Catch

"…Introducing first, the challenger from Ponyville, fighting out of the blue corner—Pinkie 'The Gingerbread Mare' Pie!"

After delivering her own spirited introduction, Pinkie Pie kicked open her bedroom door and strutted inside, waving to the teddy bear audience that lined the floor in neat rows. Her hips rocked in a clownish parody of eroticism, like a teenage foal mimicking the strut of her favorite pop idol. The lady wrestlers in her magazines and comic books always looked so sexy as they sauntered up to the ring. And though the pictures in her books didn't move, Pinkie often imagined the fighters strutting in style, hips switching as they paraded their curvaceous bodies and flashy costumes.

Pinkie’s own costume was currently at the cleaners, but the lacy panties stretched around her hips made for a decent enough substitute, especially coupled with the pink and black kneesocks worn on her back legs.

Greeted by the pretend roar of her plush audience, she hopped into the ring (onto her bed) and flexed for her screaming fans, flaunting the result of eight months of arduous training. She rose to her hinds and placed a hoof behind her ear, coaxing more noise from the imaginary crowd.

Her opponent—a life-size plushy of Luna that she'd won bobbing for apples at last year’s Nightmare Night festival—waited for her at the opposite end of the bed. Plushy Luna wore a modified version of Pinkie's old Mare-Do-Well mask, along with her third sexiest pair panties (the violet ones she'd borrowed from Rarity for a hot date and never returned). She had cut the lenses out of the mask, allowing her to look Luna square in the eye.

She stalked toward the plush fighter, unfazed by her seductive aura. Tonight, she wasn't facing her friend Princess Luna, but the evil Nightmare Moon! The sinister nightmare miasma had regained control the princess, and, uh, the only way to free her was to submit her in a one-on-one wrestling match! Yeah, that would work.

Holding her best serious expression, Pinkie smiled on the inside, proud of her impromptu storytelling, even if it was silly and made no sense. Her spontaneous plot line resembled the kinds of stories she'd read in Crossed Fetlocks, her favorite underground fetish wrestling magazine. Hack erotica authors were responsible for all the literary monstrosities featured in that rag, and even Pinkie, who had never been a critical reader of any sort, found the plots stupid and contrived. Even so, she adored all those zany one-shots; the horrid storytelling was as much a part of the fun as the costumes, the over-the-top theatrics and the wrestling itself.

Pinkie fully immersed herself in her silly narrative, leering at Nightmare Moon as she stalked closer. Her skin tingled with anticipation, and the muscles beneath her coat drew into compact knots, ready to uncoil in a flash. Her chin hovered inches above the bed sheets and her bottom reached for the ceiling, the pose resembling a cartoon lioness poised for the hunt.

She waited for plushy Nightmare to make the first move, but the doll was a patient and wily fighter. She stood motionless, making Pinkie wait until the excitement swelling in her body threatened to shake her apart at the seams.

Seeing no other choice, Pinkie pounced on the doll, nearly falling off the bed as she tumbled. She lashed her forelegs around Nightmare’s waist, struggling to seize control of the match early.

The grappling began fast and haphazard, with both fighters grabbing at exposed limbs and necks, each looking to secure a quick submission. But the pace slowed considerably as Pinkie studied her opponent, learning the subtleties and nuances of Nightmare’s movements. Her breath came quicker as she used her superior earth pony strength to manhandle the doll, and though the princess fought valiantly, it was only a matter of time before Pinkie mounted and pinned her.

Straddling her hips, she pulled Nightmare into a sitting position and gripped the doll's body between her thighs. Her back fetlocks laced together and her hinds straightened, quads going rigid as she began squeezing her pretend opponent.

Luna's plush barrel caved between the flexing quads. She offered no resistance, so it was up to Pinkie's imagination to fill in the blanks. She pictured the trapped princess squirming between her thighs, against her crotch, and then submitting in a fit of harsh coughs, her forehoof slapping at Pinkie's hip. The thought made her light-headed, and her inner walls moistened as she ground her crotch against the doll's soft body. She stared into plushy Nightmare’s masked face, wondering what kind of expression the real Luna would make as her barrel crumbled in a bodyscissor hold.

Then—because this was the part of the story where the winner ignores the loser’s submission and tightens her hold—Pinkie roped her forelegs around Luna’s neck and secured the doll in her favorite submission hold: the guillotine choke. More than anything else, Pinkie loved to be close to her opponent, to feel them struggle in her grasp, and no other hold offered the same chest-to-chest nearness as a guillotine choke coupled with a bodyscissor.

She dropped to her side and squeezed Nightmare’s body and neck. Her inner thighs flattened the doll’s barrel, grinding imaginary ribs to powder, and her biceps ballooned around its plush jugular. As she squeezed, she imagined Nightmare slapping her cutie mark, begging for mercy.

Tap, tap, tap went the hoof against her flank. For being a mere conjuring of her imagination, the noise was surprisingly realistic.

“Again,” Pinkie breathed, sweat beading on her brow. “Tap out again.” She rubbed herself off against the pillow, moans gathering on her parted lips

Tap, tap, tap…

Oh, that felt good. That felt so, so—

BANG! BANG! BANG!

“Pinkie, what are you doing in there?”

Pinkie froze upon hearing Mr. Cake’s voice. “Uh… I’m kinda busy right now…”

“Well get less busy. Your morning shift starts in seven minutes.”

“But it’s Saaaaterday,” she whined, her thighs still coiled around her victim’s body.

“And you have a Saturday shift. Let's go young lady."

“Okay,” Pinkie huffed. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

She ground her lap extra hard against the doll’s body, came, won the match, freed Luna from the clutches of the evil nightmare miasma, took a quick bath, changed clothes, then trotted downstairs and prepared for work.