Knock First to see if Anyone is there

Tame reached out, rapping on the door with his knuckles. It swung open a little more, but no one answered it, or said anything. “Uh...hello?” He pushed the door open, holding up his hands to show his was unarmed. “Sorry to startle you. I thought this place was abandoned?”

Inside the room, Tame took could see several separate island counters ran down the length of the kitchen and along the wall where the cauldron sat in the fire, there were a few large ovens and an older style rangetop covered in pots that were bubbling and steaming. Further down the row of counters, the source of the clicking noise revealed itself to be a wide mixing bowl. Its contents were being stirred furiously by the pinkest, curviest mare he had ever laid eyes on. She had a mass of pink curls spilling out from under a tall chef’s hat, sparkling blue eyes, and the kind of body songs were sung about. As far as he could see from the door, she seemed to be wearing a kitchen apron—to match her hat—but nothing else, her overly generous chest spilling out from the sides.

“Jeezus…” Tame whispered to himself, watching the mare’s chest sway with her vigorous stirring. The sturdy apron did nothing to maintain her modesty, and it only just held her back from spilling into the other bowls and pans in front of her. Unsurprisingly, it was covered in lots of splotches and stains of multiple colors.

The rest of the mare’s proportions were just as generous as her chest, though she somehow managed to achieve an hourglass figure with a high narrow waist that spread to amazingly wide hips. He could only imagine what her thighs must look like to support her frame, since her bottom half was effective hidden by the counter.

The mare looked up, her furious stirring coming to a complete stop. She stood there, frozen for an uncomfortably long moment when she suddenly animated again. She smiled broadly, bouncing over to the door happily, and took Tame’s hand in both of her own. She shook his hand with a good deal more strength than he would have thought possible.

“Hey! I’m Pink! And not just the color either—it’s my name! But you can call me Pinkie, or Pinkie Pie, or Miss Pie, but that last one sounds like my mom, so you might not want to call me that—unless you’re into that sorta thing!” The mare laughed, pulling Tame into a bear hug. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen somepony else! I’ve been in here cooking and baking and mixing forever! Normally I just eat it all myself, but now that you’re here, I can share it!”

Tame yelped at the sudden movement, his eyes widening when he suddenly found himself buried face first in Pinkie’s pillowy soft cleavage. Her hug squeezed all the air out of him and for a brief second he wasn’t able to do much but struggle in her grip. There are worst ways to die...not sure I’d feel so bad about it if I kicked the bucket this way. No sooner than he’d finished the thought when Pinkie released him. Tame collapsed to the floor with all the grace of a sack of potatoes, gulping down air until he coughed and started to choke.

Apparently unconcerned, Pinkie turned away from the fallen monster tamer and skipped over to a nearby oven. “You’re in luck! I was just about to pull out a fresh batch of cookies, and they. Are. The. Best. When fresh from my oven!” She giggled again and wrapped her apron around her hand, yanking open the oven and reached in to pull out a long metallic pan.

Tame continued to hack and cough on the floor for a moment more until his breathing returned to normal. He picked himself back onto his hooves, opening his mouth to say something more when he noticed two things that caught the words in his throat. For one thing, Pinkie Pie was indeed wearing an apron and hat and nothing else. For a second thing, the mare didn’t have a tail like other ponies, but instead had a thick, pink, reptile-like tail with small black barbs that ran down it’s length. The scales blended seamlessly with her fur and there was a tuff of bouncy curls at the very end of the tail that matched her mane.

“Um...” Tame backed up a step, glancing around himself for a potential weapon. A few feet from him, a large cast iron pot with food crusted around the edge, sat on top of a pile of unwashed dishes. In the other direction, just out of reach was a hefty looking wooden rolling pin.

Author's Note

Go for the Iron Pot

Go for the Rolling Pin

Take a Cookie