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Prisoner of the Changelings

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by anonymous

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A continuation of Broken by the Changelings.

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Arctic groaned, blinking slowly, coming back to reality. It was not really waking, kind of, in the state he was in, though it was hard for the pegasus pony to think like that anymore, to think of his wings, which were wrapped up in the solidified goo. He was there and that was all there was to his life, his world, everything narrowing in to the Changeling hive as if he had never before experienced anything else at all.

But he was a pony, a pegasus pony, and he knew too that he had to remember that, even as the Changelings used him. Every part of him felt stuffed with Chrysalis' eggs and goo, so much in his stomach that he didn't know where the natural shape of his body lay anymore. He was bloated, more of a belly than anything else, another lump behind it proving awkward, pressing up to the heaving, trembling round of his stomach. That second bulge was the organs of his lower abdomen, yet it was so obscene and grotesque that it could not be missed even while it could not honestly be identified as any real, recognisable part of his body anymore, rolls of egg-hoarding belly and gut dominating everything.

His hide had been a light shade of blue, once. Now, that was not the case. He didn't know what colour his soft fur and feathers were under all of the mess, the green goop that the Changelings secreted clinging to him, coating everything except the holes that Queen Chrysalis needed. Arctic quivered. The queen... Oh, she came for him, from time to time, commenting on him, how he needed her to survive down there. He didn't know what else his forced mistress thought was the case when it was her that had imprisoned him but, with her making use of his mouth to lay more eggs, using her ovipositor, into his stomach, he didn't get the chance to ask.

"You will be perfect for my plans," she hissed venomously, her tone not matching up with her words, on her last visit. "Those princesses will never know what hit them, the fools! To think that they thought that they could cast me out and nothing would happen by way of retribution?"

Arctic had gulped and hacked as a Changeling drone ground onto his mouth, using him for oral pleasure, though his tongue was tired and weak even as it lapped into her cunny, playing over the hole through which she defecated too. It was not the usual anatomy that he was familiar with as a pony but it was not as if the Changelings, of course, were just pony-type bodies, but insects too. That was where the egg-laying came in.

"So big... So powerful..."

He was not so much of a fool as to think that she was talking about him, of course not. No, that was what she thought of her hive, her own power, the plans she had in store for a world that seduced her into so much more. Domination and dominance - the same but different, according to the queen - were her goals, to bring revenge raining down upon all those that had ever wronged her with an army of drones.

Arctic shuddered. After she'd left, his stomach had been left extra-bloated, her ovipositor having been rammed up under his tail for hours, or so it felt. They added more and more eggs to him as if he was an endless type of vessel, though he felt that there had to be some limit, eventually, to the stretchiness of his skin, some boundary that they simply would not be able to cross with him.

Maybe. Maybe not. There was no way for him to tell until that moment was reached.

He trembled, a horde of drones flowing in - how many were there? He couldn't even move his head as they swarmed him, too many to count, filling his vision. Of course, Chrysalis had left his cock out and hard, constantly, a ring of goo around the base solidified so that the option to soften simply wasn't there for him. They ground back onto his cock, taking him into what he thought was their vents but he could not tell, because, of course, the drones did not typically breed. Maybe they could, but even though he was perhaps the pony best placed in the whole of Equestria to speak of Changelings and their lives, he didn't know whether Chrysalis would ever have her drones actually breed.

"Ah, I see they are already making use of you."

That had to be Chrysalis, but there was nothing that Arctic could see around the rump of yet another drone as they ground back onto his face, the fluttering buzz of their wings filling his senses. His cock was swollen, thick with desire, a good part of the length plunged into a drone, though they could not get the entire fullness of his prick into their depths. That was a shame, but the kind of shame that was derived from lust-fuelled passion, blind to all else. It was not as if, after all, there was anything else in his sex-driven world down there, locked in the hive, held in constant bondage.

Chrysalis laughed, hovering before him as her horn glowed a sickly green and her wings buzzed, easily able to keep even her larger form aloft. Oh, she had drunk down so much love and lust from him that she had grown in power more than she had imagined would be possible from a single pony, her ovipositor out and already aching to penetrate him again. The act of laying, undoubtedly, gave her pleasure too, even if it was more driven by the curling of dominance, the throbbing deep in her gut that told her that it was time, that the Changelings would once again rise up against the scourge of ponies.

He turned his head back and forth, suddenly devoid of any drone making use of his muzzle, though their goo and slickness remained. They seemed to secrete that goo more than any arousal, their bodies different in away that left him trying to catch up on what he knew about them constantly, even if things were not so dire that he had to learn. And yet there was so much slime, coating his body, oozing and dripping from the ceiling, the chamber in which she had bound him large but not large enough that he did not feel the constraints of it around him.

Some goo rang solid, holding him in place, though it was more restrictive than any rope or leather or even latex had been with Fluttershy. His heart panged for her but he had to put his real mistress from his mind, a prisoner of the Changelings even as Chrysalis paused, eyes greedily roaming his thicker, fatter form. With so little activity in his life, he had grown heavier in more ways than one, a little less shapeless still than he would have been if he had not been bloated with the fertilised eggs of the Changeling queen.

Chrysalis' eyes gleamed.

"Here..."

It was a croon but the kind of croon that he would have done well to reel from, for nuances like that only promised trouble for him. A collar of goo slopped around his neck, stiffening and firming up, but that was not Chrysalis' reason for finding just another way in which to abuse him. Her hoof boasted a thick dollop of that goo and it was too easy for her to force him to open up his muzzle wide to take it inside, shoving it straight down his throat as he weakly struggled.

"There, there... Just take down the cushioning for my eggs, little egg-whore. Keep them in there, nice and safe."

Her voice could have been tender if not for the vast amounts of goo that her hooves were stuffing down his throat, again and again, working quickly, his cheeks bloating out as they filled with the slime. His eyes bulged but any weak struggles that he was, in fact, able to make, may as well have not come to anything at all, his tail flicking back and forth faintly where it had, curiously, been left out of the slurp and slop of viscous or solid goo.

"Yes..."

She leaned in, lips parting, tongue dangling out between her fangs hungrily, panting and heaving for more. Always more, yes, always, that was the matter with it, what she had to lean into, all that she wanted to do for her drones, for her hive, for the sake of her power. The bloating swell of his stomach as the goo slipped down, so far down, could not be denied and neither was the rising arousal from the slave-pony before her - the only pony stallion that she had ever found use for in all her time.

He squirmed. He wriggled. His cock throbbed, a load of cum pouring into a drone who had impaled themselves on his cock, though Arctic hardly felt any pleasure from that anymore. He'd been bound and forced to cum so many times over that it no longer was any kind of event, but every orgasm that was forced upon him left him with more strain.

That was why the goo forced down his throat had him huffing and puffing, grunting and whining, more than ever. There were little true pleasures left in his life, though he could not place the taste of it, the slickness of it, the consistency... Oh, it had him thrusting and grinding, rolling his hips, imagining well and truly that he was more in control of the situation than he was. But it was the bondage too that had him panting shortly and sharply through his nostrils, forced to take more and more down his throat, even the lumps.

Arctic quivered, feeling as if his hide was tingling all over without due cause, aching with a strange sense of misplaced glee. Nothing made sense, but it did not have to make sense in his imprisonment, as two drones at once ground up on his cock from either side, using him as a living sex toy. In their service to the queen, their pleasure leaned into the pleasure of the queen, allowing them to be serviced, to be pleased, all for the fact that they could then become more pleasing themselves to the queen.

It was goo, but it was still a waste product that the Changelings secreted, drooling thickly over his lips as the queen swapped to her horn, eyes alight with greedy lust. She moaned out loud, feeding off his sexual energy, as she pushed on, the goo slipping down his throat, her Changeling magic more easily than ever able to make sure that his throat opened up wide around the stuffing of the goo. It was not all easy to swallow but that was quite alright as she was more than willing to make sure that not a drop went to waste, catching any drips that broke free only to shove them violently down his throat.

"Get it all down... Mmmm..."

She had fed him with the goo, at first, with the thought that it would better cushion the eggs in his stomach, but his lust feeding her, fuelling her... Ah, that was even better to push into. She groaned out loud, not the sort of queen to hide her ecstasy in any way, even for something like that. Her tongue lashed the side of her muzzle as if she was savouring something deviously sweet, even in that moment, feeding on his lust. Was he really enjoying it?

Not that that mattered to her, of course, in any way other than what she was able to take from him, to drain from him, sucking it all down, throat working as if it was something that she quite literally needed to swallow. His fat cheeks, goo sliding down his chin, staining what could be seen of his coat... His wide eyes wanted it but the throbbing of his cock still told the tale that had made him perfect for her egg-slave in the first place, the only one that should ever have been kept there, in her hive, for her to feed off. Any other pony would have taken more energy from her and her hive in sustaining than he had required, but all that Arctic was forced to give was reaped back in heaps and piles.

Enough to feed her. Enough to feed her drones. Enough to grow an army.

Yet consent was not in the air, even as more and more thick goo slipped down his throat. Although it had always been all around him, the pony had never paid all that much attention to it, his bondage and use taking more of his mind. Yet the consistency of it differed, some runnier and flowing more freely even though he didn't quite know what to make of that either, amidst the lumps and bumps of it. The thickest stuff was the most frequent as it slopped onto his tongue and the pungent smell overwhelmed him at such close quarters. Even though it had surrounded him for so long in the hive, his sense of smell and proximity from it had lessened over time, easing down... Yet that could not be denied when he was up close and personal with it.

Chrysalis chuckled. That was never a good sign and yet she hooked her magic into the corners of his lips, forcing him to hold his mouth open, though a gag of hard goo was usually used to keep him in place. Sometimes there was simply pleasure in her doing it herself also, though she could always, at any point, delegate to any one of her drones when she tired of abusing him, one way or another.

Arctic groaned, goo oozing viciously from the corners of his lips, slopping and slurping forth, though it was as if she was trying to overfill him, pushing him too far so that he could not, in fact, handle it all for himself. The pony grunted, cool and wet, wriggling, squirming, yet too many sensations all clouded in on one another all at once that he could not focus on anything to the exclusion of all else.

Chrysalis licked his cheek, one of the only "clean" patches, if he could even be called that, eyes narrowing with wicked, Changeling glee. Oh, he didn't know, couldn't know, the filthy stallion... She could never expect anything less from a pony from Equestria, after all.

"You know where this goo comes from, don't you, slave?"

Arctic blinked, eyes half-lidded. He didn't even have enough strength to open them anymore, though it was pleasing, in a tiny way, how it filled his belly. In a way, it made it more comfortable for him to hold the eggs, though he was very much aware that there was not much of their goo slopping around inside him as yet.

Chrysalis, instead of telling him, turned her rump to his face, showing him what he already knew. What lay under her tail may not have been typical, considering her ovipositor, but that it was the waste product that he had been ingesting all that time gave things a disgustingly erotic edge. Of course, he could not help but reel from it, his muzzle wrinkled, drawing back and away, gulping down what air there was still available for the soft sanctity of his lungs, yet Chrysalis was not allowing that, oh no. She already had the little pony-slave right where she wanted him.

He shuddered, the dank, stank secretions slipping down his throat as he gulped and almost had to chew some of it. He shouldn't have gagged but maybe it was Chrysalis' informing of him of exactly what it was that had his stomach twisting and lurching, suddenly all too aware of the sheer weight of the eggs inside him, how they made his belly sag, pulling down despite the round of it.

There was so much inside him, the drones grinding on his cock, the taste of the scat-goo overwhelming him, bulging, squirming, churning. How could he possibly only think of one thing when he was there, a prisoner to so much, everything at once? He panted and heaved, nostrils fluttering as he did his very best to suck in what air he could. Yet that goo seemed to become more and more watery, a splattering stream coating his muzzle as Chrysalis cruelly turned her back on him, tail lifting, painting him in the excreted mess.

He couldn't have closed his muzzle if he'd tried, the shapes of so many bulging eggs showing through the skin of his belly, the skin there seeming so thin that any one could burst through without any notice at all. Chrysalis fed him direct from the source, though it did not feel quite like the tail holes that he was used to pleasing as his muzzle was crushed up against it. Too late, he realised that his muzzle had been hooked open with a cruel sort of gag that lay across the roof of his mouth and forced his tongue down, making him gag constantly. It could have been something similar to a ring gag that had been forced back behind his teeth, in an unconventional position, but he was hardly in any position to find out the minute details of it.

The world turned around him, Chrysalis whispering how he would be fed on their scat-goo forevermore, always bound, always fed, kept alive merely by her will and generosity. Of course, that was only for as long as it would last, the pegasus pony shaking, quivering, tongue flickering weakly within his muzzle. It was crude and rude for him to be fed from her rump and he tried to tell himself that he had no choice in it, that there really was no option there for him, exhausted and broken, his will lost.

Only...the act of not resisting was something of a submission in itself, his cock aching, drooling, allowing the drones to have all the fun with him that they wanted too. They did not only use him for their sexual pleasure but took turns using their weaker magic to splatter him with goo as if he was a target, a toy for them to amuse themselves with and nothing more. He shivered, eyes half-lidded, Chrysalis' shapely backside filling his vision, her frayed tail falling over his head. Yes... That was all he was to them, something that they could take advantage of as and when it pleased them...

Arctic groaned. Wasn't that what he'd wanted? Wasn't that what his life was like already? Maybe it was merely a fantasy realised to be bound and trapped, the lines of desire blurring so that the stallion no longer honestly knew what was against his will or not. It was hard to think of his life, his real life, his old life, when Chrysalis pushed up against him, watery goo seeping down his throat, her magic forcing him to tilt his head up.

"Yesss..."

It may have been crude and it may have been carnal, his stomach grumbling and churning, rising more and more as his body seemed to impose in on the walls, taking up more space than ever, but Chrysalis needed to feed. That required magic, a finer touch, licking her lips and dragging herself off him with a heave and a grunt of physical effort. It was harder to drag herself away when there was so much sexual energy flowing from him, intoxicating and alluring, but she had to, had to take his power, his energy, to feed herself and her drones.

All Arctic knew was that the good that had held him suspended in the middle of the laying chamber was suddenly soft and pliable, proving something that he had suspected was possible: that the Changelings, depending on their powers, could change its consistency at will. His worlds shifted, turning head over heels, the lumbering round of his belly gurgling, more and more goo slipping down, cushioning the eggs, softening their suspension within him, though he didn't know what to think about that. His world had narrowed so much that anything drew on his need more hungrily than ever, attention something merely to break up the lustful, keening monotony of his days.

Feed... His eyes fluttered blearily, the goo hardening again as he was positioned on his front, head forced up as if there was a posture collar around his neck, looking straight ahead of him. The pony's body was comically small attached to the gluttonous belly and he felt the weight of it sagging more readily than ever, as if his very body was striving to pull him down into the ground. Yet the goo was too strong for that, even though he had gained a colossal amount of weight from the eggs and goo inside him, more forced into his mouth, Chrysalis returning to a more traditional manner of feeding.

The drones used him, slurping on his cock, taking his pre-cum, feeding from him as they fed him with their bodies, though it was Chrysalis that dominated, her horn working overtime as she drank down his energy. More and more goo was forced into his mouth, a never-ending stream, though she was not so mild-mannered by any means to only focus on one part of his body.

After all, she had laid her eggs into a very different hole and part of him...

As she stuffed his mouth, letting the thicker lumps of goo slop down his throat, violently ramming them in when they were too big for the "opening" she had left in his gag, her ovipositor extended, slipping out. It was flexible, able to curve and turn back and forth for her to lay her eggs wherever they were needed, ready to do her job as hive queen. And that was a role that she took exceptionally seriously.

Arctic grunted, his tail hole exposed, the ovipositor stabbing deep, though it gave him something else to think about other than the thick, almost aniseed-like taste of the goo forced into his mouth. It thickened more and more, forcing him to try to push it down his own throat with his tongue - a reflex that he had never before considered coming into play, not even at a time like that. Yet all his body knew was that there was something in his mouth, the back of his throat, and it needed to go down, his gag reflex non-existent after all the abuse.

"I think this will remind you a little more of your past life, pony-slave..."

He blinked. What di that mean? Oh, there was almost no sense at all in wondering, eggs pushing into him, a muted whimper locked in his throat, muffled by the scat-goo. There was no escaping it, evading it, only bearing through it, the incredible strain of being filled from both ends at once burning through him.

He could not have said what was worse, the thickening, lumpy consistency of the goo as she magicked it into his mouth repeatedly, barely allowing him enough time between weak gulps to breathe, or the feel of more eggs pushing up inside him. When they were forced into his tail-star, it was not only that previously tight pucker that took the pain of it, forcing their way, one after the other, past the old scar just inside his entrance, the strain of his passage being forced wider than it naturally should have been able to go seeping through him.

And then there was more, the feel of the eggs bumping into one another, a little slick to ease their passage, the act of their laying, working their way deeper, up past his colon, into his intestines. He had been stuffed with many substances before but the eggs, oh - they were something unique, something to which, with their size and shape, relentless in numbers, there could never be any comparison. They were not all uniform in shape, but he was all too aware of the precious cargo inside each one, the unborn life that was growing, learning, shifting and changing, becoming a Changeling larvae as his body harboured them.

They worked their way through his body, plopping into his stomach from the wrong direction, his gut gurgling and churning as his belly expanded more and more. To think that he had once been able to look down and see his hooves was laughable, considering how much had been forced into him, the goo softening the eggs, incubating them a little better than his body may have been able to do on its own. For that was all he was to them, a vessel for eggs, a creature to be used, always to be used.

He blinked and groaned, thicker lumps of goo that felt more like pony-droppings squelching into his mouth, feeling more and more familiar to something that he had experienced before. But be could not slip back to that, not when he was there, not when he was their slave, panting and heaving, his gut twisting as he wanted to wretch. Yet his body would not even complete the motion for him, as much as he yearned to heave, a thicker reek of something like spoiled fruit clawing at his nostrils.

"Familiar, pony?" Chrysalis' smirk could not go any wider. "Even my shit is better than that of the princesses! Your inclinations cannot be hidden, weakling..."

Yes, but not in the way she thought, Arctic moaned in the sanctity of his own mind, head swimming. He could not talk, had no need to talk, scat-goo like horse-apples squashing into his mouth, her magic controlling every "dropping" that she amused herself in stuffing him with. It would all serve her purposes, of course, but the abuse and power over him was very much a bonus that she was not at all keen to relinquish her hold on, not as she filled him with goo-scat. No... No, it was potent, alluringly so, and Arctic was starting to believe that there was no other use for him in the world other than to hold her eggs.

He couldn't concentrate even solely on the bump and grind of the eggs in his gut, the visceral pain as his belly billowed out. Although he wanted to get a sense of the scale of it, it simply was not possible, syrupy, watery goo splattering his muzzle again. More goo dripped from his cock as the drones amused themselves, though others cared for their queen, kissing her, worshipping her, helping her lay even more of her eggs inside him.

There had to be a limit but, if there was one, it was not one that Arctic had found yet as he tried to make his throat work, goo piling up in his mouth. He was tired, so very tired, yet all that was left for him was the act of servitude, doing all that he could for his queen. Whether that was true submission or a survival mechanism was something else entirely, something that he would never know the answer to while he was the prisoner of the Changelings, but it did not matter either. All that mattered was the lumpy, rank, sickly consistency of the ever-changing goo-scat as it was rammed down his throat.

No bodily mechanism was a match for magic, after all, Chrysalis not a queen who took "no" for an answer. If he struggled to swallow, working his throat, she would "help" him along there, yanking his jaws a little wider, stuffing his face until his cheeks bulged. It was forced down his throat like icing from a pipette bag, through a hole that was so small that everything could be directed neatly, delicately, even if there was nothing delicate about what she was doing to him. It squished and squelched, sounds rippling forth, oozing down his throat, softening a little. The different consistencies, in a way, helped him take it all down, for Arctic hardly knew what he would have done if every drop of goo that she forced him to take was like the pony scat that...

No. No, he would not think of that, how he had been stuffed to bursting, hide rippling, bulging, reeking and stinking. He would not think of the past, only the moment, yet he didn't want to consider the horror in servitude either, not as his gut bulged, the second bulge below his belly larger still. That always grew when he was being stuffed with eggs, but he thought it was part of his body trying to keep things manageable, to do what it could to bear through and live through the horror of it.

"But you have more to give, don't you, slave?" She smirked, cocking her head cruelly. "Other than being the newest toilet-slave of my hive. Since you _love_it so much, perverted pony, I'll be sure to have every drone use you, every day, to dispose of their waste."

Did he? He didn't know, no choice in the matter, tentacles of magic rising around him, a sickly green glow lingering. Chrysalis gave her drones a certain kind of look and they backed away, allowing her to take their place at his cock. Of course, there was more still that they could do, abusing his mouth and his tail hole, stuffing him with goo or forcing his tongue to lap at their vents, to please them while they climaxed on his muzzle. It was a distraction, one that he may have been more familiar with, but not one that was enough to distract him from the pressure.

It grew and grew, Chrysalis laughing out loud as her ovipositor found a hole that had not been used as yet, pushing down into his bladder, though the span of his urethra first had to be traversed. If he'd had any breath left in his lungs, Arctic would have squalled and squealed and kicked, but there was a grinding rump on his muzzle, smearing his nose with wetness that he could not tell whether it was arousal, piss or goo. Did it even matter anymore?

That was harder to say than ever, even as the Changelings spread their legs, washing him down with piss. Some of it wiped the goo from his body but served to soak his fur in another fashion, staining him with a light-green paint of it, the reek stark and sharp, pulling at his senses even more than the goo had. Still, Chrysalis had him in a position of complete and utter helplessness, finding the "womb" to fill in his bladder as his cock strained and bulged, taking egg after egg down the length.

His rump shuddered, trying to cum, his huge nuts dangling, fat with eggs too. With his belly as large as it was, they were a part that were sometimes forgotten - or perhaps he only hoped that they would be forgotten. For Chrysalis did everything deliberately, focusing only on his humiliation, taking food from him, the sustenance that gave her life.

"Lick and stroke his shaft," she ordered her drones, their wings already abuzz with the need to serve. "He won't cum... Not when I have use for it."

Of course, her ovipositor neatly plugged up his dick, the pony swarmed with drones, crawling over his stomach, rubbing the eggs through the skin of his belly, grunting and heaving, his throat slick with goo. It clung there, making it harder and harder for him to swallow, drones stuffing him violently with it with their hooves. The tingling pleasure from his aching shaft did not make any of that any better, as much as he may have liked it to, strain forcing its way into the front of his mind as the lump of each egg grinding down his cock into his bladder not his balls claimed his mind.

Chrysalis was only interested in using her vessel in the best way possible, the need to urinate overcoming him, even while that was denied to him. His gut and loins lurched, wanting to expend more than one need at once, yet the room itself seemed to press in around him. Blinking, Arctic tried to shake his head, yet could only weakly wriggle his tail, all else lost to him. Was the room smaller? Maybe Changeling hives shrunk...

It was not the room growing smaller, however, but the confused pony trapped in the middle of it, not realising that his belly was making them raise him, in his goo bondage, closer and closer to the ceiling. He filled the space as if that was his only purpose in life, tiny legs and head strained out, though they would have flailed helplessly if he had been able to. That was lost to him as his bladder strained and bloated, feeling as if he desperately needed to use the bathroom to relieve himself, yet finding nothing would come out. He was stuffed full, his backside still aching with eggs and his bladder overfilled already, eggs jostling up against one another.

Chrysalis frowned. There was not enough padding in there, not in his bladder, despite the piss sloshing about in there - before she took up all the extra space, of course. She could only do what she needed to, however, for the love of her hive, extracting her ovipositor as he let out a moan of relief, broken and strangled through the glut of more goo gargling down his throat.

He thought he was done. She shivered, an odd glow of delight warming her through from that particular nuance of sexual energy. How divine.

But what she had for him was an addition rather than a taking away, positioning herself so that she could drive it back in again, feeling acutely, in the glow of her horn, how his heart sank, his cock throbbing, the ache of deep submission within him not even enough to soften that. His nuts needed more and she could give something other than her eggs into his body, her ovipositor neatly allowing her to piss straight into him.

He was only aware of the hot strain billowing through his nuts, softening the laying of the eggs, cushioning them, though they were too "heavy" inside him to float. It was a natural substance for his bladder to take, even if it was not the same colour or substance as his own urine, though foreign and strange for his balls, as well as it cushioned the eggs, all that his body would ever have to care about again while he was in the chambers of the Changelings.

She did not discriminate between his nuts and his bladder, however, taking her time, spilling her goo into him directly so that it filled both, one after the other. It mixed inside him, cloying and tight, his bladder straining more and more as she allowed it to flow forth, wings buzzing as she held herself aloft, eyes intent with that sickly green glow.

"You will swell, slave..."

The bulge that had already been present under his belly grew and grew, squashing more demandingly up against the bloat of his stomach, though that still dominated, could not help but dominate. His balls would have sagged far lower than they already did if not for the goo wrapped around them, supporting them, though it had to be a flexible, pliable type of goo that they used there, something to cradle rather than to restrict. Piss flowed into him, hot and heady, as he grunted and groaned, head trying to roll back, his grasp on the conscious world lost to him as yet another drone stuffed a hoof and leg into his mouth, forcing goo down his throat.

They were not idle on other parts of his body either, one squashing their slit to his lips, forcing his tongue to please them, while others crowded his cock, using their whole bodies to rub against it. Not that he felt in any way that he could have grown at all soft, of course, but he still knew just how he had to stay hard, everything making his cock prick up to attention, his tail doing nothing at all to protect or hide all that he had to offer them.

She swapped her ovipositor to his balls, taking her pleasure from dominating him, though her lust yearned for another taste of his tongue crammed into the slit that was her marehood. Dominance drove pleasure too for Changelings, though Chrysalis could not help but sigh in relief as she spent herself into his nuts, letting the churning seed in there mix with a good load of piss, all swilling about in his nuts, bloating them out and out and out. Maybe she could even get them as large as his stomach if she tried, though she was still having Changelings work away on expanding the cavern, so that she could force him to harbour even more of her eggs.

Arctic tried to groan, tongue flickering out, yet there was piss flowing down his muzzle, magic helping it not splatter his front, but only because that was where the Changeling drones wanted it to go. Yet it was such a consistency, mixing with the goo, that it became, in a way, more and more difficult for him to tell what was piss and what was goo-scat, everything mingling and teasing together in the most crudely erotic of ways.

It was wrong but it was right, strangely so in a way that he needed, balls bloating, fat and heavy, swollen with life not yet born. Maybe that was the role that he'd always been meant to play, even if he had not known it, his cheeks fat with goo, trying to gulp it all down, head twisting, turning, trying to make sense of it all in some way. But that was not the matter of the moment, not as he grunted thickly, the ovipositor driven down into his balls relentless. Yet he had not even realised that it had switched to depositing eggs into him again. How many could Chrysalis hold inside her?

Of course, the answer to that question was as many as she needed, her exoskeleton expanding to hold all required inside her until it was time to lay them. Maybe she had been fat and round with them but a lust-addled, strained pony-slave would not be able to know or understand that, his mane clinging to his neck, great, fat globules of goo sliding down him. The drones stopped trying to get every last drop of piss straight down his throat, boring of that game, swapping to hosing him down with it, for there was always a drone to replace the one that had gone before.

They let it soak his front, dribbling down, though with his head positioned as it was, a lot dripped to the ground, which was a shame. They'd have to fix that, using thicker, more viscous goo to smear it into his coat instead, hooves working at his mane as if it was shampoo, though the cloying reek of the goo would not sift form his coat any time soon. That would linger, just like their abuse of him, grunting and groaning, his world twisting, turning.

The sag of his nuts and stomach, his bloated bladder... It was impossible for him to bear it all and yet he had to, for a slave like him was not to be given any other choice in the matter. His hide bulged grotesquely and there could be no denying, not even to an outside observer, just what his body and soul had become. A vessel for eggs, for bodily fluids, for waste... No, there could be no other use for him down there, locked away where no pony even knew he was, a helpless body that was only there to be stuffed and filled over and over again.

Arctic groaned. His nuts ached, larger and larger, fat and swollen, growing as his belly churned with goo. It was hard to think of it as anything other than scat with how heavily it weighed in his stomach, even if a dim, faint part of him understood just why it was there. It was needed, for the eggs, for that was all that his life revolved around anymore.

Chrysalis needed more from him, of course, his nuts the perfect incubator for her eggs, his seed strong to fertilise them. He could keep the fertilised eggs warm while she held her young in stasis until they were ready to be hatched, which was only when the hive queen herself said that it was to be so. His seed was siphoned off for fertilisation, used as needed, but she didn't need him to actually ejaculate for that to happen. No, a weak stream of pre-cum could be seen when required but that pleased her drones, kept them busy and keen about their work - only when her ovipositor was not plugging up his dick, of course.

Still, her rump ached and she panted softly, withdrawing her ovipositor, tucking it neatly away. By no means did that make it so that his ordeal was over, Chrysalis dominating, taking her pleasure, her rump pushing up to his nose to smear him with her juices, her arousal drooling and dripping. The drones, of course, had to make way for that, but magic could be pulled into play too, scooping up dripping goo and slop and stuffing it straight down his cock.

Ah... Chrysalis revelled in his throbbing lust, broken and abused, as she filled his bladder and nuts with the goo too. It was needed, so very much so, mixing with piss and cushioning eggs, though there was nothing that he could do to stop her, not in the slightest. That was a part of his fate that he had, finally, accepted, the weakness of his body, how simply helpless he was, useless for anything else but holding her eggs. That was the best position for any slave to be in, truthfully, for it helped them be consciously pleasing for longer, rather than losing their minds.

She liked a slave with a mind, a tongue that could push out, even with the gag in place, lapping her vent, slurping into her marehood. Her clit throbbed with need and she didn't need to relieve her bladder all over again to hose him down with her juices, dripping arousal flowing down his muzzle as she ground his nose into the hole in which she excreted goo. It could come from other glands on her body too, of course, but that was the main one and the most demeaning one to drag him down, down, down... Until there was no light for the broken slave to come back up to.

The goo was easily forced down his cock, the opening at the tip held open with a hardened dollop of goo around it. It was by no means comfortable but there was more to cum, the queen herself driving it down violently with stabbing probes of magic. It forced his urethra wide, the tube leading down strained, though the passage of the eggs had, at least, prepared it somewhat for that. But that only added more and more strain to his balls and bladder as she used his muzzle solely for sexual pleasure, her sticky fluids clinging to him, reminding him, once again, just where his rightful, lowly place in the hive was.

"Harder."

She demanded what she could simply take for her own, moaning out loud, horn constantly aglow. For she fed on very last bit of energy, funnelling it away into the fabric of the hive, locking it away for when it could be later used, for her drones did not need to slurp it all up and down, not in a moment like that. They could feed until they were fat on his lust but she had bigger and better plans for him, his nuts aching, churning, obviously rumbling before everyone's eyes.

Yet all the pony could do was feel every moment of strain and bulge, his nuts larger, his bladder plumper, trying to make space back into his body, amongst his other organs and the cavity within. His body had to allow it in some way, however, a moan trying to gargle forth, though slick goo poured over him, mixed with Chrysalis' juices. More and more was required, a pony-slave driven by rampant, raw need, tail flicking, shuddering, trying to push on when he was in such tight, restrictive bondage that the mere thought of doing so was not possible.

The eggs jostled against one another, but no longer showed through his balls as clearly from the outside, the goo softening the shape of them directly. But that only brought in another kind of lusty outline, the shape of thicker lumps of goo, how it was not a smooth inflation, hyper expanded even while some of the walls of the chamber, without him noticing, broke down. All in the nick of time too as the Changeling worker drones opened it up for him, allowing more space for his bloating balls, Chrysalis adjusting his bondage so that, once again, his head was up, as if he was "standing" with his balls on the bottom.

They had to hold everything, only everything, he thought dimly, his body a sea of lust, balls expanding, thinking of himself as a tiny being attached to them. Nothing else existed for him and neither did it need to exist as he whimpered brokenly and moaned, forced to rim the queen and lap up her goo, pleasing her. He was there for her and her alone, his mind slipping down, broken as she wanted it to be, though there no longer seemed to be any other life that he could remember.

It was hard to remember when Chrysalis herself didn't want him to remember. He was punished and used, broken, his gut gurgling, goo forced down, though he couldn't think of any singular thing at any time. Drones crawled over him, licking and teasing, chirping and grunting to him even as their queen did all she could for them. Despite the abuse and despite the humiliation, there was a part of him too that understood why she was doing what she was doing, why she had to. In a way, she was just looking after her hive, her drones, and he had become a component in that, even if all against his will.

Larger and larger... His nuts grew to such a point, stuffed with goo, that they rivalled his belly for size, the bulge of them beyond anything that his pony mind had ever considered. His cock, laughable, appeared pathetically small against them, despite its already hyperphallic size, bouncing and constantly smeared in goo. The Changelings helped force more goo up under his tail too, his pucker strained wide, held so, though everyone knew that a hole that was in use as over as his ring was didn't need to close up or be tight ever again.

He was there for their use, always their use, their eggs, her eggs, only her eggs. His gurgling, churning gut and nuts claimed his attention, forgetting even the lingering, strained pleasure that tried to tease forth from his dick. It was not as if any kind of true orgasm was to be his every again as he was filled with goo, lumpy and straining, the shades of green bulging through his skin more than the eggs ever did. It was obvious what he was, to them, and yet some decrepit, sordid part of him could not help but to lust for it, a goo-scat pony, a pony that didn't understand anything other than just what it was to be a slave to the Changeling queen, the most glorious queen that there ever had been for such a hive.

His nuts ached, the skin strained, pulling so tight that it could have burst. But that was not to happen, not when there was magic at play, his body safe and sound as long as it served the needs of the Changeling queen. Piss dripped from him, forced into him, funnelled with magic into his nuts and bladder too, though he could not tell anymore from where it was coming.

Did it matter? The question softened away as soon as it was born. There was nothing for him, no one other than the queen, haplessly slurping away at her rump, barely even knowing whether he was licking her marehood or her other hole. Goo slopped over his head, marking him, controlling him, and he should have known long ago that there had never been any point in resisting, even if he had a mistress back home.

There was no more for him, nothing at all, his balls fat and rumbling as if with a life and controlling substance of their own, penetrated and abused in all ways. There was no part of his body at all that was left unused, the Changelings finding some way to bring him down and humiliate him further, each and every time.

Still, the limits of his body had not yet been reached, and his goo-stuffed body still threatened to grow larger, an incubator that breathed and subsisted entire on goo-scat. He was fed, he was used. What more could there be to his life down there?

Arctic knew of no disgust for it, only yearning, craving...but what? Always something. Something more. Something... Something. His mind didn't work as he expected it to, but that was okay. He didn't need to think to serve. The taste varied, the days blending together. But it was all he had.

As a prisoner of the Changelings, they changed him in more ways than one.

And his ordeal was not yet over.