cupcakes

Putting down Gilda’s skull, the pink pony gripped a scalpel in the cleft of her hoof and walked over to Dash’s right flank. Without any flair, Pinkie placed the blade an inch above Dash’s cutie mark and began a circular cut around it. Dash shouted in pain and tried desperately to pull away, but the braces held her still. Finishing the incision, Pinkie grabbed a curved skinning knife from the tray. Screwing up her face in concentration, she worked it under Dash’s skin and sliced the hide away from the muscle. Dash ground her teeth as she tearfully watched her flesh peel off. Pinkie then moved to the other side and repeated the process on Dash’s left flank. Once she had finished, Pinkie held up both cutie marks in front of her friend and started waving them like pompoms. Dash just whimpered. Her thighs burned like nothing she had felt before.

Placing the ragged patches of skin down, Pinkie selected a large butcher knife and walked behind the blue pegasus. “Hope you don’t mind, I think I’m gonna wing it now,” Pinkie laughed. She grabbed Dash’s left wing in her mouth and played with it for a few seconds, yanking it back so the sharp pain reignited the fire in Dash’s flanks. Then, stretching the wing out, Pinkie brought the blade down hard at the base. Instantly, Dash screamed and thrashed her appendage. The movement threw off Pinkie’s aim. She tried to hit the mark again but missed, and carved a huge slice into Dash’s back.

“Dash, you gotta stay still or I’ll keep missing,” scolded Pinkie as her friend howled.

Pinkie took another whack and hit her target. She swung again and again. Blood sprayed into the air, but Pinkie realized she wasn’t getting anywhere. The blade just wasn’t going through the bone.

“Hmm, I guess I forgot to sharpen it. I’ll try something else,” stated Pinkie matter-of-factly as she tossed the knife over her shoulder, embedding the blade in the table. Through the haze of pain and tears, Dash heard the sound of a metal box opening and closing.

“Got it! Say Dash, why do they call it a hack saw? It doesn’t hack; hacking is what I was doing with the knife. This is a saw. I don’t get it.”

Pinkie placed the tool over the mangled flesh of the last attempt. Standing on her hind legs, she worked the saw back and forth with her front hooves. It sliced effortlessly through the bone and skin. The feeling of the jagged teeth grinding into her made Dash want to vomit. She watched numbly as her wing flew over her head and landed with a fluff on the table. Pinkie moved to the next wing and started sawing. Dash didn’t struggle this time; she’d given up trying to fight and focused on choking back screams of agony. Abruptly, the sawing paused. Pinkie was only half way done, the wing hanging off by a sliver.

“Hey Dash,” Pinkie piped up. “Think fast!”

Suddenly, Pinkie yanked the wing as hard as she could. The bone snapped but the blue pony’s skin held, then tore away. The pull ripped away a long strip of flesh all the way down Dash’s back to her rump. Her body seized at the unexpected trauma. As her pelvis tensed up, Dash felt a warm release between her legs, and her loud, unending melody of pain filled the room. Unable to catch her breath, she blacked out.