“Welcome, Bellatrix.”
The voice came from behind a painfully bright light. The orange-furred fox squinted her eyes, struggling to make out anything beyond the blinding haze. She went to raise a paw, only to find an unexpected resistance; craning her head, her limb was fastened down by straps across her arms. Arms that were far too small.
The realisation was a gut-punch. Her last memory had been standing in a military tribunal, where officers of the Grax Confederacy had thrown the book at her for selling government secrets to the Enemy. Their enemy, not hers; she was a Graxian by birth, but an Imperial by conviction. One by one the memories slotted into place – her attempted escape from the planet, her capture, the weeks of interrogation as they tried, and failed, to make her surrender her co-conspirators. In the end, they could only pin charges on her, and that meant wearing the hard 'P' of a penitatas.
But this wasn't right! She craned her head around to study her surroundings as well as her new body; her orange fur had a thicker, fluffier edge of it, as one would expect of a vixen cub, but she seemed to be age nine or so. Oddly old for someone given such hefty charges as she. But, far more pressing, was the chair: she was strapped to it, unable to do anything more than raise her head or thrash her tail a little. Her posture, she realised, left her crotch exposed, with her feet locked in raised stirrups.
It seemed whoever put her there had wanted this revelation to occur before continuing. The light dimmed enough for Bellatrix to make out a figure watching her. An adult male fox in a black uniform, with reflective glasses hiding his eyes, stepped forward between the bound girl's legs. “Do you know what I am?” he asked in a soft tone.
The girl's stomach bound itself in knots. “You're a Confederate Inquisitor.”
The Inquisitor nodded. “Then perhaps you also know that, as a penitatas, you have effectively been stripped of all rights and protections?”
A gloved paw came to rest upon her crotch. The Inquisitor smiled at how Bellatrix flinched under his touch. The girl snarled at the male as his thumb began to rub small, lazy circles over her clitoral nub. “There were limits on what we could legally do to you in order to make you give up your colleagues, but those restrictions are gone now. If you cooperate, this could be a much more pleasant experience.”
“Fuck you!” Bellatix snarled, and spat at the man for good measure. He withdrew his paw, smiling even as he wiped the fleck of spit from his cheek.
“I think, of the two of us, you are the one about to be fucked.” He stepped aside, circling around while pressing commands into a wrist-mounted device. “Perhaps, after a few hours of 'correction', you will change your mind.”
The little fox watched in horror as a mechanical arm swung into her field of view. A blinking red light on the end seemed to focus itself upon her crotch, and then a harsh burning sensation swept over her genital slit. The girl shrieked in pain, thrashing in her tight binds as the laser crept over her mound, searing the fur from her crotch. It moved slowly, continuing to heat her pink skin after the fur had burned away, leaving her flesh reddened and tender. With her feminine mound now shorn clean of all fur, the laser crept down to work across her cheeks, cooking off her orange fur and leaving her cheeks looking as though she were freshly spanked. Cold metal paddles even stretched her cheeks wide apart to ensure no trace of fur remained in her crack, whilst painfully cooking her puckered anus in the process.
“Regretting your defiance yet?” the Inquisitor asked with a cruel chuckle. Bellatrix snarled at him in response, fighting to ignore the urgent itching in her crotch and backside. She watched as he began to coat his gloved paw in some sort of viscous red liquid. She doubted that was to soothe her burns.
“D-do your worst!” the girl snapped. “I won't talk!”
“I do love it when they say that,” the male replied. He hummed a jolly tune to himself as he reached for her crotch, grinning at how she tried in vain to squirm away from him. His clean paw reached down to spread her young, reddened labia open, which he admired for a few seconds before stroking the gel across her girlish folds.
At first, the contact was cool and soothing, but in just a few seconds she felt an urgent itching begin. As the Inquisitor paused to apply more red liquid to his paws, that itch became a burn. Bellatrix began to gasp and huff at the vile sensation. She had not been a soldier – in truth, she had little experience with pain throughout her life beyond childish cuts and bruises. This growing heat across her crotch was new, and entirely unwelcome. His fingers massaged each fold inside and out, rubbing the chilli burn into her intimate place. She let out urgent whimpers as the hot, sharp throbbing grew in intensity, blossoming into childish sobs as more and more of the hot gel was spread thickly, layer over layer, across every inch of her vulva. Some of the liquid trickled out and down between her cheeks, burning her back door at its peppery touch. The heat came in vile, rapid pulses, making her flinch and clench. Tears streaked her cheeks, her maw open to let out yips and yelps, but none of it drew any attention from her tormentor. He went back over her intimate parts time and again, massaging the burn back into life where it seemed to be dying out, determined to make sure not one cell of her privates was shown mercy. There was nothing she could do but throw back her head and cry, long and loud, in a wordless prayer for mercy.

The male paused his massage to coat his fingers once again. Bellatrix braced for yet more heat, only to feel the press of gloved fingers at the entrance to her virgin cunny. “N-not there!” she shrieked, clenching instinctively, trying to push the invading fingers out. Her efforts were in vain; he forced his digits inside, and her clenching only served to make the invasion more painful, and better coat her insides with the fiery cream. The heat began to build immediately, made all the worse by the cruel, slow thrusting of the fingers that thoroughly massaged the peppery sauce into every fold and crevice. He calmly dripped more over her mound, using his thumb to roughly massage the burning gel over her clitoris.
“S-stop it!” Bellatrix wailed. Tears flew from her cheeks as she thrashed against her binds, yelping and sobbing as the peppery burn inside grew in intensity. It felt as though a thousand little insects were biting and stinging every inch of her crotch, inside and out, and the pain only grew worse as the male continued his violation, masturbating her against her will, and piling ever greater amounts of hot cream onto his probing fingers to act as lubricant.
He laughed aloud at her desperate cries. “Your mouth says 'no', but your body says 'yes'. Look at your pussy, all red and swollen with lust. You're loving every minute of it.”
“No!” the vixen shrieked. The pain was unbearable, a constant, gut-wrenching heat that sent waves of agony through her body in rapid pulses, as though the hot sauce was seeping into her blood. The male's curled fingers worked fresh dollops of peppery pain into her g-spot, coating every inch of that wrinkled, private place as his thumb continued its forceful, hateful massage. Her tortured nerves, burnt by the peppery gel, filled her mind with misfired signals. Despite the agony, and to her unbearable shame, the torturous rubbing brought the fox to her first climax as a cub. She bawled, loud and long, hating her own body for its betrayal.
“This is why I enjoy working with girls. They always become so compliant after a few nice, soothing orgasms.” He straightened up and took a moment to admire his handiwork. “The pepper should wear off in a few hours. We will resume the interrogation then.”
In a way, the isolation was far worse than the initial torment. At least when the pain was caused by another, Bellatrix could beg for mercy. It might be ignored, but there was a thread to cling to – this is where the pain comes from, and the right words might make it stop. Alone, with nothing but the thick layers of hot, peppery ooze coating every inch of her intimate flesh, burning her inside and out, her pleas meant nothing. No matter how much she cried, or begged, or screamed, the gel wouldn't stop burning. Every little squirm and flex seemed to squeeze the heat deeper into her skin, redoubling the fiery sting. She cried herself to exhaustion, though how long it took she had no idea. All she wanted was to sleep, and pray this nightmare was over when she woke.

A sharp pinching in her right arm snapped her focus back to reality. “Can't have you passing out on us, little girl!” the Inquisitor mocked as he withdrew, leaving a cannula in her arm. She had no idea what drug was being fed into her, but she felt more alert, robbed of the sweet mercy of unconsciousness. “That will keep you bright-eyed and bushy tailed for the rest of your session. Speaking of 'bushy'...”
Bellatrix blinked away her tears as the male raised his next instrument of torture into her field of view. It looked like a pipe cleaner: a thin piece of metal covered in short, sharp bristles. “Ready to confess?”
Bellatrix held her tongue. The male seemed delighted by her obstinate nature as he reached for a jar of clear gel. He made a show of dipping the brush into it. “This has twice the potency of what you just enjoyed. After that filthy little orgasm earlier you're going to need to be cleaned inside and out.”
The cub held back a sob at the taunt. Through reddened eyes she watched as he turned his focus back to her crotch, parting her throbbing lower lips once more. But rather than probing her cunny again, she felt the tip of the brush poke at the folds just beneath her clitoral hood. Her eyes widened in terror as she realised what he was planning. “Not that!” she screamed. “Please, have mercy!”
He answered with a sharp thrust of the brush. Bellatrix howled as the intruding rod forced its way into her urethra, stretching the tight little passage wide open. She all but deafened herself with her own shrieks of agony, for the bristles sliced at her tight, sensitive passage like knives. It felt like she was being cut in half as the brush forced its way deeper and deeper into a place nothing was ever meant to be. With each little shove a jolt of agony surged through her bladder, making her think it had surely gone as deep as it could. But she was always wrong; further and further the brush pushed in, bristles scraping and stabbing, stretching her urethra far beyond what it was supposed to do, pushing its tip all the way to the base of her bladder. The bristles expanded as much as they could, and held the invader in place.
“T-take it out!” she wailed as the heat began to build. A vile, volcanic heat began to grow, boiling her from the inside out. The Inquisitor hadn't lied; the peppery heat on her lower lips was bliss compared to the molten heat pulsing inside her now! She looked down in horror, as if expecting to see her crotch burst into flames, or the blade-like bristles poking out through her skin. It was almost impossible to believe she was still intact!
Her eyes met her own reflection in the Inquisitor's glasses. “Do you know my favourite part of this? The longer I leave it, the more it burns. But it hurts ten times as much coming out!”
“Noooo!” the vixen cub howled in a feral shriek of despair. To prove his claim, the Inquisitor tugged upon the brush. Bellatrix felt its rigid bristles dig in and try to straighten, stabbing out in every direction. Each sharp prick was like a nail skewered through her, made all the worse by the searing gel. He began to twist the brush, raking the sharp points round and round inside of her. Squeezed by her passage, the bristles moved in sharp, slashing jolts, none of which could be predicted. Her screams were bordering on incoherent. “Sto-op! I'm gonna die!”
She felt a paw brace on her stomach, and with a single, violent tug, the brush was ripped out of her. She would have passed out from the pain if not for the drugs he'd given her; she shrieked so hard her voice broke, throat ravaged by her desperate wails. A shameful pattering sound filled the room as her ruined bladder emptied itself, the urine stream further irritating her ruined urethra while doing nothing to cool or wash away the gel that had soaked into every cell of her private passage. Weeping in pain and terror, she watched the Inquisitor stalk around to her side. “I'll talk!” she croaked. “I'll tell you everything!”
There wasn't a shred of mercy in his smile. “Anything you say now would surely be a lie. Besides, you asked me to do my worst.”
Silent tears flooded from her eyes as Bellatrix followed his gaze to a mechanical arm that lowered from the ceiling. It ended in a blunt cone, four inches long and almost as thick as a man's fist at the base. Vertical ridges ran along its length. Mounted on the armature were two cylinders, one of a cinnamon brown liquid, the other an off-blue white. She hadn't the strength left to struggle as the arm lowered down out of sight and pressed the cold metal against her anal passage. Not even a drop of lube, even the hateful burning sort, was offered to ease the invading probe into her. The blunt blades spread her anus wide with agonising slowness, stretching her more and more. Bellatrix wailed as the probe forced her open as far as she thought she could go, and somehow further. The agony, like being split in two, was a fresh Hell on top of all she'd suffered. “D-don't!” she howled at the uncaring male. “I swear I'll tell you everything!”
“Indeed you will. In an hour.”

He left her to the mercy of the machine. The tearing pain of its intrusion was impossible to grow accustomed to; she wanted to force it out, to clench down and push, but that only dug her raw, ragged skin into the blunt blades, intensifying the pain. She heard a mechanical clunk and braced for what would surely be a violent rape, but the thrusting never came. Instead, the machine began to spray the brown liquid inside of her, coating her anal passage in a warm mist that, in mere moments, began to burn. With each clunk of the device another spray of liquid ginger was shot into her rear, redoubling the growing burn. Every nerve it touched was set ablaze, drawing new shrieks of pain and torment from the helpless little vixen. Through fresh tears she stared at the ginger tank; four spurts of liquid pain had been shot into her, and the level had barely moved.
With no warning, the device inside her began to turn. Slowly, at first. She felt the blades rake across her gaping asshole, pulling her taut flesh in new, agonising ways. Worst of all, the burning ginger pooling inside of her began to trickle out, creating a river of liquid pain that scorched her abused ring as it trickled over. The turning blades scooped up that trickle, coating themselves with it, smearing it to untouched parts of her abused ring.
Bellatrix howled for mercy, but there was no-one to hear. The machine was perfectly calibrated to maximise her agony; the spurts of ginger came at a steady pace, new fire igniting just as the first began to lose its potency. It coated every inch of her, the fire worming its way through her guts to boil her stomach and cook the air in her lungs. Pulse after pulse, it seemed her entire body was being turned into flame. She could even taste the ginger on her tongue! Her only means to judge the passage of time was the glacial pace at which the ginger emptied into her. By the time the tank was half empty, her entire anal passage was slick with the burning water. It flowed out of her, soaking the turning plug that scraped it over her abused ring in an endless motion. The ginger kept spurting into her like clockwork, but each time her bleary, teary eyes looked to the ginger tank it was always half full. How? She had endured a lifetime of burning pain! How could it not be over? She realised, to her horror, that whatever leaked out of her must be collected and shot back in, meaning the only way for this to end was for every drop to be absorbed into her skin.
The idea broke her. Screaming for mercy to a machine that could not hear her, the little fox realised this would never end. She'd be trapped like this forever! She ginger would be part of her, burning her insides until the end of time!
In her despair, the Inquisitor returned. “Tell me who your associates are,” he said, “and I will turn off the machine.”
She confessed everything. Every name she could think of, every place, every contact. It was a long, tortured process; she could barely think, let alone speak, given the unending, searing agony the anal spreader and its ginger spunk inflicted upon her. The Inquisitor was in no rush; he made her speak slowly, made her repeat every detail. He didn't just want to be sure the facts were straight, he wanted to prolong her suffering.
Finally satisfied, the Inquisitor stopped the device. It did not withdraw, but it ceased its spinning and spraying. The burning ginger trickled out at a glacial pace; it took her minutes to perceive any change in the near constant burning at all. It still burned her eyes, her ears, her very soul. She could not imagine a time she'd ever be free of the vile ginger.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Bellatrix. We will have to verify all you have told us, but I feel confident in your truthfulness. I think you deserve a reward, don't you?”
The machine between her legs began to whir. She felt the nightmarish sensation of a sounding rod press against her long abused urethra, and the familiar agony of metal bristles scraping her insides. Her vixen yowl was a wordless question the Inquisitor did not care to answer. She heard the puff of a pump as it drove deeper, spraying liquid ginger into her urethra as it forced its way deeper, violating her right to her bladder and then, to her horror, just beyond; the stabbing metal bristles forced her bladder wide open, stretching it beyond what it was meant to and delivering a hitherto unfelt agony as she tried in vain to push it out. All the while it pulsed and pumped, filling her bladder with ginger in pursuit of new places to burn.
The bladed anal plug began to turn again, clockwise, and the brush turned anti. She let out a mind-breaking howl, unable to understand what she had done to earn this. “I confessed!” she blurted out, barely coherent.
“That you did. Here comes the reward!”
Somehow, Bellatrix found the strength to look down at the torture device at her crotch. A small, circular brush eased down over her clitoral mound, pressed against those sensitive folds, and began to spin. It was blistering in speed, rubbing her sensitive nerves raw, tormenting her little nub far beyond what she would ever do to herself willingly.
“I doubt it'll take long to verify your story. Once we have, if what you said was true, we'll put you with a proper Penny family to raise you right. If you've lied, then we will do this all over again. I will be back for you tomorrow morning, Bellatrix. Enjoy those lovely orgasms!”
The vixen screamed for mercy as the Inquisitor departed, but there was none to be found. The twisting probe and brush frayed her little body's nerves, and the spinning brush pushed her over the edge into another, unwanted climax. Nothing changed after she shuddered through the orgasm, nothing slowed or pulled away. Her wails grew as overstimulation piled on top of her torments. Stretched by intrusion, burned by hot, peppery fluids, and now frayed by rapid, cruel rubbing of her pleasure spots, Bellatrix's pained wails collapsed into broken, mewling sobs of despair. If they ever did let her out of this evil place, she was going to be the best behaved penitatas in the universe!