Too Many Comings And Goings

“Oh, honey,” said Octavia indulgently.

“You don’t understand, Octavia!”

“No, I suppose I don’t,” said Octavia. “It seems to me that you must make this report for the safety of all Ponyville. Discord is back, and Celestia must know what happened!”

“…exactly,” sighed Stout Heart. “I just can’t figure out how to phrase it.”

Octavia swished her dark grey tail. “You tell her, ‘Discord took my penis and used it on another pony without my permission’!”

Stout Heart winced. “I’d rather not hear it said like that, even from you.”

Octavia’s ears were back. “But it’s a disaster of unparalleled proportions!”

That got her a long-suffering look. “Dear, he did give it back. You’re sure I have to tell Celestia about all this?”

Octavia glared at her beloved stallion. “Yes! That dreadful Discord is ruining my work!”

Stout Heart’s jaw dropped. He reeled it in, and cautiously inquired, “How?”

Octavia’s lip quivered.

“In the climactic aria of my Second Stout Heart’s Penis Cantata, which needs to be ready for performance by the end of the month, the libretto clearly says its throbbing loving girth rejoic’t unique—and how am I supposed to alter the text to account for there being two of it, besides which I’ll have to come up with a whole new name because now it sounds like I’m singing arias to the second of the two instances of your penis… and how could I be celebrating your second penis when that one was stuck up a scrawny alicorn? It probably wasn’t rejoicing at ALL!”

Octavia burst into tears, totally stumped by her artistic problem, and Stout Heart rushed over to hug her.

“It’s okay, darling! You can sing that it rejoiced ‘a lot’.”

Octavia shook her head in despair. “It’s the wrong vowel sound for the high note! The vowel sounds progress in a sort of cycle, ah uh irr ee oi ooh eeee, how can it go back to uh ahhh? Nooooo, it’s ruined!” She sobbed and snuggled into his embrace.

“Um. I’m sorry,” said Stout Heart, his ears back in perplexity.

Octavia lifted her head. “You’ve got to inform Princess Celestia! Female Discord, under the name of Chaos, is out stealing penises and interfering with ART!” she cried, sniffling.

“Easy, honey,” he soothed.

Octavia pulled herself together, wiping her lovely dark eyes with the back of her hoof. Stout Heart licked her cheek, comfortingly.

“I’ll be all right. I’ll solve the problem somehow. But don’t you see?” begged Octavia. “Princess Celestia has enjoyed all my concerts, and now I must somehow incorporate the truth of things into the libretto or it will be lies, all lies, and it will be so confusing for her! Do you understand how much she has come to appreciate your penis?”

Stout Heart choked. “Octavia, darling, please! The Princess has never seen it, don’t say things like that, it’s inappropriate!”

His cellist mate pouted. “She’s come to appreciate it artistically, as she ought to. I would gladly share it with her if she asked, but you’ve made it clear that you don’t like me saying that, even though it is truly a suitably royal penis in all respects, dear Stout Heart. Nevertheless through art and the vicarious experience of music I have conveyed its majesty. I’ve ruined three bows playing the initial gush of semen movement in the first Penis Cantata and it was worth it, twice now mares in the audience have vicariously experienced that through the force of music alone! And a stallion, once. He made a big mess, too, and the concert hall owner complained to me. You’ve got to explain to the Princess what’s happened!” Her ears splayed sideways. “It’s bad enough figuring out what harmonic mode my oral sex would be in. The involvement of Scratchie brings out very difficult intervals like minor seconds, and I have to somehow convey how miraculously undaunted your heroic penis was in spite of these terrible experiences.”

Stout Heart’s eye twitched. He stared at nothing, trying to process Octavia’s needs and demands. He ventured a cautious question.

“So… you need me to make that report to Princess Celestia, even though it’s over and I have my penis back… because of artistic truth?”

Octavia’s eyes were defiant, indomitable. “For artistic righteousness, and for penises everywhere! This dark time must be documented in music. Give me a few days to work on it. Warn the Princess, so she’ll understand.”

Stout Heart gulped. “Uh-huh,” he said. “You’re sure?”

Octavia set her jaw. “You go. Go, now, and tell her! I think maybe I have an idea. If I resort to double-stops in an augmented fourth to suggest our dismay, and then drop the lower note to a fourth—it shouldn’t seem like a fifth centered on the lower tone if I arrange it properly—and then beyond to what is actually a major third, leaning on the pedal tone to maintain the harmonic center…”

She turned to her cello. Stout Heart backed away, knowing better than to interrupt her in the raw intensity of creation. Octavia had once been a normal concert musician, capably essaying pieces by Haydn, Barns and Neightoven: but her celebrity had ascended to new heights, thanks to the way inspiration had flooded her.

She concentrated fiercely, trying to do artistic justice and represent the force that had transformed her life, for an adoring public who demanded the raw truth of her heart.

Well—of a part of her, at any rate.

Stout Heart trotted wearily outside, spread his powerful wings, and leapt into the air, flying off with every appearance of decisiveness.

He glanced back. Seeing that Octavia was not watching, he continued to fly toward Canterlot—but very, very slowly and reluctantly.


Trixie Lulamoon walked into the library, peering around with ears perked.

“Mistress?” she called. “You, uh… squealed?”

A cry of frustration rang out from Twilight’s bedroom. Trixie reared, kicking the air, and charged upstairs cheerfully.

“Again, Mistress? Allow Trixie!”

Twilight Sparkle sulked on her bed, sparks glittering off the tip of her horn. Her eyes seethed with irritation.

“Close the DAMN door,” she growled.

“Already closed it, Mistress,” replied Trixie, with a happy flick of her tail.

“Don’t look so happy about this!” grumbled Twilight. “It’s humiliating!”

Trixie snorted, and looked her mate over, with an appreciative eye.

Twilight Sparkle lay on the bed, shivering all over, magic leaking in dribbles off her increasingly potent and elongated horn… wings bolt upright, so stiff they could not move or unruffle themselves.

“It isn’t! Trixie thinks you have never been more beautiful,” said Trixie Lulamoon, challengingly.

Twilight grimaced. “Well, of course you think that, you idiot, you’re like the one pony in Equestria who can really get away with it. You were nearby? I hung in there as long as I could, I swear I did.”

“Trixie came running,” said Trixie proudly. “From across town!”

Twilight shuddered. “You sure did. You’re sweating. I can smell it from across the room. I thought I asked you not to do that.”

“You don’t like it?” suggested Trixie, teasingly.

Twilight whimpered. “Smartass. You’re goading me on. You can’t take it down a notch? For me?”

Trixie stepped forward, smirking. “Why should I?”

Twilight moaned, and Trixie’s smile widened.

When Twilight Sparkle had transformed into an alicorn, it had been gloriously exciting for Trixie. Her Mistress, already so magically powerful, had ascended to a whole new level, and Trixie responded with absolute devotion and a desire to be putty in the spectacular new creature’s hooves. Trixie imagined being rutted over and over by a godlike winged dominant with a phallus like slender iron.

The reality hadn’t been exactly as expected, though it was every bit as overwhelming: just overwhelming in a different sense.

“How long did you stand it for, Mistress?” inquired Trixie. “We skipped this morning. Are you still withholding the self-pleasuring?”

A sob was her only answer, that and a pleading look.

Twilight’s body was changing. She was growing taller, more elongated, her legs and horn lengthening as her new form developed, and then there were those wings, those amazing wings, unexpected additions to her body. Twilight cursed the wings, but Trixie knew she didn’t mean it. She wouldn’t go back, even if she could. It was just difficult.

Twilight was going through another adolescence, and her new wings were tending to run her life, and it hadn’t gone smoothly at all.

“The same thing again?” said Trixie gently. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like something a little more…”

“No!” squeaked Twilight, shaking. Trixie rolled her eyes, and her horn lit, and a small metal bit floated up from the bedside table, toward her waiting mouth.

It had taken three days. Three days of sadomasochistic, wild ingenuity, of privately splayed spasming alicorn subdued with ropes going off every which way and birch rods and Twilight taking the Ponyville air afterward, wrung out until she was limp, those new wings frazzled wrecks from continuous, bristling orgasm, frizzed out beyond smoothing. Just three days of Twilight’s glorious innocence, wallowing in her new sensuality.

The petition was signed by nearly a third of Ponyville’s pegasi. Fluttershy’s name was on it. Rainbow Dash’s was not, but when pressed, Dash admitted she’d been really uncomfortable as well. It was a plea to Twilight, asking her to not display sex-ravaged wings in public until she’d cooled down. The pegasi pointed out with striking gentleness and delicacy that their experience with wings was a sensitive point, particularly as not all wing reactions were voluntary, and they begged for Twilight’s understanding in the matter. They longed for Twilight to adopt more traditional pegasus attitudes toward their most personal sexual characteristics, as those were by necessity left visible to all onlookers.

The subtext was that Twilight had been the biggest wing-slut in Equestria, and the implication was that all the Ponyville pegasi had been upset by her public debauchery and too afraid to call her out on it.

The problem was, for the time being, Twilight Sparkle very likely was exactly that—and she freaked out as badly as Trixie had ever seen, when confronted with the fact.

Normal pegasi had the chance to grow into their wings, to gradually awaken to their biological functions: perhaps evolved through males gripping their mares by the wing with their teeth, perhaps a magical mutation linked to the spontaneous appearance of the limbs much as the unicorns’ horns had appeared on the scene in dim prehistory. Normal pegasi ovulated through wing-handling, and they’d grown incredibly casual about body-sex because breeding for pegasi revolved around the wings, so personal yet so unavoidably public. Normal pegasi took their preening seriously, had a whole unspoken social protocol centering around use of wings, awareness of wing posture, ways to politely ignore when a pegasus mare’s wings stuck up begging for strong equine teeth to clamp down upon them and kick off pregnancy.

Twilight Sparkle had burst upon this scene in total ignorance, with unusually powerful wings of broad wingspan and striking contour and taper, and she’d paraded around for days with the pegasus mare equivalent of a huge erect penis that was not only stiff, but continuously spurting come at passersby. She’d been out in public with feathers not only ruffled, but twitching. She’d maintained none of the accepted wing postures, and her wings had sprawled out indecently, groping the air for more attentions, splayed obscenely with dipped coverts and primary feathers flared as wide as they’d go, and she’d known nothing, nothing about it except that it felt good.

Ironically, the pegasi would have been happier with the display of a huge erect penis spurting spooge over bystanders. That would have been bodysex. Twilight’s public sensuality rattled them in a way they couldn’t cope with, and the result had been the petition.

Twilight refused to leave her room for another three days, and initially had refused to do any sort of sexual activity, even in private… until the wings left her no choice.

“You haven’t cramped up too much, have you, Mistress?” asked Trixie, with concern.

Twilight pouted miserably. Behind her, her lavender alicorn vagina pouted more cheerfully.

It was a sensitive topic. At first, Twilight thought she could get away with raw willpower and refusing ever to be sexual again. Arguments that ‘ever’ was a strong word for an immortal magical being, got nowhere with her. What she couldn’t stand was the wing cramps. Trixie hadn’t argued with Twilight as she got crankier, more hostile, but Trixie had begun to worry when Twilight’s wings got stuck in full vertical position, and had become frantic when Twilight began to silently weep a lot, gritting her teeth, refusing to talk or be touched.

Trixie had fled the house and gone to Canterlot in search of someone to guide her, and whether by good or bad fortune, she’d found Princess Cadance, visiting from the Crystal Empire.

The Princess seemed to sense something was wrong, and pulled Trixie aside, inquiring about Twilight. Trixie had burst into tears and found herself wrapped in a royal hug, then shaken, as Princess Cadance demanded the truth…


“It IS Twilight, isn’t it? Tell me, Miss Lulamoon! I could almost tell you and save you the trouble, but I want to hear it from you!”

Trixie sniffled. “What?”

“Twilight’s not well. Right? She’s very sick, and her wings don’t work. Or at least she can’t fly with them. Right?” said Princess Cadance insistently.

“They’re stuck,” admitted Trixie, “and she cries and is in a lot of pain…”

Cadance set her jaw. “Forgive me the intrusion, but—your lovemaking has become difficult and demanding. Yes?”

“She won’t!” blurted Trixie. “She just cries and won’t let me touch her…”

Cadance’s jaw dropped.

“Sweet Celestia! The poor, stubborn baby… Listen. You must listen carefully, Trixie Lulamoon. Twilight is going to be okay, but she needs your help, more than anypony’s.”

“What do I do?” begged Trixie. “I’ll do anything!”

“Miss Lulamoon… forgive my language, but you need to fuck her like she has never been fucked before. Do we understand each other? You must believe that I am not exaggerating. I’m not making this up!”

Trixie had rolled her eyes at the suggestion, but hastened to explain herself. “It’s not that, Princess! What do you think I want to do? That’s all I’m saying. I’d love to, but she won’t let me! Not since that stupid petition.”

“Petition?” demanded Cadance, her ears laid back. “What petition?”

“Pegasi in Ponyville. They don’t like the way she holds her wings or something.”

Cadance gulped. “No, I can see how they wouldn’t. Oh, Twilight, Twilight! I should have taught you my ways after all, that innocence of yours doesn’t mix well with this! I thought I was being considerate. I was, but lacked forethought. But who could have foreseen this?”

“It sounds like you know what’s happening,” said Trixie. “What do I do? I mean, besides the obvious. How do I convince her? She wants to avoid being sexual in any way, she’s ashamed of herself now.”

Princess Cadance hung her head. “She’s going to enjoy getting this lecture from me, I can tell. In fact, I’d better give her the lecture second hoof: I want you to listen to all I have to teach you, and then you can convey it to Twilight yourself. You may tell her it’s from me if you must, but it might not help. But she must listen. She’s in a sort of heat, Miss Lulamoon, and being stubborn about it. It won’t pass away naturally, any more than she will. She’s got to go through it, there will be no evading this rite of passage.”

“It has to do with her becoming an alicorn?” asked Trixie. At the prospect of studying arcane and secret knowledge, she perked up, and the idea that the knowledge was sexual seemed to cheer her further.

Cadance nodded solemnly. “We all had to go through it. I was a pegasus, so for me it was my new horn. It was unbearable, Miss Lulamoon, like I was being inflated with magical force. For a while there I needed almost constant… ah… venting.”

Trixie cast a shrewd eye over her horn. “Hmmm. Am I reading too much into that? More than Twilight was? She was beginning to damage furniture and that’s one reason she refuses to make love any more.”

Cadance looked alarmed. “Beginning to? Miss Lulamoon, I had to set up sandbags. Twilight is very powerful already, far more than I was. She left off just when her discharges were BEGINNING to damage furniture?”

Trixie lit up. “Sandbags! That ought to help. Thank you, Princess!”

Cadance bit her lip. “There is some speculation among us that the newest additions to our forms experience the worst growing pains. For me, it was that damn horn, though all parts of me shared in the experience, let me tell you. They are just growing pains, but can’t be put off or evaded. Twilight is going to have to work through these feelings. I’m a pegasus by upbringing—can you tell me what was happening with her wings that the Ponyville pegasi objected to her?”

Trixie wrenched her thoughts from the idea of Cadance blasting away sandbags with her horngasms. “We’re not entirely sure. They fluffed out a lot, I know that. She liked holding them in a way I don’t often see. It was very pretty, I thought.”

Cadance had paled. “Say no more. Neither of you are pegasi, so you wouldn’t have known. I was a pegasus. Poor Twilight! It must have been a hell of a display.” She licked her lips. “You say she’s withdrawn, refuses to be sexual in public now? That’s probably just as well.”

“She refuses to be sexual at all!”

Cadance snorted. “I bet her coverts are half-folded even now. She can’t help it any more than she can help breathing. You’ll have to help her accept the idea, and she should keep it private.” Her eyes grew misty. “It’s a special time, Miss Lulamoon. Consider yourself privileged to share it.”

Trixie raised an eyebrow. “It seems like a lot of heartache to Trixie. There are side benefits?”

Princess Cadance smirked, and whispered to her, “All of my wings once were pink, Miss Lulamoon.”

Trixie’s eyes widened. “You came so hard your feathers changed color?!”

“Something like that,” said Cadance, smugly. “Not exactly.” She fluttered her wings, the vividly violet tips glowing in the sun. “They grew back in this shade. I’ve become fond of it.”

Trixie boggled. “Grew back? Trixie just wants to get this straight. You were in heat, and had ponies play with your wings so hard that the feathers fell out? And they grew back a different color? Is that what you are telling Trixie?”

Cadance, startled, caught her eye—and began to blush, brighter and brighter, her eyes wide and vulnerable. Then she dropped her gaze, and stared at the ground, scratching it with an elegant gold-shod pink hoof.

“Not ‘fell’ out,” she admitted. “I’d rather not tell you any more. It was a very… special time for me. Be good to Twilight and don’t let her go too wild, okay? What you have for her ought to be all she needs.”

Trixie was no fool, and furthermore had much experience being a kinky pony. Her eyes widened as well, and she gazed at Princess Cadance in wonder. For such a sweet and loving Princess, she sure as hell enjoyed some sexual overstimulation. Cadance had taken it outrageously rough. “Trixie thinks Twilight’s feather colors are just fine the way they are,” she said.

“Keep them that way,” mumbled Cadance, blushing. “And have fun!”

When Trixie returned to Twilight that day, she informed her lover, “Trixie is ready to fix your hurts. First, we’re going to talk about what Trixie will do to help you, and what Trixie will not do. Trixie will bring you to orgasm, as often as necessary, until this blows over. “

Twilight, sweating and gritting her teeth, snarled, “Oh? And what won’t you do?”

“Erotic primary-feather plucking.”

“Aaaaaaah!” screamed Twilight in horror, shuddering all over, her wings vibrating. “Why would you say that? Who would do THAT?”

“Don’t ask.”


“What are you thinking about?” asked Twilight, pouting from both ends. “You tuned out on me!”

Trixie returned with a blink to the present. “Trixie is sorry! Just remembering a special day.”

“Oh yeah?” demanded Twilight. “Special how?”

Trixie smiled. “Special in that it was with you, Mistress.”

Twilight’s lip quivered.

“Now,” added Trixie, “did my favorite alicorn need something from me?”

“Uh-huh,” said Twilight in a small voice. “Do your thing. But don’t wait or tease, okay?”

Trixie blinked. “Mistress doesn’t wish to blast through as many sandbags this time?”

“Princess Celestia is coming over to visit! I want to be a little bit recovered by the time she gets here, please!”

Trixie had dove for, and seized, her magic bit. “H’w soon?” she demanded.

“We have about an hour. She was going to swing by Fillydelphia on some errand first,” said Twilight. “If you don’t tease me, I think I can probably be acting normal by then… I hope.”

Trixie frowned around the bit. “Th’s IS n’rmal, M’stress. F’r you, now.”

Twilight gave her a miserable look. “Oh, you know what I mean!”

Trixie nodded. “Y’s. And I know h’w you feel…”

Twilight shuddered. “No. You don’t,” she said, softly. She put on a long-suffering look as Trixie moved into position behind her.

“Tr’xie will h’ve to do the wings,” said Trixie. “F’rst or last?”

Her lover whimpered, sweating. “Each way is worse than the other! Why are you even asking me?”

At that, Trixie spat the bit out and stamped her hoof. “Well, if it’s up to me, I’d stripe that ass with a rod, and you’d be sated for a week! You’re the one insisting on half measures, so how do you want it?”

“Yeah, well, you’re going to have to live with them because I REFUSE TO BE THE PURPLE ALICORN OF SPANKED FUCK-SQUISHY!” raged Twilight.

Trixie stared at her, shocked and delighted.

Twilight panted, shaking, and hung her head. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be, that was glorious,” breathed Trixie, her eyes shining. Then, she caught a breath and rushed forward to hug her beloved, for Twilight had sobbed and begun to cry.

“I just want to be nice… why can’t I be nice?” wept Twilight. “Why do I have to have all this power, all these new things? I never asked for this! I want to go back to being the nice little unicorn filly! Please, can we pretend?”

“Shhh,” soothed Trixie. “Shhhh. Maybe not right now. Or afterwards, maybe. Are the sandbags ready?”

Twilight nodded miserably. Her long, elegant horn lit, and an entire stack of sandbags piled in the corner of the room lifted effortlessly and lined up in front of a bookcase.

Trixie frowned. “Mistress, no. If you missed, or oversprayed, you’ll take out precious things. Place them toward the stairs!”

Twilight screwed her eyes shut, squeezing tears out. “What difference does it make?”

“You’re trying to give yourself more reasons to be upset,” insisted Trixie. “Stop it.”

“Daring Do can’t help me now,” mumbled Twilight. And indeed, it was her Daring Do bookshelf she’d recklessly endangered.

Trixie couldn’t help but smile. “Daring Do would LOVE you now. Be good, line them up toward the stairs, like a good little unicorn filly.”

Twilight complied. Her body was trembling. “Do I have to choose when you do the w—wings?”

“No,” said Trixie, after the last sandbag was in place. She leaned across Twilight’s body, and her mouth closed firmly upon Twilight’s shuddering wing shank.

Twilight’s body went rigid, and she drew in a breath with a croaking sound like a shriek, her eyes frantically wide, and she screamed, and heaved in another breath. She held it for a fraction of a second before venting it in another hideous guttural cry, beginning to hyperventilate. “Oh God oh Celestia ahhh!”

Trixie didn’t listen. She just kept on biting at Twilight’s right wing, while she clambered partly up onto Twilight’s back in order to massage and half-trample Twilight’s other wing. She had to lean into it, as Twilight’s muscles were so stiff, and she’d had to start off with some hard bites to trigger her lover’s body into reacting pleasurably, because it could go two ways and she’d seen both.

Twilight Sparkle thrashed, pounding a forehoof on the bed. “Gaaahh!” she squealed. An early jet of magic squirted from her horn, bathing the wall in radiance and setting fire to part of it. “Oh, crap! Sorry!”

Trixie barely spared a glance. “It will go out,” she said hastily, and then filled her mouth with wing shank again, wrestling her love’s stiff wing back and forth, then grinding the base of it with her hoof. She knew that if she played it right, she could bring Twilight to where she needed to be, quickly. Lingering sometimes made the wings worse and ruffled them to where they could not be preened afterwards. A sudden erotic blitz, on the other hand, was the nearest she could get to the Mistress-mastering she used to take full advantage of, and if she was lucky…

She was. Trixie thanked her lucky moons and stars as Twilight sagged beneath her hooved assault, and the stiffly erect wings began to flap disjointedly, reacting in a way that would be immediately recognized by any pegasus. Trixie had grown pretty familiar with it herself. Twilight moaned like a lost soul, trying to stick her butt up, shaking and reeling and staggering as her wings drooped and went limp. Sometimes you could fling a pegasus bodily into total receptiveness by getting them fertile in a big aggressive hurry, and it worked on alicorns just as well.

Twilight reeled, wailing, her eyes not focussing, as Trixie scrambled and dug through the bedcovers for her dropped bit.

“Aim!” yelled Trixie, and as her teeth closed on clinking metal, Twilight frantically pointed her head toward the line of sandbags and pressed her face against the pillow. Her hooves scrabbled against it, and then she’d opened her mouth and chomped onto the pillow’s fluffiness, her face screwed up in the anguish of anticipation, her heart pounding recklessly hard.

Trixie reared, for Twilight was sticking her ass up so wantonly that it was hard to mount her. Trixie adjusted her hips, gritting her teeth on the hardness of the magic bit. Trixie took a quick breath through those gritted teeth…

Trixie shoved her raging unicorn erection deeply into Twilight in a single, urgent motion.

Sometimes Twilight was still tense, sometimes she stiffened and squalled or bucked beneath Trixie. This time, she’d been softened up with such effectiveness that the only resistance was a deep shudder rocking her as the horsecock plunged in. Twilight’s alicorn vagina was taut, as if she’d started over on her rebirth, as if her muscle and tendon was made of sterner stuff than those of mortal ponies. Trixie’s hard-on wedged into a fevered, clamping nook, like iron bands constricting it.

Twilight screamed through her mouthful of pillow, her butt clenching against the intruding hardness that transfixed her pony pussy, her tail trying to thrash against Trixie’s crotch. She’d gotten more worked up as her body evolved, and didn’t melt as easy as she used to, as if her power was coming out and flaring up when she became excited. Trixie wasn’t allowed to address her tensions in some ways, but there were forms of dominance that Twilight remained able to accept.

Throwing herself into it, Trixie tossed her head, her mane flying, and bucked her hips into Twilight as roughly as she could, knowing her alicorn lover could take it, knowing she craved the very same overstimulation that so upset her in calmer moments.

Trixie’s cock hardened as it plunged into the juicy knot that was Twilight’s clenching vulva, straining against the incredible sensations as Twilight’s pussy seized up in spasms that winked her clit against the underside of the plunging shaft and tried to joyously crush the penis in transports of vagina glee.

For a moment, it struck Trixie just how awesome the experience was. Then, with a shock, she realized that her horn felt bare. She’d been in such a rush to mount Twilight, that she’d forgotten to put the anti-magic horn-ring on, and her heart leapt into her throat.

Twilight let go of the pillow and brayed like a maddened donkey, eyes screwed shut, face pressed against the bedspread—and Trixie came.

With a series of numbing throbs, she gushed horsecome into Twilight Sparkle’s tight confines, her eyes wide with alarm, and she just managed to restrain herself from leaking any horncome. In terror and delight, she felt herself unload into her lover, her unparalleled, explosive, impossible lover, her cock going totally rigid as it squirted come into Twilight’s wing-readied womb, and her horn vulnerable and exposed, nearly opening a deadly channel into her in turn.

Twilight let out three guttural whoops, and a bolt of magic erupted from her horn and blasted straight ahead, directly into the row of sandbags, which exploded. Sand sprayed the two ponies on the bed, blasted the walls, the floor. Twilight’s bolt of energy persisted as sandbag after sandbag burst in flares of arcane energy, the light show radiating out the windows of the treehouse. Screaming, Twilight opened her eyes, and they too were a mass of white light and magic discharge…

The horngasm flickered out. The white glaring radiance left Twilight’s eyes, and behind it her stare was stunned, dazed. She wobbled, and then she collapsed in a limp heap, her body steaming, Trixie panting on top of her.

Hastily, Trixie’s magic reached out and grasped a small dull-colored metal ring. It flitted toward her and dropped onto her horn, and the minor glow from her horn went out immediately. Trixie winced: it felt like the lingering remnants of a headache combined with the stuffiness of a cold, but in one’s magic rather than one’s nose. However, there was no sense worrying Twilight. She panted for breath, feeling the tickly tingles in her mouth as the magic bit asserted its ability to impose a penis even upon a recipient whose unicorn magic was hobbled.

Twilight trembled beneath her, that glorious alicorn body sated for a little while. Her wings flapped feebly, but weren’t too feather-dustery: a dip in the brook and some careful preening, and they would be presentable. Her pussy grasped Trixie’s magic cock with a loving, strong grip, then relaxed again, enfolding Trixie with nothing more than the pressure of her blissful flesh, the savage clenching done… for a little while.

Trixie nuzzled Twilight’s mane adoringly, and then blinked, her ears going back. Twilight was crying again, though her body didn’t feel tense. Trixie spat the bit out, and worriedly asked, “Did Trixie hurt you, Mistress?”

Her beloved shook her head. “It’s not that,” she said. Trixie looked her over, and indeed Twilight seemed to be springing back from her intense climax, unharmed. If anything, it had given her a real glow, pumped her up into a picture of thriving alicorn health as well as pumping her full of temporary stallioncome. Her wings were already moving freely, resuming their coordination and suppleness: her head was held high in spite of her emotional distress, her tail flicked with lively energy. Trixie approved, except for that crying thing.

“What is the matter, then?” said Trixie gently. “Please tell me.”

Twilight wiped away a tear. “I should be a wreck after a thing like that. When I was a unicorn, you could get me off until I couldn’t even walk anymore. I should be just ruined. I ruined those sandbags!”

“But you aren’t,” said Trixie softly. “You thrive.”

“Yeah,” admitted Twilight. “I feel a lot better—for now.”

“Trixie will be here for you when you need her again.”

Twilight turned her head, nose to nose with her mate, yearningly rubbing her horn against Trixie’s in a unicorn kiss, and Trixie wobbled, dizzy with the contact. Twilight’s horn felt hot, the pent-up energy seething in there, and Trixie’s heart skipped several beats to feel it. There was nothing that aroused her more than Twilight’s glorious magical power, and nowhere she would rather be than holding her darling, feeling that potent horn nuzzling hers so lovingly. That very personal, very unicorn sensation of the dry tender little clunks against your skull, the soft oddly chalky texture—though Rarity’s rare horn-kisses felt different, for she polished hers to a formidable gloss and it felt smoother to touch. Twilight’s unicorn kisses felt earnest and naive, even now, but the amount of magical power in her gave a tingle from horn to horn, and it left Trixie weak in the knees every time.

She felt heat, and realized it was coming off Twilight’s wings. She met Twilight’s gaze, reminded again of the changes her beloved had gone through, and Twilight gazed back, those deep violet eyes full of concern.

“But…” said Twilight, and bit her lip.

“Tell me.”

“I’m too different, Trixie,” said Twilight. “It’s too much. I don’t recognize myself anymore. I don’t know myself. What are we going to become? How can I be sure it’s right? I’m so frightened, Trixie.”

Trixie dropped her gaze for a moment, then met Twilight’s eyes again, truculently.

“I know you,” she said. “If that isn’t enough, Trixie is very sorry. But it is enough for Trixie, and always will be.”

Twilight opened her mouth to argue, but Trixie’s hoof suddenly touched her lips, demanding silence.

“Trixie knows you,” said Trixie, in a voice that brooked no dissent. “Now, come with Trixie. You will want to bathe before the Princess arrives.”

Twilight shut her mouth, and followed Trixie downstairs, outside, and to the brook that encircled Ponyville. There she bathed, shaking out her wings, cautiously preening them as Rainbow Dash had blushingly demonstrated for her, making them suitable for the sensibilities of Ponyville in the most straightforward and unexciting way possible. Trixie stayed back, not helping at all. She and Twilight both knew that the energy of her handling Twilight’s feathers was different. They’d even asked Rainbow Dash whether that would be a concern, to double-check with a real pegasus.

Once Rainbow had stopped laughing hysterically, she’d solemnly agreed, her eyes still dancing with merriment.


“It’s so good to see you looking so well, Twilight!” enthused Princess Celestia.

Twilight’s ears laid back slightly, but her friendly smile didn’t flag. “Thank you, Princess.”

“And your marvelous Trixie, she is well?” said Princess Celestia. She hesitated, and added “Lyra and Luna send their greetings.”

Trixie raised an eyebrow, sitting demurely beside Celestia. “Is that entirely appropriate?”

Celestia made a face. “Young Lyra insisted, if that is any consolation. Her attempts to rehabilitate my sister are forceful, and she positively demanded that I send their love. I’m sure there’s much truth to that. If you like, I’ll tell her to mind her own business, Trixie. I understand you’re not interested in Lyra’s peace overtures. I confess I cannot decide if they are wrong to make, or simply misguided, though it’s terribly difficult to dissuade her.”

“Trixie has Princess Twilight’s love,” said Trixie coolly, not batting an eyelash. “Trixie is uninterested in ever hearing about Princess Luna’s love again, having seen quite enough of it in her time.”

Princess Celestia winced. “Noted. My apologies, and I’ll straighten young Lyra out, I promise. Between Lyra’s attempts at rehabilitation, and their continuous debate over who will help them breed Luna, I’m a bit tired of them myself.” She cast about, obviously flustered, for a change of subject. “Have you seen Swir… Discord? Er, I suppose we had better call him Chaos now, hadn’t we? Call her, I mean.”

Twilight glowered. “He was pestering me about the magic bits! We were trying to convince him—her, I mean—to get more comfortable with the alicorn form. He needs to come to terms with that, not bug me about trying on a magic penis. We’ve had that conversation and I can tell you we’re cracking down and things will not get too out of control around here, Princess.”

“Did he?” asked Celestia, quickly.

“What?”

Celestia’s ear flicked, and she looked flustered and off balance. “Did you allow him to try one of your bits out?”

Twilight gave her a hard look. “You’d better get used to saying ‘her’ if we expect her to adapt to her real form. Princess, I still think your actions contributed to Discord’s bad behavior. We should all encourage her to embrace her Chaos identity. She’ll be happier when she really accepts it.”

Princess Celestia hung her head. “I daresay. I’m sorry, Twilight. He… she… got much worse when she hit upon the Discord thing and settled on a draconequus form, and we never recovered, I mean Equestria never recovered from that point. You’ve seen him needle me about turning ponies into stone. May I say that it hurt me as deeply as it hurt him, but we had no choice left to us.”

“Her,” suggested Twilight.

Celestia twitched. “Yes. Her. I’m sorry again.” She hesitated, and added, “So you did not, I take it?”

“Certainly not,” said Trixie with a snort. “That creature had no idea whatsoever of the glories of the female pony form. It was almost insulting how dismissive she was. We suggested she do a little research, and very likely she’s reconsidered, if she’s anywhere near as responsive as my Twilight.” Her eyes widened, and she shot Twilight an apologetic look.

Twilight swatted her gently with a hoof, smirking, and turned to Princess Celestia. “The answer to your first question is, yes, we’re doing just great. Don’t mind Trixie, okay? You should know her by now.”

“Oh, indeed,” said Celestia, who’d blushed. “So… you definitely have not followed my sadly misguided advice to destroy the bits, then? I regret terribly trying to bully you into it. Allow me to assure you again that Ponyville must manage its own affairs, and I shan’t interfere. How many of them are there? Did you make extras?”

“They’re all accounted for,” said Twilight, “though I seriously doubt Fluttershy finds any use for hers, and I’m not making any more, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Celestia winced, again. “No, indeed. Ah, I mean… I am not implying any such thing. Do as you please, Twilight, I simply do not feel qualified to make such decisions for you. Possibly you should be deferring to Cadance on the matter!”

Trixie smiled and opened her mouth to speak. Twilight cuffed her with a hoof again, and she desisted.

“We’ve had enough help from Cadance, I think,” said Twilight. “How are things in Canterlot? I understand our Octavia is dating one of your guard ponies?”

Celestia chuckled, warmly. “That is putting it mildly. It’s rather wonderful. She’s become a composer, not simply a virtuoso performer, and I may say that I never miss a recital. Octavia is doing marvellous work, and it appears all to be inspired by Stout Heart, or some of him, at any rate. I understand I was present the night they met—or something like it—the story’s gone through five cantatas and is far from over. Her initial librettos were so flowery that it’s difficult to understand how they met. Later, of course, they became far more direct.”

Trixie snickered cheerfully. “Trixie has been to one of her concerts. Direct is putting it tactfully! I suppose there’s never been a composer whose every work was centered on their mate’s sexual organs. The amazing thing is how they’re still good compositions.”

“She is the seventh to date,” said Princess Celestia simply. “For all that, she is one of the two best, throughout history. In fact, she may be seen as the best who ever lived, when all is said and done. I strongly recommend you seek out her performances. Take it from me, it is a special time in history, simply because Octavia’s creative fires are ablaze.”

Trixie waggled her eyebrows. “Not just her creative fires…”

Celestia snorted with laughter. “Who can trace the source of inspiration, once it is transformed and adapted into music or pictures or sculpture? I assure you, she is not unique there. Merely exceptional, and very dedicated.”

“You could follow Stout Heart around,” suggested Trixie playfully, “and eventually trace the source of her inspiration. Trixie understands some of her fans already do that.”

Celestia frowned. “Hrm. It had better not interfere with his work, or make him unhappy, or I shall have to intercede.”

“Is it?” asked Trixie. “Trixie hasn’t met many stallions who would turn down that sort of treatment. More often, they consider it their due whether they deserve it or not.”

“I have not spoken with him lately,” admitted Celestia. “I’ll check in at some point and see how he’s doing with his new celebrity. So far as I know, he’s all right, and there may be nothing I need to do about it.”

“…when all is said and done,” muttered Twilight Sparkle, brooding.

“I’m sorry, Twilight?” said Princess Celestia.

“Nothing,” said Twilight. “I’m just adjusting to the idea that you’re fascinated with the sex lives of mortal ponies. It seems out of character for you.”

Princess Celestia visibly paled.

Trixie poked Twilight with a hoof. “Be nice. Maybe you’ve worried too much about things shocking Princess Celestia! Trixie is pleased to hear that she takes an interest in us and respects our little ways. To hear you tell it, the Princess frowned on anything remotely sexual, ever, since thousands of years before you were even born!”

Twilight pouted, chastened. Trixie smiled up at Celestia, with a trace of nervousness, adding, “Trixie doesn’t mean to offend, Princess. It’s just comforting to know you’re not so far above us! It helps Trixie understand that in a way, you’re a pony too.”

Princess Celestia gulped, and forced a smile.

“Indeed,” she said.