Whorn: A Debutante's Dark Descent Into Debauchery

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?