Insomnia Most Pleasant

The pre-dawn avian chorus arrived early. Much too early. Species? Love birds, all female. Silly birds, you won’t make any eggs that way.

I guess I’m awake. When you’re the crown princess pegasus, heavy sleep is for those afternoons where you can sneak away without somepony tracking you down so you can make your next appearance. Add in sleeping on the sofa of the enemy new friend and being sore: it’s a recipe for insomnia. Once again, a rude reminder that flight and pulling are different exercises, even when they overlap the same muscles.

Actually, it was only two lovebirds making horse noises. Nickers, moans, and snorts. All too real to be birds. All too—

Gross! Could they not have the decency to wait until I’ve returned to Zephyr Heights?

Know what else is gross? The humidity I feel on my dock. Oh no. I hope it’s nothing. Pipp does not need to smell me like this. Standing up, I feel the sofa where I slept. Good: nothing to report. Those two mares infected my dreams and put me in heat. Where is Hitch?

I peer into the darkness of the empty stallion stall. No Hitch in sight, unless…

No, he had not laid down and got himself cast. No heroic rescue by pegasi. He was not there at all. What else to do but pace a circle while I weigh my options?

“Zipp?”

Did somepony call for me? My ears scan in all directions to hear, “Zipp, where are you?”

That’s a feminine voice, not Hitch mirroring my feelings.

“Zipp?”

My sister, not my new friends (too low in pitch—“contralto,” as she’d call it).

Birds? Did they wake her, too?

“There you are. I need a hug and earplugs.”

Hug? Easy enough. Two steps forward, I lower my neck to rub against her mane. Even she understood not to dispute affection when she’d have to remake her mane in the morning anyway.

“Standing hug?” she asks.

“Always,” I reply as I stretch my wings forward while she stood up and interlocked her feathers with mine.

Oh! My mind went blank for a moment, there. A time-skip of sisterly silence. That’s as close to sleep as I’ll get until those two upstairs finish.

“I needed that. Had a dream the bravest guards were sent to drag us back. I’m too pretty to jail.”

Still my sister, even in these trying times.

“What got you out of bed?”

“Same reason you requested earplugs, I assume.”

Even in the dark, pinned ears are unmistakable. Very much my sister.

“Don’t you normally carry your performance IEMs in your saddlebags?” I ask, hoping to prompt her into common sense.

“With noise canceling on, I don’t think they’ll last the night. Remember how I barely escaped with my life? No time to recharge.”

Snort. Dramatic, isn’t she? Wait. What if she’s right? Would our fellow pegasi be so quick to embrace regicide and republicanism? Were the unicorns right about our subjects being brutes?

If they were, that makes me the queen of our government-of-two-in-exile. The least I can do is be the unflappable head of state Pipp so desperately needs and make a filly to claim legitimacy through continuity. Biology waits for no mare, even when on the run.

“Pipp, I doubt they’ll go all all night. You just need a couple of hours. Surely—”

Beep.

“Yes, that’s enough battery.”

Pipp breaks the hug with that announcement.

“So, what are your plans to handle the noise?”

Asking the intrusive sisterly questions. Intentionality? For her? Only Mom knows.

“Go somewhere quiet. Hitch must have run off. I need to find him and ensure he hasn’t walked somewhere so quiet it’s full of paranoid unicorns.”

No dice. Pipp’s Flehmen made her lack of belief readily apparent.

“You know the rules”—if it were not so dark the gleam in her eyes would penetrate—“just as well as I. If you make a filly while Mom is still alive without securing an alliance with her sire—”

Don’t you say it!

“—that means I get to be queen! Imagine that, Queen Pipp!”

At least her wing flaps make for a nice breeze.

I still have my diplomatic sneak to improve.

“That’s still even odds we have a practice run and produce a colt.”

“I’ll take those. ‘Greetings, Pippsqueaks! Gaze upon me, your new queen!’”

“I’m going upstairs to enjoy a cold shower. Good luck sleeping without me as your pillow.”

I trot away from my sister’s rare moments of insight and up the ramp. Her recitation of succession rules implied her optimism about our legitimacy upon our return. Pretty sneaky when I want to be? Now is the time to use this skill when opening the door.

Inside. Immediately to the left? Izzy’s words internally echoed. Pause. Has anypony noticed me? Well, she did mention I’d have no problems sneaking in. Perhaps she was right about that.

To the left stood the open door to the promised bathroom. Some closed closet to my right—difficult to see in this dark. Ahead, the soft remnants of a bedside light spilled just enough to see that there was a light on. The expected loving sounds were quite muted compared to downstairs.

“Careful where you point that thing!”

Except for that one.

Tea? Horny mares in the throes of passion, and the first smell is tea? Something isn’t right. Flehmen time with a raised neck to get wider coverage. There it is: horny mares in your area, as they say. A reminder tugged at my coat as it dribbled down my leg. Three. Three horny mares in this area. Cold shower time.

Door shut, light on. Strange design. Separate bath and shower. Just who built this place? From the shower, splash of strange color on the bath wall.

Flick, flick. No sounds but muffled lovemaking and a faint fan. Pulling back the curtain, it will be a hot shower tonight. Very hot. Steamy and sensual, if I can reach. Just the right height to pretend it’s Hitch. Or for a tall mare like Izzy. Perfect positioning for the showerhead, too. Traditional style plumbing in here (contrast the full-coverage rain in the dedicated shower stall). A body part much farther back than my ears flicked.

Good, a pair of steps. The logistics might work this time. Nope. Not unless I want it in the ponut. Not that I’d say no if it were Hitch wanting his reward after licking me blissful, but well-crafted rubber is not a stallion.

Suction cup disengage! Try again but lower (not so much lower that I’d need to butt lower). Back in; it’s a direct hit. Wink, wink. This time the heat slickness running down my leg makes me blush. I am a horny mare. I am in heat. It’ll wash away soon enough. I will enjoy myself and turn the water on.

Oh, the water is nice and muffling. Comforting on my muscles, too. How do I approach this? Squirting and schlorping and all the way in. How else would a drafty earth stallion slide himself in? Why am I more aroused at the funny noise?

Imagining him folding me forward and having his way with me? Far easier with eyes wide shut. Hind legs? They know how to buck on their own. In, out, in, out. Oh, Hitch rail me harder. If only you were really here to place your legs in front of my wings and bite my mane. Big boy, you’re tall enough it’s safe to mount me with your weight resting on my front legs. On the other side of the size distribution from the medium-size stallions who would wreck a pegasus from the weight on the hinds. No small safe stallion, you are.

If only somepony were here to join me and pinch my neck with a bite. Schlorp went the dildo as I thrust back to hilt again. Oh! If I retract my legs…

If I retrac…

Right on the g-spot. Wings too flared to care about the water splashed everywhere. Hitch, you’ve got a big ol' schlong, and you know how to use it. Have your way with me. Squishing and sloshing and sprinkling and all the other lovely watery sounds. Fit for a queen.

No, Mom, fit for me. I’m sure you can negotiate something with the Earth Ponies to make me a legally wedded crown princess. Or not. If we’re never welcomed back, there’s no need to hold tight to my claim.

That was one impressive whinny out there! Exactly what I need to focus on as I mentally make it echo. The water and fan can drown out my nickers and snorts.

Snort, schlorp, schlick

The suction noises, too.

Forelegs, neck bites, and weight separate me from the real thing. Those plus a lack of balls slapping against my plot and stifle. For today, close enough will be good enough—at least it will be if I arc my back to st—

To stroke…

To stroke that medial ring on my clit. Lucky Izzy, I bet he’s sized so it hits her g-spot exactly when the ring passes her clit.

Faster, faster, faster! Izzy can’t catch me now. Not until the afterglow, at least. She can find me then for all I care. More! Harder!

Snort, snort, squirt, squirt, snort

The water, it should be off. Thock, out it goes! Quiet, that’s better. Air heavy with steam.

“Careful where you put that thing!”

Wow, they’re still going hard. Sneak out? Not until I’ve listened for inspiration. Two mares singing their song with this third mare as accompaniment. Lesson noted: going until physically exhausted is a trait shared among mares of every breed. Also, whatever they’re up to is “just like the real thing.”

That thing sure smells like rubber and mare. Oh, oh wow. I taste good. If only my neck could reach that far.

Actually, Izzy can catch me if she wants. Back on the dildo with no water to occlude the squelching and sliding. I’ll squeal if I damn well please. Who am I kidding? I’m the quiet model. Izzy had better catch me.

“Sorry, Sunny, I need to check the bathroom plumbing. It’s making strange noises.”

“Zipp! What are you doing in my bathtub? The shower is over there.”

“Your taste on my dildo? As flavorful as you are, you need some hard bony horny punishment. Turn around where I can lick you.”

Right. The flare. Fake penis, not fake horn. Perhaps the noise earned Izzy’s attention. My earlier aggression had moved it down the wall. Perfect. Ideal horn angle. The tip points up wherever while the shaft works my clit.

“Zipp, you’ve been naughty. Now it’s time to shove a unicorn horn up there.”

My expected protest never came. If I matched her thrusting, however, something else would soon come.

Splish shake tap splat

There I go, mane shaken. Doing that again.

No sound this time. No sound and nicker nicker yes, yes.

“Oh Izzy, you know just where to find me.”

My own words distort with each shake. Each, each.

Wow! What a squeal! I've—plot—never been that loud, especially not romantically.

Something about ears. Right, sneaking. No hoof falls. Subdued rhythm compared to earlier. Light off, door open. Out to the main room.

Silence, or at least as close to it as can be. Nothing over the background din of the lovebirds. Red. Sheets and sheets of red. Clouded vision, the fake sight of red. That mare, I should’ve known.

Too dark to canter. Must trot. Down the ramp, around the sofa, out the back door. He stands there asleep.

“Pipp!”

That tan stallion rears and whinnies in alarm. Still just a pony, after all.

“Where’s your lover?” I ask.

“What’s the matter with you? I thought you were the sneaky one.”

He’s right. I can’t alert every unicorn to point their unique horn to gawk like our sisterly dispute is daytime TV at four in the morning.

“Sorry. Where’s Pipp?” Quiet voice this time.

His head nodded toward another tree, “Sleeping.”

There she stands, Princess Pipp in her nocturnal glory. Got herself covered despite the obvious bed mane. Keep it together, Zipp. Don’t make a scene this time. Gentle ought to do it. Ears drooped and hind hoof cocked; she’s in the dream world.

“Pipp, Pipp. Wake up.”

She stirs, starting with the ears. “Morning al—? What is it now? It’s dark.”

Stage whisper, the next-best thing after a shout.

“You reminded me of the succession rules so that you could have him all to yourself.”

“What are you talking about?”

“While I was showering, you found Hitch and had him cover you.”

“I’m stuffed far too full of raspberry leaves to want that. They’re all around you.”

She’s right. Plenty of leaves stand fresh for grazing at my hooves. They probably did merely enjoy a midnight snack and a snooze. Have I become as paranoid as the unicorns?

Tasty leaves. Was I hangry this whole time?