
"All right, let's start with names." The human shifts into a cross-legged sitting position.
Lyra watches with rapt attention, realizes her eyes have drifted to his crotch, blushes, and looks away. Her tail swishes. "Right, let's do that."
The human notices, but he's had far too many naked dreams to care. Besides, she's technically naked too. His heartbeat quickens for some reason. "Humans do have names. As for mine, well, you can call me Jack." He grins amicably. "Do you mind my calling you Lyra, Ms. Heartstrings?"
Looking back, Lyra notices his stature for the first time—even sitting, he's a head taller than her. His gleaming canines make her uneasy. "I, uh..."
Remembering he's a predator talking to prey and not wanting to risk getting gored on her horn, he lets his grin fall into a soft smile and says, "Sorry, I forgot bared teeth are a threat display among most animals. In my culture, a grin is usually a friendly gesture with the intent of putting the recipient at ease. For what it's worth, we don't eat ponies."
"It's the same in my culture—the gesture, I mean—but ponies don't have, you know, canines. That said, I don't mind your calling me Lyra."
Jack reaches out his hand. "In that case, it's a pleasure to meet you, Lyra."
Assuming the gesture is the human equivalent of a hoofshake, Lyra reaches out her foreleg and suppresses a gasp at the sensation of his fingers wrapping around her hoof. "It's, ah, a pleasure to meet you too, Jack."
Jack lets go of her hoof and chuckles as her eyes remain fixed on his hand. "You said you had other questions, right?"
Her trance broken, Lyra looks up to meet his faded blue eyes, smiles, and walks over to the stairs. "Let's talk in the living room. You look chilly."
Jack hasn't noticed until now, but what hair he does have is standing on end. As he follows her up the stairs, his eyes linger on her flanks. Without thinking, he says, "Your tattoo matches your name."
"Cutie mark," Lyra corrects him. A few seconds later, she realizes he's checking her out, feels a wave of heat between her thighs, blushes, and tucks her tail. She walks into the living room, lights the oil lamp on the coffee table, and turns to him. Seeing his tilted head, she explains, "It represents my special talent. Everypony has one."
Jack sits on the nearest couch. "You're a lyrist, then. Perhaps I could hear you play later."
Lyra smiles, sits on the couch opposite him in as perfect a mimicry of his posture as her anatomy allows, realizes the pose leaves her nether region exposed, and crosses her hind legs. "Perhaps later, yes. You have to understand. I never dreamed I'd be talking to a living, breathing human."
Jack watches in fascination as she levitates over a quill, ink, and parchment as if by magic. All things considered, magic is probably responsible.
"I have so many questions, and I'm sure you have a few of your own. First and foremost, I'd like to know about human biology. I thought I might have to examine you, well, personally, but since we're both sentient, that seems too intimate. Fortunately, you can just tell me what I want to know."
The thought strikes Jack that he wouldn't mind playing doctor with Lyra. He shakes his head, reminds himself that he's dealing with a magical talking pony, and asks, "Where should I begin?"
Some time later, Lyra finds her focus on his answers slipping in favor of the gesticulations he makes with his hands while speaking. She cuts off his answer to her latest question, whatever it was, to ask, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I can't help noticing your hands. I've seen dragons, griffins, and plenty of other creatures with things like them, but none have anything like your level of articulation. Do you think, maybe, I could take a closer look at one?"
Having grown bored with the interview and mildly surprised he hadn't woken up yet, Jack is happy for the change of pace. He gestures for her to join him.
Having become comfortable enough around him to watch him grin without flinching, Lyra steps off her couch without a second thought, steps onto his, sits beside him, and takes his offered hand in her hooves, which seem crude and simple next to his hand's complex tendon, joint, and muscle structure. She bends his fingers inward, gently tests how far back they go, giggles and draws her hoof away when he tickles the spot where it meets her leg, and comments, "Humans must have really neat writing."
"I'm sure it's nothing compared to what your magic can do, but if you want, I can give you an example."
Thrilled at the prospect of having some record of their encounter, Lyra offers him the quill and parchment and watches over his shoulder.
Jack writes in immaculate cursive, "Would you like to see something else hands are good for?"
Lyra grins, takes the quill in her magic, and giddily begins jotting down the many, many things she imagines hands must be good for. She drops the quill, lets out a pleasured gasp, and flicks her ear as his fingers scratch its base. Her train of thought melts. She leans into his touch, rubs her furry cheek against his bare chest, and climbs into his lap. Her side brushes against his belly. Something else brushes against hers. She blushes and backpedals to the opposite end of the couch. Her eyes fall on his erection.
Jack follows her gaze. His eyes widen. He grabs a pillow to cover himself, shoots her an apologetic look, and says, "Sorry, I didn't realize you'd be so affected, but seeing you like that, I couldn't stop myself."
Lyra laughs nervously and says, "You know, this could be a good segue into human sexuality."
Jack's mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water as he tries to wrap his head around that.
Realizing her hind legs are spread wide enough to leave exactly nothing to the imagination, Lyra crosses them, tucks her hoof in to cover her vagina, which quivers with pleasure at the contact. "A discussion of human sexuality, I mean. I wasn't suggesting we actually have sex. We're not even the same species!"
Jack picks his jaw up off the floor and turns the situation over in his head. His inner philosopher takes center stage while his inner sex fiend simmers on the back burner. "Why should that matter? We're both intelligent, emotional creatures, so hypothetically, we're both capable of giving consent, and under the right circumstances, developing romantic feelings for one another. That's the difference between xenophilia and zoophilia."
"What about the age difference? A decade may be a relatively brief window of time for you, but most ponies are born, live, and die within three."
"Any number of things could stand between a lasting relationship—age, stature, sterility, and the whole predator-prey dynamic, not to mention the countless cultural complications. On the other hand, being intelligent, emotional creatures, both humans and ponies often have sex for sex's sake."
Lyra has occasionally fantasized about this moment while spending late nights studying alone in the dark, and though she's hesitant, the scent of her arousal betrays her.
"The issue comes down to consent." Jack removes the pillow, exposing his aching erection. "Species be damned, I'd be a horrible liar if I said I wasn't attracted to you."
Her heart pounding, Lyra admits, "I'm not generally attracted to stallions, but while you have the same basic, ah, features, you're something else entirely, and after seeing your hands in action, I can't help wondering about something else they might be good for... Besides, we wouldn't just be having sex for sex's sake. It'd also be for science's sake."
Jack laughs. "Experience is the best teacher, after all."
Lyra crawls back over and says, "If we're really going through with this, I'll want to know what I'm getting myself into first."
Jack turns to lie back against the couch, props himself up on one arm, and spreads his legs, resting one on the floor and swinging the other around to lean against the back of the couch.
Lyra lowers her head to eye level with his crotch and studies his erection like a clinician. She runs her hoof up his shaft, eliciting a throb. Without warning, she licks his glans and takes it into her warm mouth.
Jack moans and reaches out his free hand to massage her ear. He's always found fellatio somewhat demeaning—probably from watching smutty porn—but as her wide, wet tongue paints swathes of saliva around his glans and his foreskin slides up and down in time with her lips, telling her to stop is the last thing on his mind. Only when he realizes that her ministrations are pushing him toward ejaculation much too soon does the thought cross his mind. He moves his hand from her ear to caress her cheek and gently slide her off.
"Is something wrong?" Lyra asks.
"Believe me, Lyra, nothing has ever felt so right, but if we don't switch places, you'll never know what I mean," Jack says. More forcefully than he intends, he pushes her back against the couch. The look in her eyes tells him she likes being taken, so he brandishes his canines in a wolfish grin before stretching her hind legs apart, lowering his head between her thighs, and grazes her slick vulva with his thin tongue. In contrast, he's always found cunnilingus incredibly sexy.
"Ooh, Jack," Lyra moans as his tongue slides between her labia with ease and snakes around her sensitive inner walls. As he begins lapping and nipping at her engorged clitoris, massaging her smooth nipples with one hand, and penetrating her vagina with the other, her eyes roll back and she pants for air. She can't help wondering what Bon Bon would say upon seeing her like this. Of course, Bon Bon is probably too busy getting eaten out by that other mare to be going anywhere.
The thought makes Lyra even more aroused. She shudders, kicks her hind leg, and lets out a long, soft moan as she feels a welcome tingling building between her thighs. When he pulls away, she props herself up and asks, "Why did you stop?"
Jack doesn't answer. Instead, he stalks on top of her like a wolf advancing on a cornered rabbit, plants a ravenous kiss on her lips, letting her taste herself on his tongue, spreads her labia with one hand while keeping balance with the other, and pushes his erection into her vagina.
"Aah!" Lyra gasps in pleasurable shock, breaking the kiss. She's experimented with toys in the past, but a living, throbbing organ is another matter entirely. Already being thoroughly worked up, her vagina stretches to accommodate his erection with ease. Despite the size difference, he stops just short of her cervix at full penetration. She doesn't have much time to grow accustomed to the feeling of being so completely filled before he pulls out to where only his glans remains nestled between her labia.
Without warning, Jack plunges back in, eliciting another gasp, and another, and another as his thrusting adopts a rhythm. Knowing that won't be enough to push her over the edge, he tilts his upper body back to stay balanced as he massages her nipples with one hand and her clitoris with the other. Feeling himself drawing near sooner than intended, he maintains his pace, pinches and rubs her clitoris with greater intensity, and brushes his other hand up her chest from her nipples to the base of her ear for the coup de grace.
Lyra's gasps and moans become a single drawn-out squeal. Lyra arches her back, throws her forelegs around him, and hugs his torso against her chest. Her vagina clenching around his erection pushes him over the edge before he can withdraw. Pressure fills her vagina, releasing in a dribble of opaque fluids as he pulls out.
When Jack doesn't awaken as he usually does by now, he realizes two things: first, she wasn't lying about conjuring him from across space and time, and second, he really did just drive a magical talking pony to orgasm. Too exhausted to even think about the broader implications of the former, he focuses on the latter and cracks a grin as he catches his breath. His heaving breaths become mirthful laughs.
"What's so funny?" Lyra asks, opening her amber eyes to gaze up at him.
Jack's laughter subsides. "You and me, a human and a unicorn, just had wild, passionate sex, and I'm totally all right with that."
Lyra manages a weak laugh through her physical and mental exhaustion. "Imagine what this looks like from my position. A bald, lanky primate appears in my cellar under the lunar eclipse, and what's the first thing I do? I lay back on the couch, spread my thighs, and let him take me."
Jack quirks his eyebrow. "You make it sound like you didn't put up a fight. I had to wax philosophical before you let me have my way with you."
Lyra gives his erection a teasing rub with her swollen vulva. "I just can't believe we wasted so much time talking."
Jack kisses her gently and lies down beside her.
Lyra shifts onto her side, snuggles up against him, nestles her head in the crook of his neck, and sighs in post-coital bliss.
Jack wraps his arm around her warm body and caresses her furry chest with his hand, feeling her heartbeat descend to baseline. During the night, the universe gets its act together and returns him to his normal space and time.
Lyra sleeps better than she has in weeks.