Whorn: A Debutante's Dark Descent Into Debauchery

Chapters

Foreword
The Day Before
Horn To Be Wild
Then Again, Maybe I Will
Every Cherry Has Its Stone
Laughter Bait
Cruel To The Kind
A Loyal Pain

Foreword

When I was approached by my New Yoke Times best selling author friend Rarity to write a foreword for this book, the landmark tenth printing of Whorn: A Debutante’s Dark Descent into Debauchery, I was instantly humbled; not out of any sense of feeling honored that she selected me over better qualified authors to leave my mark upon an already wonderfully written tale – but because the offer, much like the book itself, was a reminder of a time in my life that I’d just as soon forget. As anypony who has already read this book knows, I played a part in her story and while it depicts me in a less than flattering light, I have gone on record as stating that every account in Whorn regarding my actions during this period of my life is one hundred percent accurate. Time and again, I am asked if I still have any negative feelings toward Rarity for ruining my life. I hope that my consent to write this foreword will put such questions to rest. I no longer harbor any resentment toward Rarity whatsoever. I have forgiven her. I love her. I will admit that there were times when I wanted to beat her up. There were times when I actually did beat her up. There were even times when she beat me up (A word to the wise: Don’t ever get into a fight with Rarity. She’s as ferocious as they come). It was a classic abusive codependent relationship. We hated being together and we couldn’t stay apart. You know the old expression about one day looking back on bad times and being able to laugh about them? That’s what Rarity and I do now along with Fluttershy, Applejack, Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie. To this day, we are all still the closest of friends. We even take turns paying for our group therapy sessions.

Though my judgment was impaired by Harmon-E at the time during which the events in Whorn took place, I still accept full responsibility for my behavior as any full grown mare or stallion should. Rarity may have been the one who started me on Harmon-E but it was my decision to continue to get high with her and the consequences of that decision were, and continue to be, mine to bear. Am I ashamed of the things that I did? Absolutely. Anypony with a decent heart would be. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wish that there was some sensationalized embellishment within the pages of this book that I could point a hoof at and say “that’s a lie!” – but it all happened, exactly as written. (I have made many an excursion to Saddle Arabia and learned much about their myths and legends. Three guesses as to what I’m going to wish for if or when I find a djinni in a lamp.) I have made reparations where necessary for the harm that I’ve done and I'm always looking to do more.

It would be much easier for me to judge Rarity for what she did to me if I hadn’t also felt the effects of Harmon-E. We talk about it in therapy all the time. If we didn’t, we’d probably go crazy all over again. Since the other crown princesses are the only other living ponies in Equestria biologically capable of receiving a Harmon-E high, I can describe it without fear of selling some curious unicorn on the idea that they should try it.

Picture everypony in the world as your one true love. I know how implausible that sounds but just try. This “world population pony” knows everything about you and you know everything about them. You trust each other implicitly. Now picture them throwing you an enormous party; the biggest you’ve ever seen. You’re having the best time of your life with food and drink above and beyond anything you’ve ever tasted. Everything’s glowing, vibrant and festive. Everypony’s brought you a fantastic gift that was exactly what you wanted. Now picture them confessing to you that you are their true love. You proceed to make love passionately. It’s warm and sweet and wonderful. Your world population lover is so happy to be in your company and you’re happy to be in theirs. They want to do this with you forever. Paying attention to you. Seeing to your every need. Numbing every pain. Offering you tranquility, pleasure and comfort on par with the womb. Now multiply that by a thousand. That is one one-thousandth of what being on Harmon-E feels like.

Now imagine being given the bum’s rush and a kick in the plot out into the cold, unfeeling darkness of space and having the door to planet Earth closed and locked behind you. You’re all alone. Nopony notices or cares that you’re gone. The air you breathe feels like dust. That’s what coming off of Harmon-E is like.

I know that what I experienced wasn’t real love but here’s the thing: it didn’t need to be real to be enjoyed. That was its allure. I wanted that sweet artificial love again and again, preferring the high over food and sleep and definitely preferring it over coming down. When I was off, everypony around me looked like gray paper dolls. The real world seemed to be composed of flat photographs. Having that kind of lavish out-of-body experience and then being thrust back into mundane reality was nothing short of a nightmare. Rarity approved of the term I came up for it: emotional frostbite. I wanted to rejoin that paradise in my head at all costs. If there’s an earthly comfort that can compare to Harmon-E, I have yet to discover it – and now that I know that I have addictive tendencies, I’m afraid of finding it. The absence of that high is something that I struggle with to this very day and I will continue to have that empty feeling inside of me for as long as I live. Beating addiction isn’t about getting to where you say “I’m strong and I don’t want my drug anymore”. It’s about getting to where you say “I’m weak and I’ll always want my drug but I want my normal life more”. That’s our daily affirmation, Rarity’s and mine.

It does not help.

We say it anyway.

If the fear of falling back into our old habits isn’t enough incentive for us to stay clean, the fear of Princess Celestia’s royal decree certainly is. If either one of us are found willfully getting our Harmon-E fix on with each other, both of us will be sentenced to a public de-horning in Canterlot Square. Princess Celestia has personally shown me the horn removal machine in the castle dungeon and has assured me that while it’s collected dust over the centuries that it has been out of use, it still works as well as the day it was built. Neither Rarity nor I want the removal of the other’s horn on our consciences and so we bear the nuisance of our unscratchable itch together. Indulging ourselves one more time wouldn’t do either of us any good for very long. You always want to be riding high on Harmon-E and with our horns removed, we’d never be able to experience it a second time.

As a filly, I pondered the nature of good and evil and whether one can wash out the evil they’ve done by doing many more good things to overshadow it. As a mare, I’ve learned that the answer is no. My evil deeds cast a very tall shadow. Once committed, a truly evil deed can never be erased by good deeds that may follow. It can be forgiven. For those who have forgiven me, Celestia bless you – because for all the good I’ve done since that time, I have never forgiven myself for the ponies I’ve harmed, embarrassed or humiliated.

My parents are decent ponies. They instilled proper morals within me as a foal which served me well in my adulthood. Sadly, none of their teachings could have prepared me for Harmon-E. Once clean, I legitimately felt terrible about the things I did to obtain my next high. The expression “I couldn’t control myself” is one which I could never understand prior to my addiction. I prided myself on my dedication to my studies, my maturity level and my self-control. I could not control myself long enough to do the right thing and getting a fix of Harmon-E was the best cure for the depression that came with knowing I was an out of control addict.

Prior to its initial release, my parents were sent an advance copy of Whorn. Naturally, they had reservations about a book containing disturbing details about their only daughter up to her neck in some pretty serious manure. My mom asked me one question.

“Twilight, honey, you’re a full grown mare so you don’t need our approval but are you sure that this is what you really want published about you?”

“Yes,” I replied. “If this story can save even one pony from falling prey to their vices, then I can honestly say that something good came of it.”

My dad also asked me one question as he levitated both the book and a black Pointy marker.

“Could you please autograph our copy?”

You’d have to know my dad to appreciate his sense of humor.

To Rarity’s credit, she wrote an amazing book despite the fact that it wasn’t intended for anypony’s eyes but her own and that she was bat guano crazy for a good portion of it. Her attention to detail is what made her such a successful fashion designer so it should have come as no surprise to me that she would bring that same discerning eye to her memoirs – but it did. (Sorry, Rarity!) She possesses such a keen sense of what makes a journal entry so interesting to read that one would almost think that she wrote this in anticipation of having it published during her lifetime. (CAUTION: SHAMELESS PLUG AHEAD) Had I known that she was so adept at writing, I would have asked her to be my ghost writer for I Can’t Flap To This: From Unicorn to Airborne in Twelve Queasy Steps, my own book also published by Simon & Horseshuster, (now available in softcover wherever better books are sold.) Rainbow Dash has often said that Daring Do books are “unputdownable”. While I don’t care for that train wreck of a word of hers, I have to admit that the ersatz pseudo-adjective describes Whorn accurately, albeit imperfectly. Any adult pony who has ever started reading this book and then put it down was either too prudish to read it objectively or was being chased by timberwolves – and I’d be willing to bet that at least one timberwolf has Rarity to thank for a slow-moving meal.

Arguably, the important thing to remember about Rarity’s tale is that she chose to publish the journal entries documenting her addiction for educational purposes and I commend her for doing something so selfless when she could just as easily have run off and started a new life over in a new town. She owned up to her mistakes and turned her negative experience into a positive one. How can you not respect that? To her detractors who claim that she published her story for financial gain, I say that you have no idea what the hay you’re talking about. Exactly ninety-nine percent of the proceeds from the sales of this book that you are holding in your hot little hooves have gone to fund Simply Divine Intervention, Rarity’s very own non-profit charity program designed to help ponies and their families who are affected by addiction. They can help with everything from gambling to salt abuse to bubble wrap popping. If that’s something that you can’t respect, I honestly don’t know what to do with you. Rarity and I bounced back from our ordeal and we are enjoying life once again as normal ponies. We were lucky in that we were surrounded by loved ones who wanted to save us from ourselves. She created Simply Divine Intervention for the sole purpose of helping those who are not so fortunate. Way to go, Rare! (Author’s Edit: You know that I don’t like being called Rare, Twilight.) That’s generosity for you! If you or somepony you know is battling an addiction and needs help, please contact Simply Divine Intervention at the address in the acknowledgments section of this book.

If I had to critique anything about this book, it would have to be the title. It’s a portmanteau of “whore” and “horn” and is the main reason why this book is forbidden from gracing the esteemed shelves of my beloved Golden Oak Library, despite there being at least a hundred works containing far more explicit depictions between its covers of good ol’ you-know-what in the romance section alone. The age demographic that the committee thinks it’s protecting by banning this book is unknown to me. The library has precautionary measures in place that restrict foals from checking out books intended for adults. Much to my chagrin, the majority of foals in Ponyville don’t even visit the library (except when they’re stalking me) much less check out books – and the few who do visit have little interest in checking out what they perceive to be a boring non-fiction book about boring grownups doing boring grownup things. I have fought the Ponyville Library Committee tooth and hoof to lift their ban but, time and again, they have proven to be obstinate in their refusal to budge on this, even going so far as to have Princess Luna cast an enchantment spell on the library which magically prevents any copies of Whorn from entering the doors of Golden Oak. Talk about going over my head! I’m no slouch in the magic department but even I can’t disenchant an enchantment cast by one of the eternal sisters. To anypony reading this foreword, please don’t try to sneak your own copy into Golden Oak as it (the book) will immediately catch fire and the resulting flames may cause property damage, serious personal injury and even death.

I know.

I’ve tried.

I can only imagine that Princess Luna’s objection to Whorn stems from her own well documented fall from grace as Nightmare Moon and would prefer to spare a fellow alicorn am eternity of embarrassment. While I appreciate her concern, what she may not realize is that Rarity’s book was published with the consent of everypony, a detail that I’m sure the committee failed to point out to her. In all the times that I’ve dealt with stubborn ponies, the Ponyville Library Committee towers above the rest as the least amenable to reason. I encourage everypony in possession of more time and patience than I currently have and who believes in their right to public access to quality literature to contact them at the address listed in the acknowledgments of this book. You will earn my gratitude in doing so.

By the way, please don’t use salty language in your letters to the committee. It won’t get you anywhere with them.

I know.

I’ve tried.

Love and magic,

Princess Twilight Sparkle

The Day Before

Dear Diary,

I do hope that you’re ready for an earful (or would that be a pageful?) because have I got one (actually, several) for you!

It all started off with a marvelous breakfast – right after I gave my darling Opalescence her breakfast, that is. As I mashed her tuna and shrimp pate into her crystal bowl to blend the sauce into it, the most curious thing happened. Just before Opal began to eat, she actually rubbed against my foreleg affectionately! Can you believe it? Opal wuvs her mama! Eeee! I cannot remember the last time she did that! Although I was quite pleasantly surprised by this display, I knew better than to tempt fate and so I opted not to pet her. I knew at that moment that this was an omen. It was going to be a perfect day.

As for my own breakfast, my Omelette a la Rarity turned out tres magnifique! I’m certain that Mother, Father and Sweetie Belle would have found it as pleasing to the taste buds as it was to the eye – right before drowning my culinary masterpiece in an ocean of ketchup. :( No matter. I can’t expect everypony in Ponyville to have my refined tastes. While we’re on the subject of having company, more often than not, I find myself fantasizing about how nice it would be to have a handsome stallion with whom I can share a meal on a regular basis. One who knows how to cook... and make me breakfast in bed... and give me a hoof massage while I eat!

Too much? A mare can dream, can’t she?

After washing the dishes (which is another task that my dream stallion would have done for me) I took a shower, groomed myself, and headed to the spa for a relaxing session of being pampered alongside Fluttershy. Aloe and Lotus are always happy to see their two favorite customers in their establishment but today they would receive a special treat: Fluttershy decided on a whim that she wanted to do something new with her mane.

My bird friends really like nestling inside my mane and getting all toasty and warm. The problem is that I have a lot of bird friends and they all like to gather there at the same time. Most of them only weigh a few ounces but ounces turn into pounds. Before I know it, I’ve become a walking birdhouse. It can be inconvenient and painful, not to mention noisy. The worst part (and I’m only saying this because I know they can’t read) is that the little dears tend to forget that my mane doesn’t come with indoor plumbing.

And I thought being a doormat was unpleasant.

They’ve never kept their fondness for Fluttershy’s mane a secret so imagine their surprise when they were finally given the opportunity to experiment with it. I must confess that I felt somewhat slighted by Fluttershy’s request as I am just as qualified to work on hair as Aloe and Lotus are. I’m a licensed graduate of The Ponyville Hair Stylist Academy, the same institution from which they received their training in all things hair related. Clothing design may be my stock and trade but my styling skills have not shown even the slightest hint of rust; I submit my own fine coiffeur as Exhibit A.

I never meant to hurt Rarity’s feelings by having Aloe and Lotus cut my hair. I hadn’t planned on getting my mane cut that day. It really was a spur of the moment decision. I try to disturb my friends as seldom as possible and I saw a manecut as a chore, not an honor or a privilege. If she wanted to work on my hair, she should have just said so.

I’m being immature, aren’t I, Diary? I am an adult and I shan’t allow a matter as trivial as this to get under my coat.

.>

I wouldn’t have even charged Fluttershy.

Oh, now stop it, Rarity!

Isn’t she the cutest thing when she’s jealous? As I write this, Rarity has cut and styled my mane at her boutique over two dozen times and she continues to do a fantastic job as my go-to stylist. I’ve tried paying her for her work but she refuses to accept my bits. So instead of paying her directly, I visit Sugarcube Corner where they have a Simply Divine Intervention collection box and then make a donation of about what it costs for a salon visit. Try giving me back my bits now, marshmallow! (Author’s edit: I’ll take marshmallow over Rare any day.)

I suppose that I wouldn’t have been nearly as sensitive as I was had I not had a mountain of work waiting for me upon my return. The deadline for a three dress order was approaching and this would be the last day that I would be able to take time out for myself to relax. I had put it off long enough with personal projects and I would be working on these dresses to the exclusion of all other orders.

As Fluttershy walked me home from the spa, she spoke about how pleased she was with her new bob. It was a very bold choice of manestyle for Fluttershy considering her shyness and I’m surprised that she went with it in the first place – but the end result was nothing short of marvelous. Lotus outdid herself. Fluttershy didn’t lose one bit of her beauty.

I hadn’t worn my mane this short since I was a filly. It was so liberating. I felt so spry and frisky. It was as though I was a brand new mare. My pony friends all complimented me on how nice I looked. If only my bird friends had been as supportive. They didn’t speak to me for days after my manecut. They came around eventually and they apologized for being so petty and insensitive. I forgave them. I even brought them a surprise gift: a bag full of my hair that got cut off at the spa. They loved it! All of them worked together to weave the hair into a bunch of nests that are now spread throughout the cottage. Now we’re all one big happy feathered family again. Don’t you just love it when everything works out?

We were nearly at my boutique when I saw Pinkie Pie, Applejack, Rainbow Dash and Twilight standing by my front door. They were all wearing T-shirts and they smiled as they greeted me. I asked them what they were doing here and they said that they were all volunteering to be my assistants for the day. They knew about my dress order and decided to help me with my workload. Applejack stood on her hind legs and showed me that they had their shirts made with my boutique's R logo on the front.

I know all about hard work and I thought that getting us all matching T-shirts was a good way to help build team spirit.

I wept.

I wept because I have been blessed with the most supportive and goodhearted friends a mare could ask for.

Also, because they were wearing garden variety T-SHIRTS with MY LOGO ON THEM! Had they completely taken leave of their senses? I’m a fashionista! As in high fashion! Does a dentist hire a pony with missing teeth to promote his or her business? No! Does a weight loss center hire an obese pony to advertise their services? No! So why on earth would they wear common T-shirts (unauthorized ones, at that) with my boutique’s beautiful logo on them in public?

She had a point. Everypony makes mistakes but this one was as boneheaded as it was innocent. It was a real facehoofer and I can't believe that it hadn't occurred to me.

I quickly ushered the girls inside, tore the hideous things off their backs, folded them neatly and incinerated them in my What Was I Thinking? bowl.

I hadn’t seen Rarity flip out like this since the time we all went to Manehattan together. I still don’t get what the big deal was. Lots of businesses have T-shirts with their logos on them. She’s just way fussy. Me, I know how to keep my cool. I ’ve learned to shrug off the fits she throws. I came to help a friend and that’s what I was going to do. That fire was pretty awesome. Fwooooosh!

She did reimburse me for what it cost me to get the shirts made so there’s that. I thought they made a nice touch but I can see why she didn’t want us wearing them out in public.

Yes, I have an enormous metal bowl in my home for the sole purpose of burning clothing “mistakes”. I haven’t had to use it often but what I have burned deserved a far worse fate. I pray that nopony saw those T-shirts. If anypony came into my shop asking for one, I don’t know what I’d do.

Drama queen.

(Author’s edit: You know, girls, my What Was I Thinking? bowl is big enough to accommodate a pony; five if they’re cut into tiny pieces first.)

The girls apologized for their lack of foresight and I apologized for my overreaction. Ultimately, their hearts were in the right place and they overlooked my little episode to help me. My order was completed and ready for shipment in a fraction of the time that it would have taken me to do on my own. With the time that was saved, I suggested that we have a slumber party. Everypony was up for it but they would need to run home and take care of a few things first.

As I write this entry, I await their return so that the party may commence. The silence is both deafening and thought provoking. I used to think that my career meant everything to me but that just isn’t so. My friends are what mean everything to me. I could be the most successful fashionista ever but without my friends and loved ones to share in my success, it would all be worthless. They love me and I love them. This must be the spark that resides within all of us that Twilight mentioned. When I think of how fortunate I am to have a career that I love and friends that I love who complete the life that I love... I find myself moved to tears.

I’m crying right now.

Me, too.

So am I.

Me, too.

I’ve got something in my eye.

We love you, Rarity.

Oh, how can I not show the stars above my gratitude for allowing me to be right where I am at this point in time with the most wonderful ponies around me? IDEA!! Tomorrow, I’m going to visit Ponyville Hospital and see if the children’s ward can find some use for ice cream, cake, balloons, confetti, party favors – and six clowns. I’m certain that my girls will love the idea of brightening up the otherwise gray day of some ill or infirm foals.

Til we meet again, dear Diary.

Hi.

I’m Pinkie Pie.

If this is your first time reading Whorn, the following chapter is where everything falls apart because of my ignorance and stupidity. The only cure for stupidity is to get smarter and I’ve gone back to school to further my education. It’s tough juggling classes and a job but I’m enjoying it. I plan on getting a degree in business. My goal is to run my own catering hall where ponies from all over Equestria can host their wedding receptions, graduation parties, birthday parties and anything else shindiggy.

Until I was asked along with the other girls to submit bonus material, I never read Whorn. I didn’t see the need to read it. I lived it. I was responsible for it. I don’t mind telling you that the money that I was offered was the main reason why I agreed to do this. Higher education isn't cheap. It was very hard for me to read this but I did and I feel... something. I don't know what I'm feeling but I'm moving forward because it's better than standing still. If my contribution to the bonus material makes you happy and got you to buy this book, that helps Rarity's charity so I guess that makes me feel happy.

Enjoy the rest of the book, first time readers.

At least one of us can.

Horn To Be Wild

Diary...

Something happened to me earlier today that I cannot explain. Technically speaking, it happened yesterday since the sun is almost up. I haven’t slept all night. I tried working on some personal projects in an effort to take my mind off of it but that’s simply not possible. I’ve been processing the events over and over in my head and now that I’ve memorized every detail, I can share them with you.

The sleepover went wonderfully but its details aren’t important. Everypony but Pinkie Pie had somewhere else to be the next day so when morning came, they let themselves out while Pinkie stayed with me to finish off the leftover cake with some Prench roast coffee. Pinkie sat patiently at the table as I brewed the coffee. I levitated the two small plates with a slice of cake on each and two coffee mugs to bring them to the table. When I turned around, I accidentally stepped on Opal’s tail. The silly kitty always seems to get under hoof when I’m least expecting it. Her pained shriek startled me and as I quickly removed my forehoof, I temporarily lost my concentration which caused my levitation magic to cease. I managed to catch the coffee mugs before they hit the floor but in an effort to catch everything at once, the plates, along with the cake slices, landed on my head. Only my pride was injured. Pinkie approached me and took both mugs, setting them on the table. She saw that I had frosting on my horn and before I had a chance to act, she put her mouth over my horn and sucked it clean.

My friends keep telling me the same thing: “Pinkie, it wasn’t your fault. You had no way of knowing that this was going to happen.” They mean well but the truth is that I put my mouth on my platonic friend’s body without her permission for no reason other than the fact that there was frosting on it. Frosting. That’s stupid no matter how I look at it. I work at a bakery. I have access to frosting eight hours a day. I wasn’t starving. I didn’t need to suck that frosting off of Rarity’s horn. I should have just let her wash up like any pony with a lick of brains would have done.

I’ve sworn off frosting for good. I haven’t eaten a slice of cake, a cupcake or any other baked goods with frosting on them in years. They hold a different meaning for me now and my guilt makes my stomach turn at the thought of eating them. This is my self-imposed penance. It can’t compare to what Rarity and Twilight are going through but anypony who knows me knows that I’m lousy at resisting temptation so saying goodbye forever to frosting is a pretty big deal for me. I was serious about it. I quit cold turkey and I haven’t faltered even once. I suppose that’s one thing I can be proud of.

When I was a filly, my mother warned me never to let strangers touch me in my special places. It’s the same advice that anypony concerned with their foal’s safety would give them regarding strangers. At the risk of stating the obvious, a unicorn’s horn is also considered ‘hooves off’. I was told never to let anypony kiss, lick or otherwise put their mouth around it, nor should I ever do any of those things to another unicorn’s horn, whether asked to do so or of my own accord. I’ve read several books on the subject of unicorn sexual practices, primarily about the horngasm that a unicorn – mare or stallion – may receive if their horn is overstimulated. As an earth pony within an exclusively earth pony family, Pinkie was unaware of unicorn biology and didn’t realize that when she sucked off that frosting, she was inadvertently stimulating me sexually.

It’s true. The subject of hornjobs never came up when I was with my unicorn friends and it certainly never came up at the dinner table when I was growing up so I was completely in the dark about it. I don’t know why but some ponies think that they have to stop talking about adult matters when I’m around. I’m not a foal. I just like being happy and carefree like most foals are. At least, I used to be. I care about Rarity and I never would have gone anywhere near her horn if I had known what I was actually doing.

I hope this doesn’t sound like I’m blaming anypony else.

I’ve given myself standard orgasms before (because sometimes saving myself for my future husband requires extreme measures) and everything I’ve read in those books I mentioned earlier suggested that a horngasm is roughly on par with oral sex. What I felt could not have been an ordinary horngasm – nor could it have been a prelude to a horngasm. Sex doesn't do to a body what this did to me.

This is going to sound crazy but during those few seconds that Pinkie’s mouth was on my horn, my consciousness expanded. I was no longer a unicorn mare on the planet Earth limited to what my five senses permitted me to behold. I was presented with a vision of the world around me that defied all logic. I heard Pinkie’s heartbeat as clearly as if I had my ear against her chest. I looked down at the cake on the floor and saw the individual ingredients blended together which comprised its spongy mass. I witnessed the electrical impulses dancing along my own brain as they carried the message sent from my nose, allowing me to register and identify what I was smelling as the scent of cake. And the minty fresh taste from the toothpaste froth created when I brushed my teeth a half hour ago was singing out to me as clearly as an orchestral production playing inside my head. I rinsed my mouth out with water after I brushed so how could it still be so strong? Sweet Celestia, the different chemicals present in the toothpaste were as discernible from one another as red, blue and yellow balls in a ball pit. I might have screamed if what I felt wasn't so... beautiful.

As Pinkie pulled away from my horn, she must have noticed that something was off about me – and Celestia only knows what I must have looked like during my experience – because she asked if I was all right.

I remember how starry-eyed Rarity looked. She was staring off into space like she was in some kind of trance.

I looked at her as I was about to give her my reply when I saw something that both startled and amazed me. She wasn’t so much a whole pony as she was a organism made up of a constantly moving mass of components. I could see each individual hair of her coat, mane and tail. I was able to count the little black lines in her irises. I smelled the coconut extract in my scented coat shampoo that she used when she took a shower earlier. I heard her upper and lower eyelids collide against one another as she blinked. I watched as dust particles made of Opal’s dander and dead skin cells entered her nostrils when she inhaled.

By all rights, everything I experienced should have been imperceptible to the equine senses but I tell you, Diary, I know what I saw and it all happened exactly as I’ve described!

This experience would have disturbed me far more than it did had it not been for how delightful having my horn in her mouth felt. It felt like something between being caressed by a lover and being held by my mother. Arousing but at the same time, intensely soothing and comforting. There was definitely a sense that something greater was at work, offering me this spectacle as a gift. No, not a gift... a preview. Not only did Pinkie’s act surpass the pleasure of ordinary sexual stimulation, it promised to deliver more had it been allowed to continue a bit longer. I couldn’t bring myself to ask her to keep at it, not when she didn’t understand what she’d be doing to me. Had she been a stallion, I might have considered it. I’m no filly-fooler.

As the seconds that passed since her mouth had left my horn turned into minutes, my senses slowly started to return to normal but not before Pinkie did something dreadful that agitated my still heightened perception. She started to wave her hoof in my face to fan me. The flurry of movement she was creating and the dust particles she sent every which way (they were as large as tennis balls) was so disorienting that I knocked her foreleg away from me with a hoof and sternly demanded that she cease fanning me.

Rarity had never hit me before. Not without a newspaper, anyway. I could feel myself starting to cry.

I remember the first time I encountered a rapidly moving object while tripping. It’s extremely disorienting, especially if the movement happens right in front of your face. And emotions run, well, high. (I'm such a punster.) At the height of my addiction, and in the same situation, I'm sorry to say that I probably would have hit her, too.

I apologized to Pinkie and I told her that I needed to sit down. She forgave me and cautiously went about cleaning up the kitchen floor for me. She asked me again if I was all right and I nodded. I could have told her what had happened.

I didn’t.

We finished our coffee and cake together quietly. They tasted fine but as I partook of them, I knew that I was capable of experiencing them on a completely different level and, comically enough, I became offended by how simple they were to my standard senses of taste and smell. Fate had seen fit to bless me with a horn that gave me a means of perceiving this world in a fashion reserved solely for the gods. The thought of this made me grin smugly.

Rarity isn’t the kind of pony who’s afraid of expressing herself so I didn’t know what to make of her being so quiet. All I knew was that she wasn’t talking to me. She didn’t look mad so I decided to leave and come back some other time when she was feeling more like her old self.

Pinkie said that she had to go home and tend to some personal matters. She excused herself and rose from the table. I slowly waved goodbye to her with as sincere a smile as I could manage. My earlier swatting of her hoof had made her wary and, rather than return the wave, she wished me a nice day. The door shut behind her and locked itself. I rose from my chair and walked to my bedroom where I spent the next hour lying on my bed and masturbating. When I was sufficiently satisfied, I took a shower and, after applying my favorite scented body powder to my coat and styling my mane and tail, I returned to my bed, wondering how the simple things that I had just done would have appeared to my goddess’s senses. I levitated a hoof mirror from my dresser, brought it to my face and admired myself. How much more beautiful would I look while under the influence of my heightened senses? It was a question that I wanted answered but not as much as this one: If what happened to me was the result of a few seconds of having my horn sucked, what would happen to me when I experienced a full horngasm?

I must know.

It’s been said that there is a brothel somewhere in Dodge Junction. If I were to discover its precise location, I could conduct a discreet piece of business there by hiring a stallion to give me a hornjob. Oh, Diary, I feel so naughty and... alive. There is a horizon out there waiting for me to see what lies beyond it. Just thinking about it makes me want to pleasure myself again.

It’s settled. Tomorrow I will make the journey to Dodge Junction. The clowning will have to wait.

I’ve made too many ensembles in my career not to know when a dress will turn out well based on the patterns alone. What I felt was no different. I was given a glimpse of a piece of the most beautiful dress I’ve ever encountered and I intend to stitch it together until it is completed. I must see this through to its conclusion.

I must.

I must I must I must I must I must I must I must I must I must I must I must I must I must I must I must.

Then Again, Maybe I Will

Dear Diary,

I am writing to you from the train making its way to Dodge Junction and I cannot arrive at my destination soon enough. I awoke this morning in a malaise, most likely due to my lack of sleep. I was in no condition to bother cooking a proper breakfast so I ate the first thing I could find: a half full bag of nacho cheese corn chips that Pinkie Pie had left behind. It was hardly suitable breakfast fare but I was positively ravenous. As I wolfed them down, it had occurred to me that I skipped lunch as well as dinner the day before. I can understand being so preoccupied that I miss out on one meal... but two? How forgetful of me.

I’ve arranged for Sweetie Belle to stop by my house and look after Opal during my absence. I left her a note instructing her to let my friends know that I’ve left town on some business and should be back in a day or so. Oh, Diary, I’m at my wit’s end with paranoia. If I’m seen entering an establishment as disreputable as a brothel, my character may come into question, thus tarnishing my brand past the point of repair. After all, who would want to buy a dress designed by a known whoremonger? To ensure my anonymity, I dyed my mane and tail blond.

Rarity? With a blond mane and tail? BAHAHAHA!! Oh, my Celestia, I would’ve given anything to have seen that.

I think it would have looked lovely. Maybe someday she’ll dye them blond again.

I made a simple frock for my trip, the simplest that I could bring myself to design. I wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing it. It was perfect. As far as anypony at the train station knew, I was just another face in the cheaply garbed crowd. I’ve been checking out some of the stallions who share this car with me. They’re not bad. I only hope that the stallions at the brothel are as attractive as these fine specimens.

Oh, my stars, would you listen to me? I’m objectifying stallions like some flyblown bar floozy.

Rarity was just being too hard on herself here. There ain’t nothing wrong with eyeballing stallions. Why, shoot, sometimes if I see one that I think has a cute tush, I’ll even tell him so. And why shouldn’t I? I’m just being honest.

Really, AJ? Did you forget about the time you kicked a stallion in the face for a cat call? What a hypocrite.

Dagnabbit! You always have to bring up something to make me look bad, don’t you, Rainbow? Land sakes! Sometimes I think that you enjoy doing that more than you enjoy flying.

I’m just saying that the cat call and your “tush appreciation” declarations are the same thing. Do you think you get a pass because you’re a mare? That’s a load of sexist hooey. The next time you tell a stallion that you like his butt and his ticked off wife comes up to you and kicks you in the face, you would have zero grounds for complaint. Not to mention that I’d get a pretty good laugh out of it.

And that’s another thing you enjoy doing: having a laugh at my expense! How about I kick you in the face, Rainbow? Got any grounds for complaint about that?

Why should I? You can’t touch me if you’re dreaming, which is what you must be doing if you think you can land a kick on me!

Guys! The good ponies here at the offices of Simon & Horseshuster who could easily have us arrested for disorderly conduct can only allot so many extra pages to this book. Our bonus commentary should be used to enhance the story, not hijack it. Let’s try to keep our comments relevant and our acts of violence to a minimum, shall we?

She started it!

Did not!

Oh, my, please don't fight, girls.

It’s okay, Fluttershy. They only fight as much as they do because it’s the only way they know how to relieve the repressed sexual tension between them. Take this away from them and the only thing they’ll have left to spice up their love lives are their own right forehooves.

Okay, Applejack and Rainbow Dash have just left the building in pursuit of Pinkie Pie so I’d like to apologize on their behalf for getting us so far off track. Let’s return to Rarity's story, shall we?

And I’m about to patronize a brothel, of all places. What happened to the wholesome and chaste lady who was above such things? Where is my self respect? Oh, my! I’m literally on the fast track to self destruction! I’m risking my future to chase rainbows! It’s not too late. The Pinkie Pie thing was a fluke. I don’t even know for sure that my horn can do that a second time. As soon as this train pulls into Dodge Junction, I’m going to march right up to the ticket booth to book passage back to Ponyville. Oh, Diary, thank you for being here for me. Had I not brought you along, I might not have collected my thoughts soon enough to prevent almost certain disaster. I think I shall take a nap for the rest of the trip. We'll catch up later.

Dear Diary,

I write to you from inside the Dodge Junction train station. I know that I said I would return to Ponyville as soon as I got here but it was a two hour trip and I couldn't sleep after all. During the ride, I got to thinking and you should know that I have decided not to leave this place until I’ve received the hornjob I set out to find. My previous decision to call the whole thing off was based on my fear of being recognized and subsequently ostracized. That obstacle has been eliminated. Please allow me to share my new line of thinking with you before you pass judgment.

As you know, my special talent is locating gems and harvesting them from the earth. I have used this talent to make my already beautiful outfits even more magnificent and I sell my creations to customers for a healthy profit.

What would you think, dear Diary, if I were to tell you that my special talent was actually a metaphor?

Hear me out.

Pinkie Pie’s cutie mark manifested itself when she threw a party for her family which made them smile. She discovered that she had a special talent for making other ponies happy. They were the first recipients of a Pinkie Pie party but Pinkie didn’t limit herself to throwing parties exclusively for them. What kind of life would she have had – no, what kind of life would all of us have had – had she adhered to as narrow an interpretation of her special talent as that? She saw the smiles she gave her family as a metaphor for the millions of other ponies in Equestria whose lives she had the potential to improve. She’s brought smiles to many faces since then and nopony thought any worse of her for branching out beyond what started her cutie mark.

So if Pinkie didn’t limit herself, why should I?

As I said, I locate gems and harvest them from the earth. Metaphorically, that could be read as “I recognize and retrieve things of value that are generally unseen or overlooked by others”. I also said that I use gems to make my beautiful outfits even more magnificent. If we examine this metaphorically, we get “I enhance that which I have already made beautiful”. In this case, what I have already made beautiful would be my own life. And selling my creations for a healthy profit? Obviously, it means that while I undertake all my endeavors for at least some semblance of a return investment, I benevolently beautify Equestria at the same time. Put it all together and what do you get?

I found the amazing goddess senses.
I had a fabulous life to start with.
My life will become even more fabulous with the goddess senses and that will make for a better Equestria.

At no point has anypony objected to how I’ve used my special talents. But for argument’s sake, let’s say that somepony did. What if somepony said that gems were not intended to be used for such things? What if they said that my work was a perversion of nature and that gems exist for their own purpose? Would I continue doing what I know will result in something beautiful as well as profitable? Or would I listen to that pony and cease production? I think you’ve known me long enough to know my answer, Diary. By choosing not to listen to that one pony, my life would be no different. So what difference would not listening to two such ponies make? And if two opinions wouldn’t matter, why would five? Or twenty? Or hundreds? No matter the number, their disapproval is insignificant.

Who better than I to judge what is or isn’t valuable? My designs have caught the eye of Equestria’s elite. Only a hoofful of ponies living today can lay claim to such an achievement. If anypony cannot see that what I’m about to do is no different than the branching out that Pinkie Pie has done (and that it’s hardly different than what I’ve always done) then they are simply shortsighted and I can’t be bothered to explain it to them. Let them recognize me. The end justifies the means. I didn’t choose a hornjob as the method of gaining my goddess senses but if that’s what I require to regain them, I shall acquire one; scandal or no. I’m certain that Dodge Junction’s economy won’t object to the shot in the foreleg that my bits will provide.

My Celestia, the very thought of the magnificent dresses I can see myself making when I’ve permanently regained my goddess senses has got every hair on my coat standing on end! All of Equestria will shine with my new creations. If that isn’t worth risking everything to achieve, I don’t know what is.

Morality is subjective and everything is open to interpretation. Call that justification if you must but it’s my opinion and I happen to be quite fond of my own opinions.

I think I may have spotted a "working mare". I'll find some nonchalant way of asking her about the brothel. Ta ta for now, Diary.

Update: The mare I spoke with was indeed familiar with the brothel and she gave me the information I needed to speak to someone in charge. It may come as no surprise to you but Dodge Junction is not my kind of town. Dirt roads, tumbleweeds, and a general fashion sense governed by that most dreadful of things: practicality. I'm going to run. I don't fancy staying here a moment longer than I need to. With any luck, the masterpieces that I have yet to design shall be bought and worn by the ponies of this town. I can't think of a better start.

I thought I recognized the address that the mare gave me but I assumed that I was mistaken. Now that I'm standing here in front of it, I know that there's no mistake.

This... is The Cherry Hill Ranch.

I swear that I had no idea that Miss Jubilee was in charge of a brothel back when I worked for her as a farmpony which was the only work I did for her. She sure knows a heck of a lot about cherry farming but then I guess she’d have to in order to run one as a successful cover operation. Shoot, I didn’t even know what a brothel was until I asked Big Macintosh. Come to think of it, I wonder how he knew what a brothel was. Heh, maybe he’s been to one.

Eeyup.

(Author's edit: That wasn't Big Macintosh, Applejack. That was just me messing with you. Tee hee!)

Every Cherry Has Its Stone

Hi. I’m Fluttershy. Um, so, anyway, this chapter is filled with my friend Rarity’s naughty deeds and naughty thoughts so if any little fillies or colts are reading this in a bookstore without your mommy or daddy around, you should really put this book down right now and maybe find a nice animal story book to look at. Won’t you do that for me? Pretty please? Thank you.

Dear Diary,

Making compromises on my preferences is something that I am not in the habit of doing yet that is exactly what I did since my situation is rather unique. To my dismay, I only received a fraction of what I was expecting when I made my way out to that Celestia forsaken dustbunny of a town. I’m on the redeye train to Ponyville as I write this and it couldn’t be any more appropriately named as my eyes are red with anger. I wasn’t swindled, per se, but I certainly don’t feel as though I received anything worth the trouble of coming out here.

When I last shared my thoughts with you, I was standing in front of the Cherry Hill Ranch.

“Miss Rarity, as ah live and breathe; welcome back ta Cherry Hill Ranch.”

Those were the words spoken to me mere seconds after turning around to go back to the station to see if the prostitute might have given me the wrong information. I turned back around and saw Cherry Jubilee, the ranch owner, standing there with a warm smile for me. Despite the overall negative experience she would leave me with by day’s end, I must say that I simply adore her updo and she hit the genetic lottery with that beauty mark of hers. I asked her how she was able to recognize me. She smiled and said that even though my hair was now blond, she never forgot a pretty face, especially one belonging to a former worker of hers.

Worker. That was the signal word I was told to wait for from the contact. It was then my turn to give the password in a reply and I had 30 seconds in which to say the password at the end of a sentence or there would be no deal. At least it was an innocent enough word where it wouldn’t come off sounding too strange if Miss Jubilee wasn’t my contact.

“Yes, well, after wearing it for a few hours, I’ve decided that blond doesn’t really suit me,” I said. “I was thinking of a color with a bit more sass; something like... cerise.”

Her eyes locked on to mine. She didn’t blink. She paused for quite a while before replying.

“Well, that is a bold color choice, Miss Rarity,” she said. “Come to think of it, ah don’t believe that ah ever paid you for that afternoon you put in. Why don’t we go up to the house so ah can cut you a check from mah office?”

I nodded and followed her up the steps to her house.

Her office was nicer than most ponies’ homes. Sculptures, flowers, paintings, antique furnishings – it’s a veritable museum with file cabinets. When I first visited the place, I was curious as to how the cherry business had afforded her this interior decorator’s wet dream. Now I knew that cherries alone didn’t pay for this swag. She diversified her portfolio. There was a tiny platter of dried cherries on her desk that was there for guests to snack on and I helped myself to some. They were extraordinary so I had some more. And some more. I don’t even remember what I ate before this.

A buff young unicorn stallion in a black suit jacket and dark sunglasses stood motionless just inside the door. His coat was tan and his yellow mane was slicked back and tied in a ponytail. He wore a neutral expression and did nothing other than try to look imposing. How adorable. Why, I’ll wager that he took this job to pay off his student loans when he learned that his college hoofball career wasn’t going to take off the way he’d hoped.

“Hello again, Miss Rarity,” said Miss Jubilee. “Welcome to mah other business.”

Finally, we could get down to brass tacks.

“So you’re the ‘Madame of Dodge Junction’?” I asked.

She smiled, put her hind legs up on her desk and crossed them.

“Darlin’,” she said with confidence, “If ya can tell me honestly that ya thought ah was involved in a trade other than the sex industry the first time ya laid eyes on me, ah’ll believe ya. Go on. I’m waitin’.”

I smiled and blushed. She had me dead to rights. When the girls and I found Applejack in Dodge Junction and I saw Miss Jubilee, my first thought was that Applejack had been swept up in a life of sin and vice, selling her body on a nightly basis to line this mare’s coffers with bits. And Applejack’s hesitation to explain the reason for her new servitude to Miss Jubilee gave my theory even more fuel.

Rarity, if you’re reading this, I have a confession to make. I can’t take care of myself and it’s because I’m just an ignorant little hayseed and you hush up, Rainbow Dash.

I didn’t say anything.

Oh, Rarity, I have no idea what I’m doing from one minute to the next. It’s a miracle I haven’t forgotten how to get out of bed in the morning. Would you hold my hoof from now on so that the big, bad ponies in the world don’t take advantage of me? Give me some credit, girl. I’m an adult. Sheesh.

(Author’s edit: You’re absolutely right, Applejack. I’m sorry I got so carried away.)

While we’re on the subject, I’ve got to admit: I thought Cherry Jubilee looked like a hooker, too.

Well, I thought that she was very sweet. I remember when we were sitting in her office and filling out those job applications, she gave us all a tall cool glass of cherry juice. And she wasn’t even mad at us when we told her we made a mess of the sorting room.

That’s because it’s old hat to her, Fluttershy.

Old hat?

Yeah. It’s not like she’s never lost a cherry before! PFFTHAHAHAHAHA!

HA HA HAAAAA HA HA HA!

Heeheeheeheeheeheehee!

Guys. Focus.

I didn’t think she looked like a hooker, per se, but she definitely fit the madame profile. The grand way she spoke, the mother hen way she treated Applejack – and then there was that beauty mark. A dead giveaway if ever there was one.

“I can’t,” I said. “My apologies.”

“Aw, there’s no need ta apologize,” she said. “First impressions are what they are, right? Now, how can ah help ya? Are ya seeking more... gainful employment? We have some very particular clients who’d pay top bit for a night with a mare of yer fine breeding.”

“Thanks but no thanks, Miss Jubilee,” I said. “I’ve actually come for the, uh, services... which your brothel provides.”

I was moments away from securing my hornjob. I could feel myself getting damp with anticipation.

Yeah, I think I might just sit the rest of this chapter out.

You and me both.

Prudes.

Um, then I guess I won’t comment, either. Oh, wait, does that count as a comment?

“You want ta bed one o’ mah mares?” she asked, staring at me in disbelief.

“Oh, no-no-no-no-no-no-no,” I said. My throat was dry. “You misunderstand me. I’m not a filly-fooler. I’d like a stallion for my, ah, partner. Ahem. One who specializes in, ah... hornjobs, if possible. And I don’t want to bed your stallion, exactly. I just want one little hornjob. He won’t even have to get naked. Once he makes me unicum, I’ll be on my merry way. Ha ha.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, shaking her head. “Ah’m sorry but ah don’t have any stallions here. Not countin’ security... but guardin’ my establishment, protectin’ my girls and ensurin’ customers’ privacy is all they’re paid ta do. The only customers ah get are stallions and they all want mares. Gay stallions don’t come around here; neither do straight mares, unless those mares are lookin’ fer a position with mah company. Ah don’t know where ya heard ah had stallions on the payroll but ah’m afraid ya heard wrong. Ah wish ah could help ya.”

What a cruel joke this was. You know, it’s bad enough to know that there are so few good stallions around who are worthy of me. Now I knew that there weren’t even any hard luck stallions to give me a quick release when I really needed it!

The story of my life.

“Oh,” I said. “Well, I have come all the way from Ponyville and I would hate to go back emptyhooved so while it may not be my first choice, I suppose I could make do with a hornjob... from... a mare if I must.”

“Ah like yer attitude, Miss Rarity. When life hoofs ya lemons, ya make mareade.”

Mareade. That made me think of a pitcher full of vaginal secretions, sugar and lemon juice. Thank you, imagination.

Oh, Celestia, I laughed for a whole twenty minutes the first time I read that.

“Do ya have any preferences?” she asked. “Pegasus? Earth Pony? Unicorn? Long mane? Short mane? Mane color? Coat color?”

Just how many mares did she have on standby that I had such a variety of options?

“Since I plan on keeping my eyes closed the entire time,” I said, “I suppose that one mare’s as good as the next. Why don’t I let you pick one out for me?”

“Fair enough,” she said.

“As we’ll be conducting business, might I inquire as to the fee you charge for your services?”

“Mah dear, the first visit is on the house.”

“Oh? That’s most generous of you, Miss Jubilee. Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss Rarity. Bosco here will show ya to yer room and a lovely mare will be along with ya shortly. Have a good time.”

Bosco was very easy on the eyes, Diary. He was a tad young but I like my stallions slightly younger than myself, provided that they’re mature for their age. Truthfully, I was just glad to see any stallion. I followed him downstairs and we walked down a well lit corridor with dozens of doors on either side of it. It was in sharp contrast to the beauty of the office. The walls of the corridor were unfinished wood paneling without so much as a drop of paint to be found. It made sense; nopony would ever come here for the atmosphere and the rooms themselves were probably much nicer. Why not save money where you can, right? I lagged behind so that I could watch Bosco’s tight little bottom wiggle as he walked, which was easy to do since he conveniently wore his tail so short. He stopped walking and turned to his right. Using a key, he unlocked the door in front of him and stepped to one side, allowing me to enter. I gave him my best pleasant grin and trotted inside, closing and locking the door behind me. I would have loved to have seen his eyes.

The room was larger than I thought it would be. It was half the size of my own bedroom and that’s saying something. The walls here had paint on them, cerise, to be exact. The four poster bed had matching sheets and down pillows that were shaped like hearts. There were nightstands on either side of the bed and they both featured an assortment of bottled liquids, adult novelties and restraints. I knew what some of these items were used for. Those that I didn’t recognize, I preferred not knowing their intended purpose. Attached to the ceiling above the bed was an enormous mirror, the same size as the bed. Call me tacky but if it wasn’t so closely associated with lustful indulgence, I would absolutely have a mirror installed above my bed.

As I sat on the bed waiting on “my mare” to show, I heard the door to the room to the left of mine open and shut. Moments later, I heard the unmistakable sound of a stallion moaning in pleasure. I walked to the wall and placed my ear against it. I heard him moan once more and then a mare’s moan followed soon afterward. Straight sex was happening! I thought for a moment that Cherry Jubilee was lying to me about not having stallions for me until I deduced that the stallion in question was one of her customers. I heard the continuous slapping of flesh against flesh and my heart beat double time as I flattened the side of my face against the wall to catch every sound the two ponies next door were making. I don’t know what possessed me to do so but I lifted the front of my dress, licked my hoof and rubbed it up and down my clitoris repeatedly. It felt like it had swollen to the size of a baby carrot. I’m sure the stallion was quite grotesque in reality but in my fantasy he looked like Bosco and he was pounding my sex with his delightfully thick penis as I lay on my back. I have no experience in these things but missionary is the position that gets me the hottest since the stallion is the one doing all the moving and sweating while the mare gets to lie down and enjoy it. There ought to be more things like that. The moans from next door were growing louder – and so were mine. I bit my lip to keep myself silent.

Then, as luck would have it, there was a knock at my door. I quickly cast a fast dry spell (one never knows when a drink may find itself spilled all over one’s evening gown) and dried my nether regions along with my hoof. Ending a masturbation session prematurely is just The. Worst. Possible. Thing. I opened the door and there was Cherry Jubilee, wearing feathers in her hair and a dress so beautiful and extravagant that for a moment, I thought it might have been one of my own creations! The detailed patterns on the corset, the exposed shoulders, the satin foreleg stockings... and that beautiful silver necklace! She was dressed to attend a ball.

Or maybe two balls.

Heeheeheeheeheehee!

“My word!” I said. “Miss Jubilee, permit me to say how absolutely stunning you look in Victorian era fashion.”

“I thought ya might appreciate it, Miss Rarity,” she said as she entered my room – alone. Nopony else was behind her. I checked. Bosco was outside, standing watch in the hallway.

“Is there a problem with the mare you selected for me?” I asked.

“Ah should hope not,” she said with a wink, closing and locking the door. “You’re lookin' at her.”

I was nonplussed.

“You’re giving me my hornjob?” I asked.

“I didn’t think ya’d mind since, as ya said, one mare is as good as the next,” she replied. “I do hope ya don’t mind.

“Oh, n-no, I don’t mind. That is, I don’t think I do. I suppose I’m just surprised that you’d consider doing it at all. I assumed that as the head honcho around here, you’d sooner have an employee deal with customer relations than see to them yourself.”

“Oh, ah was a workin’ mare myself once upon a time. Made a decent living at it, too. Ah started from the bottom and worked mah way to the top. All of mah girls really are good at heart... but sometimes they can be a bit... overzealous when a customer o’ note such as yerself comes through our doors. If ah let one o’ them take care o’ ya, they’d try to talk ya into making them a beautiful dress or somethin’... and ah wouldn’t want yer first visit here ta be awkward.”

“Well, nothing about this day has been awkward so far. Wait, are you saying that your girls recognized me, too?”

“No, ah told them who ya were.”

I couldn’t believe it.

“Miss Jubilee, I thought you believed in practicing discretion here!”

“Relax, Miss Rarity. They won’t tell anypony. We’ve all got secrets here and we‘ll respect yours.”

She was a professional so I took her at her word.

Cherry Jubilee used a hairbrush to draw my mane back so as to expose my horn. I felt it was rude for me to close my eyes so soon so I averted them instead.

“Ya really are very beautiful, Miss Rarity,” she said. “Ah can’t say that ah mind ya patronizin’ mah business but it sure is a shame that the stallions of Ponyville are so blind that ya had to come here lookin’ fer some satisfaction in the first place.” She was right. If I had a husband, I’d be receiving hornjobs from him seven nights a week, twice on Tuesdays. Pooey. “Are ya ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” I sighed. I climbed on the bed, lay on my stomach and lowered my head to an angle where my horn was level with the ground. “May we dim the lights a bit first, please?”

She did as I asked and my heart began to beat faster. I closed my eyes as I nervously awaited the touch of another mare’s mouth on my horn. But if all went well, I would be too in awe of everything around me to care all that much. (I shall stop writing out dialogue for now. Putting in all those quotation marks and writing Cherry’s dialogue in hillbilly has worn out my quill points.) I felt something snug slide over the tip of my horn that was too dry to be a tongue. I opened my eyes and saw a small torn square-shaped piece of colored foil on the bedsheet. It had some words on it: Derpex – blueberry muffin flavor. Cherry was putting a condom over my horn. Fearing that she had plans on putting my horn inside something other than her mouth, I backed away from her and asked why she needed a condom for a noncoital sex act. She said it was a standard sanitary practice and that all her customers were required to wear protection for everypony’s safety. I returned to my spot on the bed and allowed her to finish putting it on. Once it was in place, my hornjob began in earnest. It was... quite pleasurable – even erotic once I started fantasizing about some handsome stallions. Trenderhoof. Cheese Sandwich. Carrot Cake.

Yes, Diary. I said Carrot Cake.

I like my stallions tall. I hardly consider that a crime.

Cheesy wanted me to thank Rarity for putting him down as a Rarity Approved hunk. He said he wasn’t the kind to tie the knot before but now that mares everywhere have been trying to chase him down, he’s even likelier to remain a bachelor.

Likelier. Hee hee! My favorite one-word tongue twister! I can never say it ten times fast.

But the real crime was that my goddess senses weren’t returning to me. I theorized that the condom must have been responsible for interfering with the effect. Pinkie had nothing between her tongue and my horn except for some frosting. I stopped her and asked if she could possibly perform the hornjob sans the condom. She said that it was indeed possible but it would cost extra. When I asked how much extra it would cost, she quoted me a price of fifteen thousand bits. The breakdown was ten for the hornjob (which would no longer be a freebie) and five for performing it on an au naturale horn. Have you ever heard anything so outrageous?

And just how large of a cut do her workers get, I wonder? Even at a 75/25 split, my condomless hornjob alone would put well over thirty five hundred bits in a mare’s purse. And that’s not even a full day’s work. It’s become a little easier for me to see how some mares could fall into this industry.

Naturally, I have that kind of money. I just didn’t bring that much along with me. I didn’t want to insult her by complaining about the price so I asked if she would continue with the condom on. She did. Perhaps when I unicame, I would experience a delayed reaction and my goddess senses would return.

She continued with the hornjob and I continued pretending that I was being sucked off by a studly stallion. Within ten minutes, I unicame. My first “gasm” of any kind with another pony – and my partner was a mare prostitute. :( Thankfully, I kept the moaning to a minimum. It was mostly a lot of heavy breathing. I didn’t want any perverts listening to my moans the way I had listened to the couple next door.

I will say this for Miss Jubilee: for an earth pony, she definitely knows her way around a unicorn’s horn.

Cherry asked me to lower my horn so she could remove the condom without its contents spilling out onto my coat or mane. I looked up after it came off and I could see a faint baby blue glow coming from within. It was my magism that had collected in the reservoir tip. I asked if I could see the condom before she threw it away. She brought it to me and as I levitated it before my face, I poked at the squidgy liquid with my hoof, finding it fascinating that something like this should come out of a mare’s horn. I quickly lost interest and gave it back to her. She walked to a trash can, disposed of the condom and returned to the bed where she lay beside me, our bodies almost, but not quite, touching. I felt confused and somewhat satisfied but I didn’t get what I really wanted. I lowered my head and sighed.

Cherry called my name. I lifted my head and turned to look at her. She held my chin in her hoof and angled my head downward. She asked that I not move my head. She leaned over and placed her mouth over my horn. She took it all the way down to the base, tightened her lips over it and then drew her head back slowly. My horn was still sensitive and the stimulation caused my body to jolt. It was a lovely feeling but, once again, no goddess senses and it was from a mare. When she completed her single suck, she smiled and told me that she did that to me as a free preview of what to expect when I wanted that condomless hornjob. I smiled but said nothing. With that one act, she cost herself fifteen thousand bits because now that I knew that the condom didn’t make a (ha) lick of difference, I would never return to the Cherry Hill Ranch.

I wonder if Bosco does freelance security.

Dear Diary,

I am writing to you from my room. It was a long trip. I just drank some hard cider (and I don’t care that it’s already morning) and took a masturbath. Now I just want to jot down a few thoughts before heading off to bed.

Um, Rainbow Dash, what’s a masturbath?

Clopping while in the bathtub.

Oh. Okay, thanks.

Tomorrow morning I am going to force myself to open the boutique and go about my daily routine as normal.

With or without water in the tub?

With would be my guess. It’d be pretty weird to clop in an empty tub.

Oh. Okay, thanks.

I am going to do my best to forget that everything after the sleepover ever happened.

With warm water or hot water?

Fluttershy. Relevant comments. Please.

Sorry, Twilight.

I have nothing against filly-foolers but I feel like less of a mare (and less of a unicorn) for doing what I did. I chased a rainbow and wound up with fool’s gold. Granted, this wasn’t the complete disaster that it could have been. I have learned my lesson without suffering too devastating a blow.

I am so lonely, Diary.

So very, very lonely.

I told my friends I’d be gone and they let me go without protest. I should be grateful for their friendship but I can’t forget that I don’t have a stallion in my life to say “Please don’t go, Rarity.” or “Let me come with you, Rarity.”

Celestia, I’m just going to come out and say it: I want a husband! And foals! I want six foals. Maybe more. I want to be the Ponyville record holder for the mare who gave birth to the most foals. I want to know what it is to be huge with my babies growing inside me. I’ve been making dresses from fabric and gemstones since I was a filly. Just once, I’d like to know what it’s like to create something from my womb with my husband’s unconditional love for me as my only other raw material.

It must be so beautiful.

I’m sorry, girls, but I need to go find Rarity. I think she needs a hug right now.

I’m such a crybaby. I need tissues.

That’s better. Now you know why I admire Carrot Cake. His devotion to his wife and his children make him positively radiant.

I am not a wife. Nor am I a mother. I didn’t think that anything was more amazing than wedded bliss and childbirth.

Until I felt the goddess senses. And now that is out of my reach as well.

The time has come for me to pick myself up, dust myself off and get used to the idea of not having that which I want most. The first benchmark of maturity is the ability to accept that one cannot always have what they want. I’m giving up on the goddess senses. They gave up on me so I should do the same. I just wish I had some cheat sheet that showed me the answers to the questions I still have.

What did Pinkie Pie’s mouth have that Cherry Jubilee’s mouth lacked?

Cavities.

The inability to close.

Cheese Sandwich’s genetic material.

Hey!

Have I somehow fallen out of favor with the entity or entities who granted me my glimpse of the goddess senses? Was it because I needed frosting put on my horn first? No, that’s silly. There must be hundreds of differences between Pinkie Pie and Cherry Jubilee but what is the most significant one?

I haven’t the foggiest.

Good night, Diary. If you think of anything, be a dear and let me know, won’t you?

(Author’s edit: I was in bed for no more than ten minutes before I picked up my diary and wrote this next entry.)

Of course.

OF COURSE!!!!

The Elements of Harmony!

Cherry Jubilee was never connected to The Elements of Harmony!

But Pinkie Pie was!

That must be the answer! Oh, it just has to be!

If my theory is correct, it means that, ruling out my own for obvious reasons, I have five mouths total from which I may experience what lies beyond the goddess senses! Thank goodness!

Oh, Diary. I now have the unenviable task of convincing one of my best friends to give me a hornjob. But which one should I choose? And how on earth will I get any of them to agree to such a lewd proposal?

It will take some doing but I’ll manage. I’ve always managed. Success is in my blood. I’m back in the game. I’m so giddy! Five chances to get back what rightfully belongs to me.

My friends, I love you... but take notice: I am Rarity and I WILL NOT BE DENIED.

Ah, Harmon-E megalomania. I knew it well. If you think Rarity was big on herself, my first time readers, wait until you read my chapters. Worst. Princess. Ever.

(Author’s edit: Fluttershy found me on the day she left her commentary session with the other girls and she gave me a great big hug. Her hugs are always medicine for my soul, just as I hope that mine are for hers.)

Laughter Bait

Dear Diary,

I don’t know how I could have drifted off to sleep when I have something as important as my master plan on my plate. I didn’t even have my night mask on. It’s too late in the day to make all the necessary arrangements by tomorrow so I shall have to forgo opening my shop in order to split the workload over the course of two days. Oh, I do so hate delays. There’s just never enough time in a day. How is it that my friends all seem to tend to their responsibilities at a leisurely pace while I’m constantly racing to beat the clock? Dumb clock. I wish that somepony could help me but nopony else must know what I’m up to. Everything must be perfect if this is going to go off without a hitch.

Oh, my. What you just heard was not an earthquake, Diary. It was my tummy rumbling. And I suddenly feel very weak. I need to step out for some food – and quickly. Don’t go anywhere, Diary.

I have returned. I apologize in advance for any grease stains I might get on your pages as I write while eating today’s breakfast: medium rare Hayburgers with extra pickles (how anypony can place two paper thin slices on a burger and claim with a straight face that it contains pickles is beyond me), two side orders of onion rings (until I receive an engagement ring, a well made onion ring shall always capture my heart) and a large orange Neigh-hi. Ordinarily, I stay away from oily foods and sugary carbonated drinks since they’re bad for my complexion but every so often I’ll indulge myself if I’m in a mood.

Ah, The Hayburger. The taste takes me back to the evenings of my youth when Mother was out working night shifts at the hospital and dear, sweet Father, a stranger to the kitchen even to this day, would treat Sweetie Belle and me to a Foal’s Meal to keep us from wasting away. Such nostalgia. Sweetie Belle was such a tiny thing back then. She favored Prench fries as I recall but once she was weaned off of her bottle, she’d eat anything that didn’t eat her first. Celestia, when I think about how quickly she’s grown up, I get depressed because I’m reminded of the fact that I’m not getting any younger. If I haven’t married by the time she introduces me to her coltfriend, I shall just die.

Now that I have some wind in my sails, I shall create my red sequined gown. A game host must look the part, after all. Then I shall begin building my stage. Drapes. My stage must have long, flowing red drapes.

My gown looks lovely. It makes my derriere looks like the most dazzling little peach you’ve ever seen! The stage has been completed and I have just returned with the frosting. More on that in a moment. I spent most of last night making lists of the strengths and weaknesses of my Element-touched friends. I also dyed my mane and tail back to their original color. After giving the matter a great deal of thought, I have chosen Pinkie Pie as my target. I use the term “target” because a) it sounds nicer than “victim” and b) I have decided to use deception to gain access to her mouth. It’s contemptible, I know, but I couldn’t possibly ask any of my friends to suck my horn. What would happen if, during our time apart, Pinkie spoke to Twilight about my odd behavior during the cake incident and Twilight told her about what orally stimulating a unicorn’s horn really does? I’ll tell you what would happen. There’d be a confrontation and I’d look like an absolute fiend for trying to play Pinkie for a fool. Granted, I’m still playing her for a fool and it will be difficult to look like anything other than a fiend once I unicum in Pinkie’s mouth but at least my way ensures that I have a horngasm before she suspects anything malapropos is taking place. I considered using a condom but I can’t be seen buying a package of those from a Ponyville store, not while I’m single. It’s odd how I’m back to caring about being seen doing something unladylike. Perhaps I was bolder in Dodge Junction because I stood less of a chance of being recognized there.

Anyway, I suppose you’re wondering why I need all the things that I’ve mentioned. Very well. I shan’t keep you on the edge of your spine any longer, dear Diary.

As you know, Pinkie Pie adores Ponyville’s Foal and Filly Fair. She bounces from one event to the next with such enthusiasm and wide-eyed innocence that if one should ignore her adult height, she becomes nearly indistinguishable from the other fillies in attendance. Come to think of it, that’s true of her most of the time.

Guilty as charged.

One of the more entertaining attractions was a stage where ponies participated in contests to win prizes. Pinkie once won a stuffed toy rabbit in a carrot dog eating contest but the way she went on about it, one would have thought she had just become an alicorn princess.

I was picked first because I was the most gullible out of the five of us. You only have to look at the order in which she assaulted us to prove my point. Pinkie “Trusting Sap” Pie. I still have a trusting nature but I like to think I’m a little more cautious now and, by extension, a little less of a sap.

Rarity never assaulted me.

You lucked out.

I wouldn’t go that far.

Want to trade?

I was about to ask you the same thing.

I’m going to invite Pinkie to the boutique tomorrow. I’ll tell her that there will be a surprise waiting for her – and we both know how much she loves those. The surprise (the one I plan on telling her about) is that I’ll be hosting a game called Name That Frosting! I’ll explain to her that I’m thinking of hosting my own event at the next carnival and that I’d like her to help me give it a test run. She’ll take part in a blindfolded taste test. I have purchased twenty five different flavors of cake frosting, ranging from common to obscure, for her to sample. If she guesses all the flavors correctly, she will win the grand prize: the remainder of the frosting in all of the tubs. Why twenty five? For one thing, I believe that Pinkie would blow through ten flavors very quickly. She has an extensive knowledge of frosting and I’ll need to stump her on at least one flavor for repeat tastings. Also, twenty five is a more impressive number. They certainly have a high enough retail value. Do you know how many yards of fabric I could have bought with what it cost to buy all this frosting?

I forgot to mention the most important detail, the one that makes my plan a plan. Have you guessed what it is yet? The utensil with which I will feed Pinkie the frosting shall be... my horn.

As I said, frosting has a different meaning for me now.

Pinkie will be arriving in another hour and I’m a bundle of nerves. I have one last chance to abandon this course of action – and yet, as I write this, I know that I shall not take it. I cannot falter, not when I’m so close. I must know what lies beyond that sensory horizon. I don’t know how I’m going to live with myself once this is over, nor do I know if Pinkie will ever be able to forgive me.

Rarity’s forgiven me. How can I not forgive her? I love her.(Author’s note: You will never know how much your love and forgiveness mean to me, Pinkie Pie. Thank you and bless your heart. I love you, too.)

Oh, I do wish that I could talk to Twilight about this. But suppose that I did. What if she could cure me of my desire to regain the goddess senses? Or what if our mutual acquaintance Zecora has come across this before and has an herbal remedy ready and waiting? Would I have the wherewithal to take the remedy before finding out what lies beyond that threshold? No. I can’t just forget about this. This goes beyond want. I need this. I can’t explain why or how but the goddess senses have become the most important thing in my life. Nearly everything I’ve done since I lost them has been done to regain them. I ache with longing for their return and if it means possibly ruining one of my most treasured friendships, well, I have other friends. If it meant burning my shop down to the ground, I’d do it without hesitation.

And I’ve just scared myself with my own words. Burn my own shop? What a silly thing to say. How would I ever earn a living without it?

I regret that Pinkie must be thrown to the lions for my ambition but...

But...

Does my regret mean anything if my mind is made up? How sorry can I truly be if I’ve chosen indulgence over compassion? What good is having a guilty conscience if it doesn’t motivate me to reconsider my decisions? How much of my upbringing is responsible for my choice? And if that has any bearing on my decisions, how can anypony claim full responsibility for their choices? Is the sweetness of an apple not determined by the skill of the farmer that tends the orchards? Are anypony’s choices ever really their own? Perhaps we’re all slaves to our destiny and what I’m about to do is meant to happen. In any case, this silly philosophical exercise has been most rewarding. I don’t feel quite as guilty anymore. I dare say that I almost feel justified.

Once I know what there is to know and have what I need, I’ll seek out Pinkie’s forgiveness and turn over a new leaf. This I promise.

It’s done.

It was by no means a pleasant experience for Pinkie but I did it and, oh, sweet Celestia, it was WORTH IT! Had I known beforehoof what lay in wait for me, I believe I would have done far worse. My suspicions were correct. Something greater was there. I was once a pony on a mission. Now, Ponyville is practically my ant farm.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

As I predicted, Pinkie loved the idea of the game. She couldn’t wait to get started. She took her seat, tied her blindfold on and held her smiling mouth open for me, eagerly awaiting the first sample. Celestia help me, but I became aroused at the sight.

Before I continue, Diary, I’d like to say how much I detest the word “horny”. It’s a tasteless, ignorant and borderline tribist remark when spoken to a unicorn by a non-unicorn. I don’t use it myself. “Rarity’s horny” was a schoolyard taunt that I, along with some other unicorn fillies in my class, endured from some earth pony and pegasus foal classmates. A few well executed kicks put an end to their rudeness. I nearly got suspended for fighting. I never got teased again so there’s that.

I poked my horn into the tub of vanilla frosting, drew it out, and said a silent prayer as I slid it into her mouth.

And there it was. The jewel of my existence returned to me.

I could tell by the conical shape that Rarity was using her horn to give me the samples but I didn’t think anything of it at the time so I carried on.

My legs trembled as Pinkie sucked the frosting from my horn. I was delighted to have the goddess senses back and I pursed my lips together tightly to keep myself from moaning out loud. I was now having my horn sucked with a heightened sense of touch. The pleasure I felt was magnified exponentially compared to Cherry Jubilee’s hornjob. I knew that I wouldn’t need ten minutes to unicum. It took every bit of resolve I had to remove my horn from Pinkie’s mouth long enough to allow her to give me her guess. She correctly identified the flavor as vanilla and said that she was ready for more. So was I, dear Diary. So was I.

I peeled the seal off the tub of the next flavor and I saw chocolate frosting inside. I mean I REALLY SAW CHOCOLATE FROSTING IN ITS ENTIRETY! It’s such a complex mishmash of ingredients delicately bound to one another so perfectly. It may seem silly to go on about something as mundane as frosting but it really is something to behold.

On Harmon-E, the smallest everyday occurrences and household items become fascinating. Rarity and I watched water drip from her kitchen’s leaky faucet for hours. We watched paint dry (my suggestion). We brought a dead robin into the house to watch it decompose. And when the maggots turned into flies? Wow. There were times when Rarity and I would go hunting for insects just so we could watch them fly or crawl around her home.

I stuck my horn in the canister and listened to its surface tension collapse as I penetrated its mass. Yes, Diary, I could hear that. I slid my horn back inside Pinkie’s mouth. Celestia, Luna and Cadence! I felt my eyes roll back in my head as Pinkie slurped it clean. She “mmm”ed as she ran her tongue along my horn’s spiral groove to remove every last vestige of frosting from it. A unicorn’s spiral groove is roughly equivalent to a mare’s G spot and when special attention is paid to it, the effects are delightfully similar and that’s without factoring in my super sensitivity. I felt myself getting wet and I yearned to be mounted and rutted by a stallion, any stallion, while simultaneously receiving a hornjob of this caliber – also from a stallion, if I had my choice, naturally. I had never fantasized about having two lovers pleasuring me simultaneously. Now I was. I wanted it. I wanted to experience all the pleasure there was to be had in this world.

That was when Pinkie said that she wasn’t sure what flavor it was and asked if she could taste it again.

I knew it was chocolate as soon I tasted it. I just thought I’d milk it for another taste.

She presented her open mouth to me and in my state of mind, I interpreted it as an invitation to unicum inside of it. She wanted to taste it just as much as I wanted to deliver it. I lost what was left of my self control. I quickly jumped into her lap, straddling her and hooking my hind legs around her waist. Then I wrapped my forelegs behind her neck, plunged my horn into her mouth, and moved my neck back and forth to slide my horn in and out. I selected this position because it offered me the most protection from a potentially life-threatening kick from her hind legs.

What history books and teachers don’t tell good little schoolfillies is that, back in ancient times before we unicorns learned how to use magic, our horns were our defensive weapons. Predators were plentiful, more so than in this age, and on a biological level, having one’s horn stuck base deep in an enemy’s body translates into survival. Pegasi could fly away from their enemies and earth ponies could run... but unicorns stood their ground because we had a means of defending ourselves and the determination to use it. My tribekin may deny it but deep down, we all want to feel our horns enter another living creature. I’m just as sure of this as I’m sure that stallions wants to indulge their reproductive instincts by rutting a mare. I was nervous during Cherry Jubilee’s hornjob. It was intimidating. I didn’t receive my goddess senses from her. I couldn’t enjoy it that much. But taking Pinkie’s mouth by force? It was exquisite.

Says the rapist. The rapee thought it was awful.

She’s not a... what you just said!

It was a sex act, Fluttershy. I didn’t consent to it. That’s the definition of rape.

I know but she’s not a... what you just said! Rarity’s going to read this after our commentary has been added to the book and then comment on what we’ve said, remember? She’s worked so hard to get back to where she is now and so have you. I know that she hurt you but calling her names that don’t apply to her anymore doesn’t help anypony, now, does it?

No, it doesn’t. You’re right. I’m sorry.

Apology accepted. Could we at least use “assailant” from here on out?

Yeah, I can do that. Friends?

Friends.

Hugs?

Always.

Kisses?

Oh, hush, you silly filly.

Boo. You’re such a tease.

Give me a break.

I’m not a total savage. I did the math beforehoof. I verified that my horn wasn’t long or sharp enough to puncture the throat of a mare her size but as my calculations did nothing to make my penetration any less invasive, she was in no condition to appreciate them. Had she decided to bite my horn, her teeth may have suffered some damage from my repeated thrusting.

My actions had taken Pinkie completely by surprise. She attempted to push me away and when that didn’t work, she began hitting me with her forehooves, first in my ribs and then my head. Her blows were becoming increasingly painful but I didn’t dare let go of her. She then stood on all fours and then crouched rapidly and repeatedly, smashing me spine first into the stage floor. Oh, how I wish I could have let go of her at that point... but not as much as I wished to unicum. Pinkie’s gag reflex had been agitated long enough and vomit rushed up from her mouth, covering my hair and pouring down my face. Ordinarily, this would have caused me to scream and immediately run into the shower to clean up but I was so very close to unicumming that I breathed through my mouth and kept thrusting.

I had no idea what Rarity thought she was doing to me or why she was doing it. All I knew was that this was way uncomfortable and she wasn’t stopping. She was barely giving me a chance to breathe. If you’ve ever wanted to puke through your nose, let me save you some trouble. I don’t recommend it. It’s horrible. It’s not “being suffocated by one of your best friends” horrible but pretty darned close. Unless you’re puking through your nose because you are being suffocated by one of your best friends. Then it’s exactly the same.

Had I released her, she would have either run off or beaten me up or both. The poor dear didn’t know how to fend me off without seriously injuring me. I was her friend. I shouldn’t have even dreamt of doing something like this to anypony, much less Pinkie. And yet, any pity I may have felt for her was quickly lost to what must have been the most intense horngasm felt by any pony in the history of horngasms. How do I even begin to describe it? Let’s see. My coat and skin had been turned into liquid, then they were vacuumed up into my trunk through my vagina and then fired out of my horn down Pinkie’s throat, all within the space of a second.

And, oh, my Celestia, that was when my already amazing goddess senses UPGRADED!!!

Oh, Diary. If you could have felt it for just a moment, you would understand. I was shaken to my core. It was so mind-blowingly incredible and erotic that I found myself screaming with pleasure. Matter, light, sound, anything that was perceptible in any way, it was all spread out for my benefit like so many hors d’oeuvre table offerings. The line between what separated my body from all that was around me wasn’t just blurred, it was gone. I became the air flowing in and out of the lungs of Pound Cake and Pumpkin Cake who were napping inside their home four blocks away from my boutique. I was the ground beneath me, aware of each hoofstep from every pony in every direction for a distance so great that I shudder to ponder it. I was free to experience anything I desired as vividly or as simply as I chose. From Filthy Rich’s mansion, I heard Diamond Tiara play a sonatina on a grand piano for her proud father. They live at least fifteen blocks away! I had but to imagine the apple trees in Sweet Apple Acres and I tasted (from the inside, mind you) one of the unpicked apples in the south field, savoring its sweetness sixty five blocks away from my mouth. I watched the red and white blood cells in Granny Smith’s blood as I visited her hardening arteries. (She really should watch her cholesterol intake) Distance, size, illumination... They were barriers to me no longer. I saw what I wanted to see, heard what I wanted to hear, felt what I wanted to feel... all with nopony being the wiser.

As fantastic as all of this was, I felt something even more powerful on a spiritual level: pure love. I sensed that I was being embraced by a consciousness, a being. It wasn’t an awkward hug one might get from a drunken stranger at a party. This was a loving hug from somepony that I had known all my life, perhaps even before I was born. I couldn’t perceive any visible forelegs but I knew there was a pair around me nonetheless, cradling me as tenderly as Fluttershy would hold a sleeping baby animal. I didn’t have to design a dress to earn this being’s love. I didn’t need to have my mane and tail styled just right for it. It didn’t want anything from me. It didn’t judge me. It just loved me, sweetly and generously – and I accepted it graciously. I wept, humbled by its gesture and saddened by my inability to address my loving benefactor with so much as a simple thank you. I’d like to think it sensed my gratitude but I have no way of knowing for sure.

There’s no scientific explanation for the enhanced perception that Harmon-E grants. That rests squarely in the unknown realm of Everfree Forest magic. There’s no spell in any spellbook I’ve ever read that comes even close to duplicating its effect and since Rarity and I exploited our perception to the detriment of Ponyville, I’m more than okay with that. I do have a theory about the pure love. Harmon-E affects the parts of the brain that are responsible for pleasure and emotion. Until I felt it myself, I never even dreamed that love was something that could be experienced on that level. And it can’t. The brain just tricks itself into thinking it can. But what a trick it was.

Back in the real world, Pinkie Pie’s desperation grew and she struck me in the throat with her foreleg. Ouch. I couldn’t ignore that pain so I let her go. I lay on my back and coughed, watching the electrical impulses race from my throat up to my brain, telling it that I was quite uncomfortable. I heard Pinkie retching, spitting, sobbing and gasping for breath. I marveled at the dust mites crawling along the carpet fibers like a scattered flock of alien sheep. (When did I last have the carpets cleaned?) I lifted my head and looked at Pinkie. She was every bit as magnificent to behold as she was when I first saw her with my goddess senses, if not more so. Her heart was beating ferociously. The capillaries in her lachrymose, bloodshot eyes were as thick as rhubarb stalks. I heard her teeth gnash together as her jaw tightened. Her chest rose and fell. A gooey strand dangled from her lips. It was a mix of saliva, frosting, vomit and magism. She was breathtaking, her rage and pain making her a living museum exhibition of betrayal and trauma.

I had just been assaulted by a friend that I trusted with my life. I was angry and I wanted answers.

“What the hoof was that all about?” she yelled as tears continued to run down her face. “Why did you do that?”

I knew exactly what the hoof it was all about. I wanted a horngasm. As for why, I did it for the goddess senses. I didn’t tell her that, though. She didn’t need to know these answers as much as I needed to keep them to myself.

“I don’t know,” I said, lying through my teeth with my voice raspy from the blow. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she replied, sounding terribly exhausted. “Are you?”

I shook my head. I looked at the mess on the floor. The stench of vomit on my head was about as revolting as you might imagine. I had no desire to smell something so unpleasant. That was when I wondered why I, a pony in possession of the goddess senses, should have to smell it at all.

I willed myself to block the scent of the vomit – and it worked! If it was in my power to control what I smelled, what else could I control? I wasn’t fond of the pain in my throat so I concentrated on blocking that – and that worked, too! I had no idea I could do that! I covered my mouth with my forehoof to conceal my smile from Pinkie.

“I’m so sorry, Pinkie,” I wheezed. “I... I don’t know what came over me. I think I must be sick.”

With that one word, I detected a symphony of changes in her body. Her lowered brow eased up to reveal her sympathetic eyes. Her heartbeat slowed down to a more casual rate. These were signs of concern and she was now showing some for me.

“Sick?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “This has never happened to me before. I couldn’t stop myself from doing what I did. Oh, I’m so terribly, terribly sorry, Pinkie. Please forgive me. You won’t tell anypony about this, will you? It would be so embarrassing if the others knew. Promise me you’ll keep this just between us.”

“I Pinkie promise,” she said, going through the series of hoof gestures that mimed the verses of her signature oath. “A word of advice, though. When the Foal and Filly Fair comes around, you might want to consider using a measuring spoon.”

We shared a tenuous laugh. After washing up, we said our goodbyes and I gave her all the frosting to take home in a pair of saddlebags. She had earned it the hard way.

All in all, it wasn’t one of my prouder moments. Oh, but what does it matter now? I’ve captured the greatest prize of all and I only sustained some minor injuries in the process. I have all the love I’ll ever need with the embrace. I think I’ll take a walk around town and do a few parlor tricks with my new abilities to amuse

I’VE LOST THEM!

Withdrawal. It comes out of nowhere and hits you like a blacksmith’s hammer across the brain, over and over again, refusing to let up. Think menstrual cramp misery but from head to hoof. You want to run away from your own head. Without the hair of the dog that bit you, you’re screwed. I don’t know if it could have literally driven me insane, but if not, it brought me pretty darned close. And the loss of the embrace was beyond horrifying. I cried every time I went through withdrawal, no exceptions. My last withdrawal was the worst since it was the longest. I remember screaming to Fluttershy, begging her to kill me and then screaming the most hurtful, hateful things I could think of to get back at her for allowing my suffering to continue. Fluttershy? Do you remember any of those threats I made?

Yes, but I’d really rather not repeat them.

My goddess senses are gone again only it’s far worse than before! It’s dreadful! I feel as though I’m breathing cardboard! Everything’s so flat and drab! My muscles and joints feel like so many eggs frying helplessly in a pan! And to top it all off, the embrace is gone, too! Oh, I’m so depressed. I’m going to die single! A dead mare with no husband or children to mourn her passing! I knew my goddess senses had left me once before. Why hadn’t I even considered the possibility that they’d leave me again? And to think I spent so much time writing when I could have been doing something more constructive! No, I take that back. Writing in your pages is highly therapeutic. Forgive me, Diary.

I must approach this calmly and rationally.

I no longer have the element of surprise on my side with Pinkie Pie. She’s never broken a Pinkie promise so she won’t tip off the others but that’s as much as I can expect her to do for me. I’ll have to review my lists and come up with a new plan tailor made to appeal to my new target’s sensibilities. Name That Frosting! won’t work on anyone but Pinkie Pie and that bridge has been burned behind me. Oh, my. If the goddess senses aren’t permanent, I’m looking at four more chances at most to regain them – temporarily. I’ll need to fool one after another until I’ve exhausted my remaining four options. It’s only a matter of time until I’m forced to see the world like this for the rest of my life. Oh, woe is me!

Have you by any chance been touched by an Element of Harmony, Diary? No? Ah well. Just thought I’d ask.

Wait, how’s a stallion reading this book supposed to know what menstrual cramps feel like, Twilight?

What?

Cruel To The Kind

Dear Diary,

My apologies for dropping my inkwell on you last night. I was refilling my quill when my goddess senses departed with a vengeance and I wasn’t prepared for the pain that it left in its wake. The spot it left behind isn’t an eyesore at all. It has that art-nouveau look. And it dried cleanly without bleeding through to the other pages. I’ve always had a taste for the finer things in life, right down to using only the highest quality writing materials to capture my thoughts.

I don’t want to open the shop today. I really should. I’m not independently wealthy yet. Even up-and-coming fashionistas need to pay bills and eat. Speaking of eating, I was hungry but didn’t feel up to waiting for the market or even the Hayburger so I stepped out behind the boutique while it was still dark out (Did I sleep? I don’t remember the dream I had last night) and ate a few patches of tall grass. It wasn’t so bad, all things considered. I haven’t grazed straight from the ground since I was an infant. Some high society mare I am, eating as a cow would. Did you hear a sound earlier, Diary? The sound of dozens of rich, handsome princes from exotic, far away lands lining up around the block to ask for my hoof in marriage? Neither did I. And so I grazed because it seemed like a better idea than starving to death, although not by much.

Do you know whose life I envy most? Opal’s. She gets love, attention, food, water, and shelter – all without having to deisgn a single fashion line. And she has no concern about beating a biological clock. Some surgery recommended by Fluttershy saw to that but it has had some rather interesting side effects. I believe that Opal rather fancies Rainbow Dash’s turtle tortoise now. When the girls and I get together for our pet playdate, I can count on watching Opal interact with Tank. Whether nuzzling him or scratching at his shell, they’re never far apart from one another. The only aspect of Opal’s life that I don’t envy is that she does her “business” in a litterbox. especially since I’m the pony who has to clean said box. At the very least, I can levitate the scooper. Oh, my heavens, it just occurred to me! Applejack must have to pick up Winona’s droppings with her mouth!

Oh, Diary. I just spent the last five minutes laughing my plot off. It’s so wrong of me to laugh at that.

For the record, I do not use my bare mouth to pick up after my dog.

Heh. Crapplejack. OW! Would you quit hitting me?!

Maybe if you’d quit cracking stupid jokes like that, I would.

Guys, behave yourselves. Pinkie, you have my permission to use hug therapy on the next pony who instigates a fight.

Aye-aye, P.T.S.

Yikes. Uh, sorry, AJ. Truce?

Truce.

What’s that, Fluttershy? How dare you? Twilight, Fluttershy’s picking a fight with me.

What?

See? I can’t let that kind of challenge to my authority slide. I’m going to have to hug her now.

Oof! Well, this isn’t so bad.

Oh, Pinkie Pie.

I needed that laughter. I need every comfort I can get my hooves on right now. My tolerance to the pain of having mundane senses again has increased but I am by no means a happy camper. Not that camping could ever make me happy. No. The key to my hapiness lies elsewhere... and knowing that I’ll have to violate those I call my friends in order to attain it makes me ill. There’s no other way. I’m trying my best to deal with this silent hullabaloo and it’s the most difficult thing I’ve had to endure. My brain is ringing a bell for a servant that never shows because he’s left the premises but its needs aren’t being met so it just keeps ringing and ringing – and that soundless sound is threatening to unravel my sanity. I’ll try to run the shop today to try to get my mind off of my condition... though I doubt I’ll have much success. A nine hour day seems positively insurmountable. I’ve only been writing for a few minutes and it feels more like months have passed.

I’m hungry again. I suppose I’ll have some more Carousel Bistro al fresco grass. Right after a shower.

I felt refreshed after my shower. I applied my cosmetics and I even managed to open the shop. I shouldn’t be so proud of accomplishing something so trivial but considering my restlessness, it’s a wonder I can stand or walk at all. My levitation spell is unaffected, thank Celestia.

The first hour has come and gone and nopony has entered my shop, not even the mailpony. I’ll wager that Rich’s Barnyard Bargains has customers coming out of their ears at this time of day; ponies on a budget rifling through their discount bins for cheap, funky clothing. I’m not jealous. Why should I be? Those ponies aren’t my target demographic. My outfits attract a different class of pony, one that knows quality merchandise when they see it and have the means to purchase them. I just wish that more such ponies lived in (or were willing to make the journey to) Ponyville. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can complete the stonework on that bolero with the matching slacks I was working on for Sapphire Shores. Sapphire has a mare-iachi themed musical number planned for an upcoming tour and she’s asked me to design something for her that says south of the border. It’s very smart looking in a crossdressy sort of way. I wouldn’t wear it myself. I have no issues with pants. I’m just a dress mare. Hopefully hour two will see some customers arrive.

Oh dear.

Are you sure you’re up to this, Fluttershy?

No... but there’s only one way to find out.

Okay... but you don’t have to do this.

I know. I want to do this. Having you girls here with me makes this a lot easier.

If I wasn’t already hugging you, I’d ask you if you needed a hug.

Life is full of surprises, Diary. I suppose that’s part of what makes it so interesting. Sometimes something can fall into your lap when you least expect it... and then departs just as swiftly as it came. (This time, I waited until after my

The girls and I were starting to get concerned about Rarity since she had hardly spent time with any of us after her business trip. When we heard from Pinkie Pie that Rarity wasn’t feeling well, I volunteered to stop by and see how she was doing.

About an hour ago, the door chime rang as somepony entered the shop. It was Fluttershy. She came to pay me a visit to find out what I had been up to. She brought me a fruit basket which I dove into with great gusto. I devoured the apples and pears. The speed with which I ate the bananas was nothing short of inequine. By the time I was halfway through the grapes, I was sated enough to eat at a slower ladylike pace.

There are times when a spark of stimulating conversation can be delightful and then there are times when one simply wants somepony to listen to them unload. All of my friends can provide me with the former but Fluttershy has long been my go-to pony for the latter. She’s infinitely patient with me and I fully admit to having a knack for inadvertently trying the patience of others. While I knew I could trust Fluttershy about what I’ve been going through, I made her Pinkie promise not to repeat what she was about to hear all the same. Naturally, she indulged me. I then proceeded to confide in her about everything. The goddess senses, the trip to Dodge Junction, the dustup with Pinkie Pie – it must have been a lot to swallow – and she paid attention to every word I spoke without interruption. When I told her that I was going out of my mind without my gift, I started to cry. After recounting Pinkie’s ordeal, I could scarcely believe that I had actually done such a thing to Ponyville’s dearest daughter. I was filled with self-loathing. Celestia, I’m so blasted sick of crying like a baby when faced with adversity. Not even my little sister cries as much as I do. Am I not an adult? Why don’t I do something more constructive to solve my problems?

I had never seen Rarity in such a state of anxiety. So I did the kindest thing I could think to do that might help calm her down.

I closed my eyes and hung my head, fully expecting Fluttershy to denounce me Then Fluttershy did something I wasn’t expecting. She flew to the front door, locked it, put up my closed sign, and proceeded to suck my horn.

The pain I had felt since dropping the inkwell on your pages disappeared and I cried for joy from the relief that I feared I’d never feel again. It was a very intense emotional moment. The goddess senses returned to me but, more than that, my beautiful, kind friend Fluttershy was going above and beyond the call of duty by helping me in my hour of need in the most personal of ways. I was ashamed of myself and what I’ve done – though not so ashamed that I asked Fluttershy to stop. Indeed, my lungs were far too occupied with the task of moaning, whimpering, and heavy breathing brought about by her impeccable hornjob to even think about asking her to stop. I didn’t have to resort to trickery or force to gain access to her mouth. No guilt. No trickery. No fifteen thousand bits. Only a dear sweet friend who gave of herself to help an undeserving monster through a rough patch. The skill with which she dutifully and diligently lavished my mouth-starved horn was without flaw. And much to my surprise, she knew her way around a unicorn horn. She even ran the tip of her tongue across my groove right before I could ask if she could do that. Whoever educated her on the subject had my thanks.

I should explain. When I have some down time, I like to do some reading. It’s very relaxing. Rainbow Dash and I make regular trips to the library together and we sometimes walk away with two saddlebags full of books. I’m not very strong so if I got more than that, the weight makes it hard for me to fly. This one time, Rainbow Dash decided to play a prank on me.

We were in line to check out our selections when she asked me to look after her stack so that she could go to the bathroom. I saw a book titled The Complete Illustrated Guide To Advanced Unicorn Lovemaking Techniques. [Author’s note: Published by Simon & Horseshuster, now in its fourth printing. Available wherever better books are sold.] I quickly grabbed it off the shelf and stuck it in the middle of her stack. Fluttershy came back when Twilight was half way through checking out my books. When it was Fluttershy’s turn to check out, I hid behind a bookshelf and watched, waiting for Twilight to flip out when she saw the sex book – but, egghead that she is, she didn’t even notice the title of the book that she had stamped.

I did notice, Rainbow Dash. What you call being an egghead is actually professionalism. Just because I’m Fluttershy’s friend does not entitle me to comment on the books she borrows. What she checks out is her own business and I assumed that she was fully aware of what she was checking out when she took it off the shelf. She’s an adult. So are you – although your love of pranks leads me to believe otherwise.

When I got home, I saw the book and I was so embarrassed. Twilight must have thought I was a hussy. At the time, I had no idea how it could have wound up in my selections. And... well... curiosity got the better of me so I peeked at the first page... and then the second page... and then a few pages more until I finished the book. It’s very educational. I learned things about unicorns that I never knew before. A-Anyway, that’s the story of how I knew what to do to Rarity’s horn.

It couldn’t have been three minutes until I started to feel the familiar buildup of pressure in my horn.

I had never done this before but it was working just like the book said. I guess I’m good at following instructions.

“Oh, Fluttershy... I’m going to unicum,” I warned her, wondering if she even knew what that meant and dreading the thought that she’d stop if she did know what it meant. Bless her heart, not only did she not stop, she took my horn even deeper down the back of her throat until her lips came in contact with my forehead. I squeaked out my warning a second time and then I unicame with a vengeance, wailing with pleasure as I unleashed a fusillade of magism down her esophagus. My body spasmed as she stayed the course, allowing me to empty myself into her before disengaging her mouth from my horn.

The hardest part was holding my breath until Rarity unicame. Her magism shot right down my esophagus and into my stomach, just like the book said would happen if I did it right. And I did. I didn’t want to ruin the moment by choking or vomiting.

My legs twitched with every stroke of her tongue as she licked the magism that ran down the tip. Any stallion lucky enough to become her spouse was going to have a spectacular honeymoon – guaranteed.

I didn’t even taste any of it until I started to lick it clean. And I was a little curious about how it tasted. It tastes like bits and minty toothpaste. I had never seen her look so relaxed – or so beautiful – than at that moment. A complete one-eighty from the way she was feeling when I first entered her boutique. She was glowing.

“Do you feel better now?” she asked.

“Much,” I squeaked as I rolled onto my back to catch my breath.

“Good. Now, if you start to feel that discomfort again, you just let me know and I’ll suck your horn whenever you want.”

Oh, how those words made me weep with joy. I would never be without the goddess senses or the embrace again. I was saved.

“Thank you, Fluttershy,” I said. “Why is it that you’re so kind to me?”

Oh, my. Here it comes.

“It’s... because I’m in love with you,” she said.

“Uh – What?” I asked flatly.

I don’t know if I can really call myself a lesbian. All I know is that I’ve been in love with Rarity for years and I wanted to be more than just friends. I just never had the courage to tell her. Since we had just shared this act of intimacy, I thought she’d be open to others.

Before I could get a reply out of her, she stood over me, leaned in and tried to kiss me. I yelped and scrambled away from her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I squealed.

“But... I just thought that... since I, you know, took care of your horn... that... we might...”

“Is that so? Well, I’m very flattered that you have feelings for me but those feelings are not reciprocated. I am a heterosexual mare.”

“B-B-B-B-But... th-the hornjob...”

“What about it? Putting your mouth around my horn is one thing. Putting it on my lips is quite another. I just got through telling you how distressed I am from dealing with this! Did you honestly believe that this was the best time to profess your love for me? Hmm? What were you thinking?”

I lost my temper all the time when something – anything – got between me and my enjoyment of the embrace. I sure as hoof didn’t want to hear anypony talk to me. The only thing I would even think of entertaining was getting another hornjob.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she started to cry. “I think I should leave now.”

“Yes, you most certainly should! And don’t return until you’ve learned how to treat me like the lady I am and how to act like the lady I thought you were!” I opened the door for her and she ran away a weeping mess.

I’ve cried more times than I can count over more things than I care to remember. Having my heart broken into a billion pieces by Rarity like this was more painful than all of those other things combined. I should have kept quiet. I’m much better now but at the time, I honestly didn’t want to live anymore.

I was furious. I still am – only now that I’ve had some time to cool down and reflect, I’m actually more furious with myself than with Fluttershy. I should have handled the situation with maturity and understanding. Had I let her down gently instead of losing my temper and yelling at her, the arrangement where she would continue giving me hornjobs on a regular basis might still be valid. I doubt she’ll come back tomorrow.

Kissing a mare. Why, the very idea makes me ill. I would sooner share a kiss with the world’s ugliest stallion than its most beautiful mare.

I’m with Rarity on this one. What about you guys? If you had to kiss either the ugliest stallion or the most beautiful mare, which would you choose?

Rarity is the most beautiful mare there is... so I think you know my answer.

How ugly are we talking here?

She said the world’s ugliest stallion so figure that he’s got to be pretty horrendous. Crooked teeth, huge nose, beady eyes...

Does he have B.O. or bad breath?

I dunno. She just said ugly. Smelly is a dealbreaker for me. I might have to change my answer if he was ugly and stunk. For the sake of this hypothetical question, he doesn’t smell bad.

Okay. Hwoo. This one’s a toughy. Well, if it’s just a quick peck on the lips, the mare. but if it’s even a split second longer than that, the stallion.

As long as I know them, I’m good with either. After all, it’s what’s on the inside that counts, right?

Uh, yeah, totally. What about you, Twilight?

You do know that Rarity and I were...

Oh, yeah. DUH! Never mind.

My goddess senses will leave me again. I shall simply have to endure their absence until Fluttershy returns. I refuse to subject the other girls to my vice. This has to stop. In fact, it’s stopping right now. There, I’ve said it. It’s over. I’m officially done. It’s costing me money and ruining my friendships.

I told myself plenty of times that I was done with Harmon-E. And one minute of withdrawal was all it took to remind me who was really in charge.

I closed the shop. I can’t work. I can’t concentrate. I can barely write. I can’t take it any longer. I give up. This is sheer agony! I need the goddess senses again. But I won’t go to Fluttershy. She’s cruel! She’ll force me to have sex with her in exchange for hornjobs... and I refuse to stoop so low! She isn’t the only one with an eligible mouth.

Celestia, she was sooooooo good. Why did she have to turn on me?

What’s done is done. I’m doing this on my own terms. I’ve decided that my next target shall be Rainbow Dash. I know exactly how to bend her to my will. I just need the right ally. And conveniently enough, that ally happens to be Rainbow Dash herself.

Fluttershy?

Yes?

I don’t say this often enough but you really are brave. Doing this commentary must be pretty hard for you.

Oh. It is. Thank you.

I’m going to have to one-up you, though. See, anypony who read Whorn already knows what happens to me in this next chapter. What they don’t know is that the secret I’m about to reveal for this commentary edition is the first time I’ve revealed it anywhere. Ever. And it’s going to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

Oh, goodness. That is very brave. Would it help if I offered to hold your hoof as you tell it?

Honestly? I think I might need a hug for this one.

A Loyal Pain

Dear Diary,

It’s morning.

I couldn’t sleep at all last night. I’m overcome with exhaustion yet I cannot achieve much more past tossing and turning. My eyes feel like a pair of bonfires burning away in my eye sockets. My head feels as though an Ursa Major has been trying to pound its way out of my skull. And with each sunrise that I see, I feel as weak as a baby bird chipping away at its shell to break free. If I thought I couldn’t open the shop yesterday, I know for certain that I cannot do so today.

An absence of nutrition hasn’t helped my situation. I’m famished. I haven’t eaten any decent food since yesterday afternoon when I finished what was left of the fruit that Fluttershy brought me. My late dinner consisted of two pepper packets from The Hayburger and what remained of a can of aerosol cheese that Sweetie Belle left behind in my cupboard. I have no foodstuffs left in the house, save for unpalatable ingredients such as flour, vinegar, and the like. I’ve already grazed every last blade of grass on my property. Drinkwise, I am down to my last few bottles of sparkling mineral water and will soon be at the mercy of the tap.

I haven’t put on any makeup. I’m absolutely terrified of looking at myself in a mirror. It was all I could do to brush my hair let alone style it. The sound of my horn glowing with magic exacerbates my headache. Oh, how the beautiful have fallen.

I am beginning to believe that I may be losing my mind.

Please excuse me for a moment. Opal’s trying to get my attention. I must have forgotten to refresh her food and water.

I have officially sunk to a new low. I just tried eating Opal’s dry cat food. It’s perfectly dreadful although one wouldn’t guess that by the way she dove into it. I would say that I had no idea what I must have been thinking at the time I tried to eat it if I suspected that I was thinking at all. I spat it out and began to laugh at the folly of it. And then I started to cry. Opal simply watched me as she ate. In all fairness to her, my tears are not an uncommon sight within these walls.

It’s this wretched shop, Diary. It is both my safety blanket and my noose. My mother and my whore. My shelter and my prison. Feel free to ask me to stop should my analogies begin to annoy you. I wish that everypony would just go away while I buy my necessities. I feel like a chicken hiding under a bucket in a field crawling with hungry foxes. Stupid ponies with their stupid judgmental eyes. I must get out of here. My less than magnificent appearance be damned, if I don’t leave this place to get some exercise, fresh air, and good food, I shall surely perish or go mad or both. In order to do this, I shall have to rely upon an institution that mares the world over who don’t care about the appearance of their hair have used when time is of the essence: the hair bun.

Forget the fashion police. I'll be lucky if my bun doesn't draw the attention of the fashion SWAT team.

Unless I am called up to that fashion runway in the sky, I shall return to you in an hour or two, dear Diary.

Update: Good news, Diary! I won’t need to step out of the house after all. As I was headed out the door, Spikey-wikey just so happened to be standing outside about to ring my doorbell. He was here to pay me a visit and I asked him if he could be a dear and fetch some pizza and some groceries for me since I’ve been feeling under the weather. The little darling agreed, bless his heart. I gave him a pouch of bits to cover the expenses and a large but slightly flawed emerald for his troubles. He left just a few moments ago. Fie on you, starvation! You shan't claim this unicorn today!

Spike had tried to visit me that morning and I’m afraid I wasn’t a very good host. I had upset Rarity the day before and I was such a mess that I couldn’t even talk to him. He knew that something was wrong but he was kind enough not to pressure me for the details.

Spike is a dear friend to all six of us but since he is a minor, it was decided that he shouldn't contribute to this commentary. I’ve asked him not to read Whorn due to its graphic adult content and, to the best of my knowledge, he’s honored my request. He was present for most of the events that took place in Whorn anyway – and there are just some comments that the girls and I would feel awkward making with a boy in the room. And on a selfish note, I’d rather that he not be made aware of all of the more embarrassing details so that he can hold on to what little respect he has left for Rarity and me. On the day that he’s old enough to read it, he may do so. I just hope that he’ll have found other living arrangements by then.

Spike living on his own. Is it bad of me to picture his place being a total mess?

Hopefully he’ll have picked up some good housekeeping habits by then – but, to answer your question, no, it's not bad of you to picture that. And I’m not just saying that because I picture it being a mess, too.

Discord once said that chaos is a wonderful, wonderful thing. Twilight countered that by saying that chaos was not as wonderful as friendship.

But, my word, Diary – friendship doesn’t hold a candle to how wonderful a large grain lover’s supreme pizza from Pizza Stable is! Oats! Wild rice! Quinoa! Couscous! Pineapple! Capers! Black Olives! Red Onions! Mushrooms! Wheatballs! All on a tender crust that Princess Celestia herself must have baked to perfection. However, I must take them to task over their marinara sauce. It’s a tad weak for my taste. I’ve been spoiled since foalhood by Mother’s incredible homemade marinara sauce so anypony in the pizza business has got some pretty stiff competition if they want to cross saucepans with my mother. My compliments to the chef. Now that I’ve had a splendid feast, I no longer feel miserable and hungry – just miserable.

Um, is anypony else getting hungry or is it just me?

It is so not just you.

Ooh, me, too! I’m hungry, too.

Oh, thank Celestia, I thought it was just me! What about you, Applejack? Are you hungry?

Shoot, you all know I’ve always got an appetite. [Author’s note: Hee hee! I just leafed through my working copy (to which I am adding my notes) and all instances of Applejack’s y’all are transcribed as you all. The ain’ts were left in, however. I suppose editing those into isn'ts would have been overly presumptuous.]

Ooh! Can we get some Pizza Barn pizza delivered right now? It’ll be like a pizza party! Can we? Can we? Can we? Huh? Huh? Huh?

Why wait for a delivery pony when I can go grab it for us?

I was actually going to suggest that we take a break and go out for lunch but I don’t suppose it would hurt to ask if we could get it delivered here instead. Tabitha? Would it be okay if we ordered some pizza and ate it here in the studio? It would? Thanks![Author’s note: Tabitha is the technician who sat in with the girls at the offices of Simon & Horseshuster and supervised the recording session for transcription. She read my parts out loud to the girls and paused after each sentence to allow for comments to be made.]

Though we should probably order Rainbow a salad since she doesn’t like pizza.

Ha! Good one, Applejack. Like I don’t love pizza. Puh-leeze. Pizza couldn’t be more awesome if it came in rainbow colors. Hey! Do you think they could do that?

Do what?

Do you think they could make a Rainbow Dash Pie? They could cut it six ways and each slice would have a topping the same color as one of the colors of my mane. I think I might have a moneymaking promotional idea on my hooves here!

Technically, rainbows have seven-

Technically, I will knock you out if you finish that sentence, Twilight.

Sheesh! I’m sure that’s just the hunger talking.

Could we get apple slices on one of the pies?

Now there's a surprise. What don’t you like apples on, AJ?

There are plenty of foods that I don’t like with apples in or on it.

Oh, really? Name one.

Uh... well...

While you're thinking of an answer, I'll fly to Pizza Stable and get us a couple of pies, one with half apple for AJ.

Um, could you please make that a whole pie with apple slices instead of a half pie?

You too, huh? When did you become such an apple lover?

Recently.

My compliments to the chef, regardless of sauce quality. Now that I’ve had a splendid feast, I no longer feel miserable and hungry – just miserable.

Let’s talk about Rainbow Dash, shall we?

Rainbow Dash is a mare of action. Her love of flight is surpassed only by her love of winning. She adores having her ego stroked with praise for her daring deeds – yet for all of her heroism, she has been known to get herself in a bind by taking up the occasional mischievous cause. If she was as noble and mature as, say, Fluttershy, she’d be frighteningly perfect and I would feel no end of jealousy toward her.

Yep. Nopony’s perfect... but I do come pur-rit-ty darned close.

She doesn’t believe in letting an opportunity to have fun slip through her hooves and she’s not above having a laugh at another’s expense. I believe that these are the traits that I shall exploit.

I had Pinkie promised to keep what Rarity had done to me a secret because, dummy that I was, I didn’t know that she had lied to me about being sick. If I had known that I could have saved Rainbow Dash, Applejack and the others from being assaulted, I would have broken my Pinkie promise in a heartbeat.

And I was so busy wallowing in self pity that I couldn’t think of anypony besides myself. I should have told somepony else. I could have put a stop to the cycle, too.

Uh! What have we all been talking about in group, guys? Stop blaming yourselves.

Seriously, though, I should have put a stop to it.

Hold on a second! Why do you get to blame yourself when we can't do the same?

Well, I mean, come on. No offense but you guys aren't heroes like I am.

Oh, um, I guess you're right.

Hmph!

I shall tell Rainbow Dash the story of how Pinkie Pie licked frosting from my horn the first time. The version I intend to tell shall be quite different than the one which actually happened. It goes without saying that I’ll omit the part where I attached myself to Pinkie and forced my horn down her throat. The key difference between this version and what really happened is that I shall claim that, while Pinkie was licking my horn clean, I was speaking in tongues and making the silliest, most embarrassing sounds. I’ll also mention how much Pinkie was laughing at the results. Ever the prankster, Rainbow Dash will not be able to resist putting her own mouth on my horn to hear for herself exactly how silly my sounds were. The sillier I make them and the more embarrassed I sound, the more she’ll want to hear it and the more she’ll try to suck it.

I hate having my weaknesses analyzed.

My plan is not without risk. Rainbow Dash is a top athlete. A horngasm, while glorious, is quite the distraction. If I’m not quick enough about holding her in place with levitation immediately after I unicum, she could attack me and easily do me some serious damage. Levitation requires concentration and it’s extremely difficult to execute while disoriented or, say, being beaten to a pulp.

It becomes significantly easier with practice.

My plan worked, Diary. For the moment, my pain is gone. I just wish it didn't come at the cost of Rainbow Dash's pain.

Possessing curiosity that surpasses that of the proverbial cat, Rainbow put her mouth over my horn and sucked on it to see. I pretended to babble, spouting off whatever random nonsensical sounds came to mind. Rainbow had a good hearty laugh and I knew that I had her right where I wanted her.

Though my body ached at the idea of my horn parting with those magic lips, I gently withdrew my horn from her mouth and asked her to stop being so silly. My soft approach had its intended effect because Rainbow proceeded to fly after me and chase me through my house, licking and sucking my horn repeatedly. That’s Rainbow for you. She’s not above playing tricks on a friend if there’s a laugh to be gained from it. Oh, those sweet unsuspecting lips! I increased the silliness in my silly noises the faster her mouth went up and down on my horn. This was actually not producing the effect I wanted because now she was laughing too much to suck me properly for more than a few seconds at a time. Then she experimented with what would happen if she went deep. As I've already told you, unicumming feels best when my horn is deep inside the mouth of my victim (???) and, just as I did to Pinkie Pie before her, I grabbed Rainbow's head and plunged it down into her throat.

Needless to say, I wasn't expecting anything like this. I thought Rarity was doing this because she was mad at me for laughing at her and then that stuff shot into my throat. I started to panic. There's not a feeling in the world like wanting to breathe and not being able to do it.

I moaned as the magism began spurting out of my horn and inside her throat. She began to fly but stopped beating her wings as vomit came up and poured over my head. Rainbow wasn't as tactful as Pinkie Pie was in her attempt to free herself. She simply pounded my head with all four hooves at once to knock me off. It worked. I was able to block my pain receptors and I fell on the ground where I must have looked ridiculous shooting magism across the room like an unattended garden hose.

“Did... you just do something... sexual to me?” she asked.

“Um... yes?” I replied. “I hope that’s all right.”

Diary, I swear to you that what I am about to tell you is the honest truth. After I answered Rainbow Dash’s question, she sat down and cried like a baby. I mean she bawled as though she suffered a terrible personal loss. It was that severe. Not even Pinkie was as upset by my assault as she was. It was an outburst of emotion worthy of my drama couch. I cried with her but I doubt she even noticed. Then I did the coldest thing I think I've ever done to anypony. I levitated her out of my front door and left her outside, locking the door behind her.

Are you okay, Rainbow?

Darn it. I hate crying.

Do you want that hug now, Rainbow Dash?

Yeah.

I’ve got you, Dashie. I'm here for you. We all are. Just take your time.

Okay.

Whew.

So, anyway...

Rarity... triggered... a suppressed memory. I don’t believe in all that stupid psychology mumbo jumbo so trust me when I say that I know how lame that sounds... but it did. Here’s what happened.

When I was seven, I was at the playground in Ponyville Park. It was during a flight camp field trip. That was the one you missed because you caught the feather flu, remember, Fluttershy?

Oh, yes, I remember that.

Anyway, I was playing with my friends and I was having a blast until nature called. I liked my independence even back then... so rather than ask one of the chaperones to hold my wing and lead me to the potty as if I was a toddler, I snuck off and went there on my own. So I go to use the restroom... and when I was done... I mean, I was eager to get back to the playground and have more fun with my friends so that’s where my mind was.

Whew.

How are you guys doing?

So when I was done and left the restroom, somepony called out to me. I looked to my left and there’s this unicorn stallion standing there. I already knew not to talk to strangers but this guy looked harmless, like a photo of somepony’s favorite uncle you’d see sitting in a picture frame on somepony’s mantel. He looked older but he wasn’t like senior citizen old. I flew over to him and he asked me if I could do him a favor. He was clean cut and he even smelled nice. Anyway, he asked me politely if I could help him. He told me his magic wasn’t working because his horn was clogged. I asked how I could help and he told me that whatever was clogging his horn could be removed if somepony could suck it out. So... we went behind the restroom and... not knowing any better... I... did it.

Oh, Rainbow Dash...

Oh, my Celestia...

Oh, Dashie...

Heavens to Betsy...

I figured there was nothing to it, you know? I was already big on winning and this seemed like a super easy obstacle. Lame cliché number two: it all happened so fast. He asked, I agreed... and then a minute later, he... did his business, he thanked me and he was out of there. One more victory for the amazing Rainbow Dash. I washed my face in the water fountain, ran over to my friends and kept on playing like it was nothing. I never gave it another thought. I never told my folks about it because it didn’t seem like a big deal. To me, it was just a mediocre good deed. I didn’t know I had done something sexual to him. If he had shown me his wang, I would have known immediately that he was a perv and flown off to tell somepony. He just seemed so friendly that I didn’t suspect a thing. When Rarity tricked me, I remembered that day in the park... and I was so angry with myself for being so stupid... that I broke down. I wanted to beat the tar out of her but I was too sad to do anything but cry like the stupid little bitch I must have looked like to that plothole stallion who took advantage of me! I WAS ONLY SEVEN YEARS OOOOOLD!!!

Oh, my poor little Dashie... I’m so sorry.

It wasn’t your fault, Fluttershy. It was mine. It's like Twilight said in the foreword: if sharing my story gets even one parent or guardian to tell their kids to be extra careful out there, then at least something good can come out of it. Could... the rest of you guys... come here and make this a group hug? I need it really bad.

Of course.

Always.

We love you, Rainbow.

If there was any question as to whether or not I had become a monster, all doubt was removed on this day.

(Author’s note: Rainbow Dash, I cannot put into words how sorry I am that this happened to you and that my actions made you recall it. If I could undo what I did to you and the others, believe me, I would. I can only do the same thing I’ve been doing since my recovery: apologize profusely and beg for your forgiveness.)