Most of the “sins” that keep ponies in Hell are- in my opinion- entirely natural and entirely petty. For example, Envy. It’s a rare person indeed who doesn’t feel a twinge of jealousy when a friend achieves something the person hasn’t.
Or Sloth. Only a few times in my career have I seen a soul who hasn’t taken a moment to lie around while someone else does a bit more of the work.
But from the way souls whine and moan around the afterlife, you’d think that Sloth and Envy were biggies, equal to murder. Why do they call them the Seven Deadly Sins? I couldn’t tell you. I have no influence on any of the souls I supervise, so I never have any choice but to watch these idiots torturing themselves for lifetimes over what seem to be the most inconsequential things.
Now, though, I had a body. Now I got to experience some sin in the physical sense, see what it was all about. Envy, Sloth, Pride, Greed, Gluttony, Wrath, and Lust. As well as anything else I could think of. Starting small, of course- the whole point of the Pinkie episode was to start small with manageable moments, in order to ease into the experience, and also in the hope that I wouldn’t draw immediate attention from the higher-ups.
I already knew that I wanted to try one of the little “sins” that comes up the most often. It haunts so many, many souls in some form or fashion that I have always wanted to see why it is so shrouded in excitement and guilt.
It is clear to me that masturbation is natural. Even apes do it. Why is it a big deal to so many ponies?
And if it’s so awful, why do they keep doing it?
I knew what it was, of course, how it worked- I knew so many odd permutations of the act that it would have made Pinke’s brain reel if she had still been in charge of said brain- but I just wanted to try the basic, most common method.
One of Pinkie’s habits was to do it in the shower, so I decided to stick with that. At first, anyway.
I went into the bathroom, turned on the water, and climbed in.
Then I leaped back out with a yelp. I’d forgotten the part where Pinkie adjusts the temperature.
While I waited for the water to heat up, I examined Pinkie’s face in the mirror. Her mane was held aloft by some unforeseen forces, bouncy and curled into waves along it’s mirth. No matter which way I turned, it just slipped back into it’s puffed up state. Her eyes were two deep pools of blue, seeming to almost go on endlessly with their vibrant hues. Upon further inspection, there seemed to be a small white scar on her forehead, slightly hidden by the distracting mane. She received the scar when she fell off a swing as a foal.
I rather liked it. How wonderful, to bear evidence of an event that must have been packed with emotion! How satisfying, to always have a physical token of something you’d experienced.
I checked out her body as well. She was rather plump, too much so, in my opinion. No, not too large, exactly- she’d just look more appealing to me and probably everypony else is she did something besides gorge herself on pastries without end. I knew she would have felt better, too. It’s been clear to me that Pinkie always felt sensitive about her build, despite her cheerful exterior. Especially her stomach and calves.
I stuck Pinkie’s hoof under the showerhead to check the temperature. The water felt good now. I never knew how soothing, how voluptuous running water could be.
As I stepped into the shower and pulled the curtain behind me,I began to feel a delicious excitement. Pinkie’s body parts felt it, too; they began to quiver with anticipation.
They knew what I was about to do to them.
And I did it. Oh boy, did I do it.
I allowed her hoof to slide close to the delicate pink flesh hidden betwixt her two hind thighs, teasing the treasure that was her marehood. A feeling, strange and yet wondrous, became evident almost immediately. What glorious, glorious feeling was this? I cannot believe the amount of emotion coming from such a small movement. Feeling an urge to increase this, I pushed in further, Pinkie’s hoof caressing the folds with tender care, enticing more of the luscious feelings.
The amount of stimulant causes me to sit down in the bathtub, leaning against the back of it for support. I continued to push and tug at the folds down below, feeling the first comings of the equine emotion “euphoria”. Without realizing it, I had slipped the hoof further inside, grazing just beyond the outer edge of her already glistening slit.
I began to release strange squeals of happiness, low and drawn out. This must be what moaning feels like. Amazing! The way Pinkie’s vocal cords hum to the tune is exquisite! Wanting more, I began circling around and around, serving to excite the flesh even more. As I did, another feeling, similar to the current, but on another level, rose in me. It slowly absorbed the prior and made it one, centered directly beneath the folds hiding below my eager hoof. It rose until it acted on it’s own, making me moan loud once again, some sort of fluid escaping out of the vagina, coating my hoof for a moment before the hot water washed it away.
When the shower was over, I was gasping and Pinkie’s heart was racing. I couldn’t see why equines didn’t do it even more often than they did. Heck, I would have wondered why they didn’t do it all day long if I didn’t know that there are other parts of the psyche that need fulfillment besides the sexual desire.
However, I could now understand why this feeling has given rise (pardon the pun) to more obsessions than any other aspect of equine existence. I had also decided that I probably should have started with a different body. Now I wanted to try sex with another person. I already knew what sex was, in great and florid detail, but now I was determined to feel it.
First lesson learned: Knowing doesn’t hold a candle to doing.
One problem with Pinkie is that she had no regular sexual partner. In fact, she had no sexual partner whatsoever. Worst of all, she had no prospect of one. She was heterosexual but had no boyfriend and no close friends who were boys. Though she knew everypony, they were mostly alien to her aside from a friendly face. I wished now I’d picked a pony who was already having regular sexual activity.
After only a short time, however, I already felt an attachment to this particular body, to this particular life. Good old Pinkie; I’d never seen any clue that she appreciated the wonder shining in every one of her moments. I thought I’d known everything about her, but living life through her body made what I knew seem dull and one-dimensional. I liked seeing the eyes of her foster-mother and brother, and I wanted to see more. Equines were much more intriguing from this point of view. They were like puzzles waiting to be put together, mysteries to be solved.
No, being Pinkie was fun enough. For now, I’d just try to have sex in her body. It shouldn’t be difficult. I’d try a boy first- the most common equine sexual experience, to start with: vaginal intercourse between male and female.
It was only too bad that Pinkie wasn’t here to experience all the things I was going to do with her body. She would have loved it.