Whorn: A Debutante's Dark Descent Into Debauchery

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 I must.