The previous night, the ghost given up by Natasha Third soared towards a white light. The light’s source was an odd-looking creature. A horse. But with wings. And a horn in the middle of his forehead. Snow-white and sparkling.
He was grazing on the fresh green grass of the sunlit hill, when Natasha 'landed' gracefully. She was bright and luminous, wearing only a white, semitransparent tunic reaching no lower than the end of her back. The bottom back.
The meadow was wet with dew. Its drops shone in the early morning sunrays on the blades of grass and Natasha's first impulse was to throw herself onto the ground and suck on some of the most splendid tufts. So tempting....
She recalled that stupid joke about the farmer who hadn't eaten anything for a few days. He was either broke or crazy. Or both. Anyway, it was a long time ago, when cottages didn’t have indoor loos. So, on the first day of his fast, the farmer went behind a bush for a poo. But on the days that followed no matter how much he squatted and grunted, nothing happened, as far as a bowel movement was concerned. Finally, on the seventh day, when he squatted once more, he felt something really weird going on. He looked down underneath and saw his arse was scoffing the grass.
As she stared desirously at the fresh light green blades, Natasha felt some pressure in her stomach and lower... She decided not to sit down here. Just in case. After all, she didn't have any panties on under the gauze.
She looked up at her Patronus. The unicorn Pegasus was absolutely beautiful. And so white.
'Olga would love him too...'
So shining. And his horn.... Projecting boisterously. Hard and proud. Swinging gently. Ploughing the air. Forwards and backwards. To the left and to the right. Upwards and downwards. Up and down. Up and down. In a magical dance. As if the unicorn Pegasus were trying to enchant her with his horn. Natasha felt her nipples stiffen and pretty soon she was all wet inside...
Her spiritual guide knelt down before her, spread his snow-white wings, and lowered his head, shaking his mane encouragingly. Natasha reached slowly forwards, took his smooth projection delicately in her hands, shivering impatiently with a yearning for sensual pleasure, and inserted the horn where it belonged. She felt, deep inside, like living once more...
(From The Cave)