The entryway opens like a vast cavern with half a dozen different tunnels and exits. It reminds Ocellus of the changeling hive, though decorations in gold and alabaster make for a far more opulent experience than shifting stone and treacherous trails, even as she finds the porous rock easier to navigate. She wants to inspect the portraits and paintings on the walls, the colorful vases of glass and crystal, and the individually molded candles that bathe every corner of the multistory room in a soft glow. Yet she can't be caught gawking at what should be ‘her’ decor.

A grand staircase gives two options for upwards exploration, an inset door under those stairs likely leads to the basement, and two carpeted hallways split off to the left while one meanders to the right. Purple catmint and lilac blooms abound, filling the room with their pleasing aroma, though not strong enough to cover the wafting trail of bread and cheese from the left - either the kitchen or dining room, depending on what time the Rich herd dines. The faint sound of a filly and colt’s boisterous laughter suggests the dining room; she cannot detect any other voices. Likely for the better: she wants to corner Filthy Rich alone. But which direction to go?

The front door swings closed with a soft thump. Her ears flick at the unexpected noise, then swivel to the muffled clip-clop coming from the dining room. She stiffens; there isn’t enough time to hide, and hopes it comes from the herd’s stallion. She forces herself to relax, to assume the imperious position into which Spoiled Rich naturally slips.

A bespeckled earth pony mare with a styled amethyst mane just starting to turn as silver as her lustrous coat greets her with a pleasant smile. Silver Set, the Rich herd’s second mare and dam to Silver Spoon and the twins Silver Hoop and Silver Stud. “Back so soon?”

The first test of her impersonation skills. “Indeed,” she returns, a haughty flick of her long nose serving as a greeting. “I trust I am not too early?”

“Of course not.” Silver Set takes a long whiff. She must like what she smells, as she shoots a smirking wink. “A quite productive trip, for being so quick.”

“I do believe,” Ocellus quotes, stumbling over splicing in a word, “the spell has taken its full effect.” She swishes her tail, hoping the slip isn’t noticed. Spoiled Rich can be belittling, but there’s a method to her meanness. “Though I appreciate the candor.”

“It wasn’t too weird, was it?” Silver Set shudders. “I can’t imagine asking a Princess, even Twilight Sparkle, for something so… personal.” The curling smirk returns, a touch of eagerness to her tone. “Did she stick her horn in you?”

Ocellus shrugs her pink withers, deliberately vague. “I find it helpful to…” She trails off, as if considering; conjugating verbs in Rich’s nasally tone is not quite as easy as she likes, given her lack of practice. “Be shameless about such matters. I forget the practice is not as common in Ponyville than Manehattan; I thought the risk was worth it.”

“I guess that gamble paid off. Like so many of yours.” Silver Set glances back the way she came; the loud laughter has only gotten more raucous in the interim. “I know you like your quiet.” Without waiting for an answer she spins on a hoof, shouting, “Alright, you two! Who wants to play in the pool?”

Ocellus takes a deep breath as Silver Set leaves. This is much harder than she thought it would be. There are only so many phrases she can draw on, and an extended conversation with her supposed stallion will surely end in disaster. Plus, she needs to get back to Doug and the real Spoiled Rich before the Princesses join in. She doubts the mare could keep up the charade, and even just being with the human might be too much for the teacher of Loyalty.

A quick trot takes her up the stairs, hooves silently sinking into the plush carpet, and down a hallway full of doors. What extravagance! Every wall and window, every floor and skylight, every room big or small showcases more ornate adornments than the entirety of their old hive. She passes a library filled from carpet to ceiling with books, a washroom all in alabaster, a filly’s room in pinks and dark blue, a bathroom suited for a creature of Doug’s stature, and the spacious master bedroom before she finally comes across Filthy Rich at his massive desk.

Neatly stacked papers form squads, groups of squads into companies, until two battalions face each other with a desolate no-mares land between them. Candles cast their shadows as the grim stallion draws a single soldier into the line of fire, executes her with practiced slashes of red and black, and consigns the signed paper to a growing pile of her fallen comrades. A halfhearted whinny passes his lips before he glances up, the weary lines etched into his brow melting away as he recognizes her.

“Evening,” Filthy Rich welcomes with the tired grin of one already hours into a long night’s labor. But every flick of his sharpened quill means another few bits from a brokered deal here, a shipment there, an order to buy while the wheat is ripe and sell when stores of bread run low, stuffing the bitbags on his flanks fuller and fuller. He gingerly returns his weapon of choice to her inkwell, giving his ‘lead mare’ his full attention. “So. You decided to go through with it.”

“Indeed,” Ocellus returns, finding the affirmative easy enough to repeat. “You still haven’t come up with an adequate answer.”

“To why we shouldn’t go through with this?” Filthy Rich laughs, remaining behind his desk as she stalks around, a hungry look in her eyes. He regards her warily. “Just because we’ve had two at a time before doesn’t mean we have to keep doing so.”

“No. But, from what I understand?” She gives him a wicked smile, every step taking her closer and closer. She finds it easier to cut words than add them. “It would be customary to come to a mutual understanding of our intentions, yes?”

“Wicked intentions, I have no doubt.” He gives her a brave grin, inhaling deep of her heated musk. His expression goes slack, clearly enjoying himself.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” She saunters next to him, a swift nudge getting him to back up a pace. He does so, surprised at her aggression. She faces the myriad doors to his desk; her magenta tail teases his nose and draws a frustrated snort.

“Right now?” Filthy Rich peers around her vexing tail, eyes growing like saucers as she puts her hooves up on the desk. He seems more concerned about his papers.

“Indeed.” She flicks her tail to the side, exposing her moist outer lips. “Are,” she pants, “you,” she takes another breath, “siring your next foal? Or would you approve Doug to stud me?”

That sends him over the edge. His long cock springs from its sheath as he mounts her. He takes only a moment to line up before his flared tip parts her moist lips, his second thrust sinking half his length into her, the third threatening to send her sprawling forward and bloody half a hundred stacked soldiers with a single spilled inkpot. She hits her limit before he does, deeper than anypony has ever gone, battering against her final wall. Shouts and screams and splashes from the window mix with the grunts and pants and squelches from inside.

She enjoys it, of course, her ‘heat’ not clouding her mind as it does the ponies. Thorax is lucky to share him. But then, in far less time than she’s become accustomed to, he whinnies into her mane, biting and tugging hard on the magenta strands. He unleashes his load deep inside her, without a doubt enough for her purposes.

“I helped fulfill your mark,” he states as he pulls out, not quite cold but minorly displeased, curtly flicking his short black mane at the ring emblazoned on her side. “Now, leave me so I can fulfill mine.”

She does, though she shows only sorrow. At least until she hurries outside with the stallion’s musk plain for all to smell.

*

Spoiled Rich dubiously regards the weathered door to Doug’s office. Cold hooves? Might she be reconsidering the plan? No, she mustn’t; to deviate now would end in disaster. Everypony (and everyhuman, she grudgingly adds) will get what they want: Ocellus a foal of her own without being seen as straying, Doug another to add to his admittedly impressive brood, her husband another chance at an heir to Barnyard Bargains (Tiara seems destined for Mayor, if not higher, while Silver’s three will likely follow in her silversmelting hoofsteps), and herself a foal fostered by the greatest ponies in Equestria. It galls her to make the concession, that this humble herd has outpaced her own, but it would not do to lament hypotheticals. She needs to focus on the now, and securing a spot for her filly.

Don’t overthink it, Ocellus had warned. Just do what you do, and all I have to do is copy you. Then we don’t have to worry about what you think I think you’ll do.

She knows what must be done, and pushes the unlatched door open. The human hums an unknown ditty to himself at his cluttered desk, two magelights lighting the room and reflecting off the Celestial sun on his chest instead of the other way around. Luna’s moon lies darkened, disappearing from sight as he turns. A teal pencil clashes with the apple at his wrist while gemstones lose themselves in his cropped auburn hair. Hard at work, as her stallion should be, and she surmises he shares a certain possessiveness to his workplace.

She saunters in, full hips swaying back and forth with every step. Her loins burn from the effects of Twilight’s spell, but this is about him, not her.

He watches her, leering, licking his lips at getting a taste of her. “You look ravishing.”

Who can blame him? “Indeed,” she returns coyly, giving a single flick of her magenta mane. He follows the tips, and even with his small eyes she can tell when his gaze shifts from her to the plate of food on her back. She chuckles at the low growl of his stomach. “And here I thought you’d be happy to see me and not your supper.”

“Can’t I be both?” Doug grins as he starts to get up from his chair.

“No, no, no,” she insists, a hoof on his knee keeping him from rising. “You have had a long, hard, day. Here, let me help you with that.”

She rests one hoof on his chair, in between his legs and dangerously close to his rapidly growing cock. The body is different, but the stallion is the same. He wants to be tended to, lifted up and praised, smiled at and loved, and what better way than to serve?

Her other hoof reaches behind her, removing the cloth covering fritters, fries, and pie. It smells delicious, but cannot compare to his mouthwatering musk. Oh, sweet Celestia! He reeks of apples and soil and salt-tinged sweat! She can’t help herself; her tongue flicks out, gathering his tip into her lips and relishing every lick and cherishing his every groan of pleasure.

“They said you sired Apples,” she waxes from around his stiffening member. “They did not say you used a tree!”

“Sweet Celestia,” he moans, as though he could slip into her mind as easily as he will slip into her body. He pushes his hips forward along the smooth, varnished chair to thrust more of himself into her while apples hide themselves in her mane. She gladly acquiesces, letting his entire length slide along her tongue until her face buries itself in the thick copse of hair. “Did Chrysalis teach you herself?”

She pulls back slowly, painfully so if his groans are to be believed. Her cock filled muzzle twists to a smirking grin as she stares up at him. She had only done this once, her stallion preferring to rest on her back instead of on his, but spoiling has always been a knack of hers. She waits, dancing her tongue along his tip, curious if he wants to continue this or swap to a sweeter spot.

At the gentle press of his hand she again slides down his turgid length. Up and down she goes, over and under, lavishing with licks and soft kisses and hard, slurping sucks. She loses herself in the rhythm, loving the squeezes and nips and the tender rubs to her withers until he throbs deep inside her.

No! she mourns as his first spurt of seed paints the back of her throat. That belongs inside my belly! But it is too late to pull back, another blast staining her tongue. She swallows the sweet syrup, purring in pretend pleasure, the fire of her heat keeping her from truly enjoying his taste. She makes sure to leave a good portion dripping from his cock as she withdraws, only for a final feeble pulse to wet her nostrils.

Her mirthful giggle is music to his ears as his hard pants and gasps are music to hers. She coyly shrugs the plate onto his desk, making sure to stay clear of any paper. He’s still hard, thank Celestia, and she’s heard more than one tale of his ability to go multiple times. She springs to the low bed, laying atop the thin, coarse sheet. “Hurry,” she whispers as she rolls to her back, legs lifting, baring her sex. “I want to feel you inside me.”

And then he is inside her, again, but this time none of his seed would be wasted. It goes on, longer than the first, the bed shifting and creaking as strong hands grip her flanks, slam her against him, balls slapping. Over and over he drives himself into her, hitting his limit every time, stretching to caress her cheeks and run through her fur until he reaches her belly, where his foal will live and grow, though she might never suck the teats he seems so fond of fondling.

And then, sealed as he is fully sealed inside her, his seed gushes forth to quench her heat.

For a moment she lays there, legs quivering, locked in their embrace. And then it is done. “That was wonderful.” She cleans him off with a quick lick, grinning up at him again as he teases her mane. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Indeed,” he echoes, sending her off with a hearty slap to her rump. She waggles the smarting side back and forth as she departs, winking with her backwards glance.

Once she gets to the base of the stairs a bright flash of green comes from under the bathroom door. Ocellus, back to her changeling form, steps out.

“It worked.” The pale blue changeling grins as she steps forward, a long lick removing Doug’s seed from her nostrils. “Quite well.”

“Indeed,” Spoiled Rich returns, inwardly aghast she might have missed such an obvious sign. She would need to be extra cautious not to slip up again.

“I’m glad it worked.” Ocellus gives her a quick nuzzle and an equally quick sob. “I’ll see you in eleven months.”

“And then we swap.” Spoiled Rich nods firmly, needing to steel herself as well. Nomare wants to give up her foal, they have that much in common. “I… look forward to it.”

As Spoiled Rich goes to leave Ocellus interrupts. “Oh, and remember?” She turns to regard the changeling as the pale blue horn flickers on and off. “It’s Doug’s foal you have in there.”

She absentmindedly nods to Ocellus as she leaves. By Celestia, she’s right! His foals don’t show up on normal thaumic scans, too close (identical, initially) to their dam’s magical signature to be differentiated. She would have to be careful around doctors - really, anypony who might inadvertently scan her and notice a lack of what should be there.

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