Witch Confession

A finger of water exploded over Zecora's muzzle. She furrowed it, clutching her coat tighter. It was still so cold here, and miserable on occasion. You could be forgiven for thinking it was night, with the thickness of the cloud cover. Three more droplets soaked the hood, followed swiftly by countless more. She sighed, and quickened her step. If she wasn't burdened with this bag of glass bottles, she'd run. She'd be soaked by the time she got home at this rate.

"Zecora!" someone screamed, at a pitch that could break glass. The zebra looked around for the source. Warm light spilled out of a doorway. "Zecora, get inside!"

She squinted to try and make out the silhouette bouncing in the doorway. "Pinkie Pie? Is that you? I cannot quite see a-UH." Before she could finish her rhyme, Pinkie had snatched her from the street. She clutched her bag close as she stumbled forward, dragged by the coat, out of the intensifying downpour and through the back entrance of Sugarcube corner. She found herself spinning, just a half turn, and then her dragging feet stopped, tilting her back. There was nothing for it - she was going down.

She opened her eyes again to find herself seated, bag still held protectively to her chest. This couch was soft, and even surrounded by cushions she sank low into it. She breathed a sigh of relief, and began to relax. "Pinkie, I appreciate your shelter, but next time, not so helter-skelter?"

Pinkie was positively darting around the room. "But if I didn't get you out of the rain, then you'd get wet, and if you got wet then your bag would be wet, and if your bag got wet the things inside your bag would get wet, and then there might be something in your bag that would explode!" She leaned over the couch to put herself face to face with her.

Zecora blinked, then chuckled. "Don't be silly, bouncy mare! Nothing in this bag will cause a scare. Herbs and spices, extracts too, all are simply for a stew."

Pinkie kept face contact for a few seconds too long. "Okay!" Then, she vanished from view. Zecora could already tell that this visit may be a little draining. No sooner had she closed her eyes and taken a breath, had Pinkie appeared by her from another angle. "Tea? Hot cocoa? Both at the same time? Actually, I don't know how well that would go. But you can try it!"

Zecora broke down sniggering. "Tea would certainly go down a treat. Black and mild, and a little..." The tea was already in front of her. "... sweet."

"I know how everyone likes their everything, silly! Now. You take it easy, I've got a party to prepare!" Zecora hunched over and gasped as Pinkie vaulted the sofa. The tea, miraculously, remained unspilled.

After few sips of the tea and setting her coat aside, she could have forgotten about the rain. It was nice, actually, when she wasn't in it. The beat of on the roof above and the ground outside, and spattering the window... she could fall asleep to it. "Pin-" She yawned. "Pinkie, do you awfully mind, if I... stayed and napped.. a little... while..."

Pinkie chuckled to herself from just outside the door, pulling down a key from a hook on the wall. "A party, just for you, witch..."

* * *

A restful nap, certainly. Though, it felt like there was something just a little off. A taste in her mouth she couldn't clear, no matter how much she tried to poke her tongue out, an itch that couldn't be scratched... Zecora grumbled. The more consciousness she regained, the more uncomfortable she noticed she was. The sides of her mouth chafed, her arms felt numb, as if she'd been sitting on them, and while it was cold, it felt like the breeze was running right through her clothes, as if they weren't even there...

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead," came the call from the darkness. It was Pinkie's high-pitched voice, but the tone was... less excited, darker. Zecora flinched and tried to sit up, but failed. Something was very wrong. Her clothes were gone completely. The taste in her mouth was rubber, from a ball gag wedging her mouth open until her jaw ached. Her arms were fastened behind her back by ropes, with her weight on top of them, keeping them firmly out of use. She was swung back on a chair, with her feet held up and exposed in stocks, that she could barely see over. This basement was dark, with the light only on her. Pinkie appeared from behind the stocks, her face shadowed by her forelock, so that Zecora could only see one of those half-lidded eyes.

"Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice... and I'm gonna come and make sure it doesn't happen again!" The wicked grin made Zecora's breath race. She tried to say something in protest, but all she managed was a muffled groan. "Don't you give me that 'I don't know what you're talking about' baloney! I know what you are!" Zecora's alarmed wide eyes met a furrowed brow. "You're a witch!" She sighed and rolled her eyes. "And I'm gonna make you admit it!"

The stocks and chair swayed as Pinkie pushed away from them. Zecora renewed her efforts to struggle away. Maybe some slack in the rope she could use? This gag had a little give in it, so even if it did press uncomfortably, she could bite down on it quite a bit. It'd be better than nothing. She didn't have much time to start plotting a grand escape, because Pinkie was back at the stocks, leaning over them with a smirk. She didn't like the look of that at all.

From her sleeve, Pinkie produced a white feather. She held it between two fingers, keeping eye contact as she twirled it, then took a step back to run it down the exposed foot, barely touching it. Zecora lurched. It was just a single brush, and she'd already given herself away. Pinkie's tongue peeked out, and she ran the feather back up, beginning to trace circles. The stocks were tight, enough to keep her from pulling her feet any meaningful distance away, and all that clenching her toes and turning her feet accomplished was giving Pinkie a more varied course to trace the feather through. No fingers touched her; just the bristles of the feather tracing down the middle from ball to sole and back up again, and dancing from arch to arch. Shrieks and whoops of involuntary laughter were reduced to snorts and grunts through the gag. The most agency she had was to chew on the tiny amount of squish in the gag for dear life.

"Do you admit it? Are you a witch?" Pinkie snapped. She licked her lips in concentration. A second feather came from somewhere, so she could work both feet at the same time. Zecora threw her head back and shook. It was getting hard to breathe as her body tried to erupt in laughter to no avail. This was absurd. Everything about this situation was just ridiculous. "Of course I'm not taking off your gag, you'll curse me! I'm not gonna fall for that!" Zecora tried to sigh, but the shuddering of her body wouldn't let her.

The ardent requests were becoming fuzzy, and the pile of pink fluff at her feet was starting to blur. She was light-headed, and she couldn't hold her head up any more. The asphyxia put the brakes on her laughter, ensuring that she wouldn't pass out, but it made any kind of meaningful response impossible. It could have been forever like this and she wouldn't have noticed.

It took thirty seconds at least for her brain to register that the tickling had stopped. Her feet kept clenching and her chest kept heaving and shuddering long after the feathers had been put away. Pinkie leaned on her elbows on the stocks, grinning. "Had enough yet?" The mumbled response lacked intelligible words, but carried a distinctly frustrated tone. Pinkie just leaned in more. "That sounds like witch talk to me!"

For a fleeting moment, as she stepped around the stocks, there was the faintest hope that she might be letting her out. But no, those hands weren't coming to unstrap that gag or pull at the hideous excess of ropes tying her to this chair. They were reaching to cup her exposed breasts, as Pinkie swung a leg over her and sat on her lap. After the madness of the tickling, it was almost calming, if she were able to forget the insanity of this situation. Which she wasn't.

Then, squeeze. No gentle squeeze was this. There was a push as well as a firm grab, with clear intent to crush. The fat compressed painfully with nowhere to go, forcing her wince and grunt. Pinkie let go. "Don't test me, witch. I can keep this up all day. All you have to do to make it stop..." Another firm squeeze made her whimper and throw her head back. "... is admit it." How in the hell was she supposed to do that? Was Pinkie so confident she was a witch that this whole ordeal was banking on her being able to do something she couldn't? She kept chewing at the gag to try and find some give.

Pinkie leaned back, and gave the pair of breasts a firm slap. The noise from Zecora's throat was less of a grunt and more of a squeal. The right one carried the force into the left, and then they swung back and jiggled to stop. When they'd settled, another slap mirrored the motion, followed by two more, one left, one right. "Do you give up yet, witch?" Zecora's angry grunt had been tempered to low groan as her breasts hummed with the visceral pain.

"Looks like I'm gonna have to step it up. This isn't getting anywhere!" Pinkie gave the zebra's nipples a firm pinch - eliciting a muffled squeal - and got up. "Just need the right tools for the job..."

Zecora winced. She could feel the deep bruising, the leftover discomfort erasing all of the residual good feeling from the tickling. Her cheeks still ached from trying to laugh, and her chewing only made the chafing worse. She tried to heave her whole body to see if the chair could move with her on it. If she could budge around a little bit, then maybe she could knock over the stocks... though the stocks could have a heavy base on them, and even then, if the stocks didn't break open when they went down, she could easily twist an ankle or break her leg from it...

Pinkie tapped something on the stocks to get her attention. "Alright, witch. No more mistress-nice-mare. I'm getting a confession out of you one way or another!" The pile of pink fluff was still hidden behind the stocks. What was that she was holding then?

The sting of pain on the sole of her left foot answered her. A fairly small area felt like it was on fire. The crop whistled again, and she had a matching patch of pain on her right sole. She pulled no punches - the balls of her feet received three firm strikes each. Zecora squealed and flinched every time, and tears began to bead in her eyes. "All you have to do to make it stop is own up to it. That's all!" When no immediate response was received, Zecora received two vertical strikes on the soles of her feet.

Pinkie ran through this rotation of whipping again, adding something to it each time. First, a strike across the sides of the feet; then, when Zecora crunched her feet in and lowered them to try and shield them, one on the knuckles of the top of her feet, and one on her pinkie toe that made her throw her head back and scream.

Pinkie leaned over the stocks again, crop dangling in her fingers. "Changed your mind yet?" Zecora tried to grunt something tantamount to a 'why', as the first tear rolled freely down her cheek. "Well! Don't blame me, you had your chance to stop."

The stocks clicked and parted. Zecora didn't even know they could do that - it was too dark to see it clearly enough. Her feet remained bound, but her legs pulled apart. The stocks must have been on wheels! With her legs parted almost to splits, Pinkie reapplied the brakes, giving her full access to Zecora's front. She spun the crop in her fingers, thinking. She stopped and bounced, suddenly grinning, then ran off. What now...

Zecora didn't have time to wonder. Pinkie was back nearly immediately with a flogger, the loose bundle of fibres almost like a tail on a stick. All Zecora got was a smirk before the flogger was brought across her breasts at speed. This was a very different sting - it lashed everywhere at once, leaving fibrous red marks across the breast it struck. "Confess!" Pinkie yelled, bringing it back across the other one. Zecora whined and threw her head back. "Admit! Repent! Submit! Witch!" Every word was punctuated with the million tiny whips raking across her already hurting bosom, such that they throbbed with pain in their entirety. She started holding her breath to take it.

Pinkie noticed this. This wouldn't do. This wouldn't do at all. She threw the flogger over her shoulder, and picked up the crop again. With a dramatic overarm motion, she brought it down on Zecora's mons, such that the leather loop struck her clitoris, and dragged down over her labia. The spike of pain made her whole body seize up, and the edges of her vision blurred. That held breath released itself as a throaty scream. Tears flowed free.

Pinkie waited. To get a proper admission of guilt, the perp needed to be lucid for every last whip. As soon as her breathing had stopped shuddering, she brought the crop down again. Not too hard - the intent was not injury - but still enough to send the terrible sting shooting through her body, making the chair hop and the stocks sway with her flinch. Three. Four. Five. The wait made it all the worse, since she couldn't habituate. At least her feet felt numb after a while, and the endorphin rush made the burn in her breasts feel oddly pleasant after a while. This particular whipping spot was plain unbearable. It had to stop. She screamed her guilt, but all that came out were muffles and mumbles, lost in the shrieks of agony.

Finally, the crop got thrown away at the top of the swing. Zecora panted, looking at Pinkie through the blur of tears. "Do you give up?" Pinkie was almost giggling. Zecora grunted her assent, her voice ragged. Three times. "No? Well, if you say so." Zecora whined and tried to struggle away.

Pinkie pulled the stocks back together, and pulled a rope from somewhere. She tied her legs firmly at the knees, with truly an excess of rope. The stocks were at last released, only for her feet to be tied at the ankles. Pinkie left her feet resting on the open stocks, and walked away.

Zecora sighed. One improvement had occurred - she'd worn a notch in the strap. If she could just keep grinding that with her teeth, she might be able to wear it through and talk. Though, whether Pinkie would listen was quite another matter. She heard her returning before she could see her. Humming a merry tune, carrying something... a metallic skid came from under the stocks, and the stocks were pulled away. She held up her feet so they didn't touch the ground. She could smell burning, and radiant heat reached her calves. Her heart raced with fear, and she chewed at the gag even more, fighting to ignore the pain in her teeth from compressing the ball.

"C'mon, witch, sooner or later you gotta 'fess up!" Pinkie pulled away a sheet, and the heat and smoky smell only got greater. In the darkness, she could see a faint red glow under her legs. Pinkie let her legs go. The chair swung forward so all four legs were on the ground. It was just a matter of time before fatigue caused her legs to drop. Pinkie could push them down no problem, but dangling this bit of relief in front of her was so much more interesting. She retrieved one of the feathers from earlier. Zecora's breath grew quicker. Her knees were already weak. A new plan formed. She started throwing her body back in the chair to swing it back. It'd fall over, she'd hit her head on something, and she'd be out cold.

Pinkie caught on quickly. The feather made contact, and her knees caved. The twitch in response made her stop swinging back, and her feet fell. Pinkie guided them to the floor, and on to the hot coals below. The rush of blood from not being held up, to raw flesh from the whipping, made the heat and texture excruciating. Her breath shuddered, and her teeth gritted together. Pinkie reclaimed the place on her lap to keep her feet pressed to the coals.

The strap wore thin. A seam popped, and there were few enough threads that when she put her tongue behind the ball and pushed, they snapped, and the gag fell away. "Fine, you win, I admit I'm a witch! Just get off me at once, you st..." She didn't finish that rhyme, on second thought.

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Pinkie immediately jumped up and pulled the coals away. Zecora let her whole body relax, as much as her aching flesh would let her. After a few moments panting and trying to put her feet on the coolest spot on the floor (there wasn't one, since she couldn't reach any spot where the coals hadn't been). She lifted her head to ask something, but Pinkie had already resumed talking. "Finally! After I found this book about witches I learned that I'd never thrown a party for a real witch before! Like, you get ponies dressing as witches on Nightmare Night but that's not the same, so I read up everything about how the book said to find witches and then I just needed to fine someone who I thought might be a witch and then I was like, duh! And that's when I grabbed you! This is gonna be so much fun!"

Pinkie bounced away. Zecora inhaled, but just let it go with a sigh, and shrugged. She didn't have the energy to protest.