7

Trixie awoke overwhelmed by an inexorable desire. It was hard to put her hoof on it, but it just felt like something was missing.

Oh yeah. That was it. She was feeling snacky!

Her stomach grumbled. Trixie was starving, but not just any food would sate this sudden urge. What she really needed was… a cupcake.

She wiped the sleep from her eyes and hobbled out of the wagon, throwing on her cape and hat to give her some protection against the wind outside.

There was only one place to get cupcakes in Ponyville, and despite the fact it was fast approaching midnight, Trixie was somehow convinced the town’s resident baker would be wide awake and not have any issue whipping up a batch. She had to. There was no other way. Trixie could not sleep without a warm, spongy, sugary cupcake in her belly.

Sugarcube Corner was not only still open for the business, but the door was agape. It was almost as if it was open for her, welcoming her inside for a delicious sweet treat. Less inviting was the flickering blood red light filling the bakery’s interior.

Trixie didn’t think too much of it. Not when she was so close to her goal. She could smell the vanilla frosting reaching out and pulling her in.

The foyer was empty. Trixie leaned over and noticed electric fan stationed behind the counter, standing in front of a tray of cupcakes, wafting the smell out into the night.

‘Free Cupcakez’ was written on a slab of cardboard, with a big red arrow pointing the way down the stairs and into the cellar.

This really should have rung some alarm bells, but unfortunately Trixie was such an imperceptive gullible moron that she didn’t question things for a second, slinking down the stairway in search of her delectable treats.

The cellar was cold and empty. Lifeless. One solitary lamp swung from the ceiling, illuminating a table and chair in the center of the room. A cupcake sat on top.

This was no ordinary furniture. The chair, more of a stool really, was made of some odd yellow suede material, stretched over and crudely sewn together with thick stitching. Three pink butterflies adorned the seat of the stool, with a flowing pink tail brushing down to the floor. As for the table, Trixie couldn’t help noticing something familiar about its dual shades of grayish blue and amber and two distinct prints of a pair of scissors and a snail. She couldn’t put her hoof on it, but being in the presence of this table really irked her. Like the chair, it was made from leather of some kind, it almost looked like a pony’s coat. Any reasonable pony would by this point turn around and bolt back up the stairs, but again, we’re talking about a real idiot here!

Trixie approached the cupcake, its frosting marbled and deep red. She reached out to grab it when…

WHAM!!

A pink freight train came flying into her from the side, tackling her to the floor.

“H-Hey!” Trixie struggled. The mare on top of her was much stronger. The light swung toward them, bringing into light the pink face and straight mane.

“Pinkie Pie?”

Pinkamena frowned, a knife between her lips. She spat it aside and growled in Trixie’s face.

“YOU! You’re here to make fun of me aren’t you, huh huh huh?”

Trixie wasn’t sure what to say. She simply shriveled her snout, grinned sheepishly, and asked, “If I say yes do I get my free cupcakes?”

“Uurghgh!!” Pinkie snarled. “You just don’t GET IT, do you?”

With this she vaulted forward, planting her fat bubblegum ass atop Trixie’s face with perfect precision. She rocked back, folding her hind legs around Trixie’s neck and clenching them tight. Trixie had just enough space to look up between a gap in Pinkamena’s thighs, watching the seething face looming over her.

“Mmmf!” When she tried to take in a breath all that entered her mouth was sweaty ass fat. Her airway was blocked.

“You’re just like all the others! You think Pinkie Pie’s only good for a laugh! Slip on a banana peel for us, Pinkie! Tell us a joke, Pinkie! Yeah, yeah, well you won’t be laughing soon!” Pinkamena’s chest heaved. She was getting really worked up over this.

All that Trixie could focus on was the fact she couldn’t breathe, and with each tightening of Pinkie’s sumo thighs it only got harder. The mare was like a boa constrictor.

“Awww, you’re having a hard time breathing? Why don’t I give you some air?”

Bbbbrrrmp!

A muffled fart doused Trixie’s muzzle. Pinkamena sighed and cracked the first smile of the evening.

Trixie was so for something resembling air that she took a deep, sudden breath… and immediately regretted that decision when the substitute for oxygen tasted like burnt sugar and old, stagnant orange rinds. It burned her throat. There was a large enough percentage of oxygen in the filly funk to keep her just above the surface, but she knew she couldn’t last much longer. Her brain was going into overdrive at the revelation that this psycho pony had no intention of loosening the grip. She was going to suffocate, and there was nothing she could do about it.

“Such a beautiful blue coat, wasted on an egotistical brat like you!” Pinkamena tensed her thighs more. “I think you’ll make a nice… hmm… lampshade! Yeah, a lampshade would be perfect!”

Trixie was dipping in and out of consciousness. Everything was moving so slowly now, light trailing behind Pinkamena’s face as she rocked from side to side. This was the end, and the last thing she’d ever see was a view from between a crazy pony’s legs.

BbbBffrt!

That grainy fart became Trixie’s last breath. She sucked it in impulsively, and watched all the light drain out of the world.