A writing/art commission for @Milly654
“Hewwo? Nyu Daddeh?”
“Nice Mistah! Am come tu take babbeh home?!”
“W-Wookie hewe nice mistah! Nngh… ngh-Babbeh make… ngh-good poopies!”
Terry stood over the pen of fluffy foals, carefully examining each one as he debated what to get. He’d been toying with the idea of starting his own fluffy breeder business, eventually going so far as to get his own license for it.
Originally he’d planned on buying fluffies from the local fluffmart, only to discover that their decent quality fluffies were mandatorily neutered due to the governmental pest control laws. Ferals were free but also well known to have garbage gene pools and wouldn’t produce anything worth while in the long run. That left the second chance shelters, which is where he was now, searching for a couple of foals that he could raise to be quality breeders.
Despite the foals calling out to him for attention and trying to make displays of how good they were, most of them that he could see weren’t very eye catching or remarkable, save for the vibrantly coloured magenta foal that was forcing her way to the front and shoving the smaller ones out of her way to catch his attention.
“MOVE DUMMEH! DIS AM SMAWTY BABBEH’S NYU DADDEH!!” She shouted, delivering a hoof directly to the face of the foal beside her.
“OWWIES! Huuhuu… Wai huwt babbeh? Am guud babbeh!” The blue foal cried.
The magenta foal ignored her victim in preference to act as cute as she could for Terry. “Nyu Daddeh! Nyu Daddeh!! Babbeh am pwettiest babbeh! Gib ‘ou bestest huggies an’ wub! Pick smawty babbeh fo’ nyu homesie?”
Terry hummed thoughtfully. Her attitude and demeanor certainly left much to be desired, but she did have striking colours that would sell well, and her hairstyle and tail were certainly unique. Maybe in a home setting he could train her to develop a much nicer personality and become a prime breeder.
“Ahem. Excuse me sir, is there anything I can do to help?”
Terry looks over to see a young woman with large glasses, dressed in a work apron. She offers a customer service smile, her gaze switching from him to the foals in the pen and back.
“Actually, yeah. I’m looking to start my own fluffy breeding business, but I wanna train the foals myself to ensure they grow to have good temperaments and quality genes.” He explains, looking down and pointing to the magenta filly. “I want another mare to go with this one.”
The magenta foal squeals in delight, dancing in victory at hearing that he wanted her.
“Ah.” The woman, Virginia, gives a small nod as she understands the situation. There’s a second of hesitation from her as she looks at the dancing smarty. “Well… It might not seem like the primary choice, but… I’d suggest taking that one.”
She points to the filly sitting in the corner of the pen, beside the litter box. The brown foal was quietly crying, not even attempting to gain any attention, seemly resigning itself to being unwanted. Her fluff was caked in dirt and feces, and her miserable demeanor did not make her seem appealing in the slightest. Terry made a face, clearly unenthused by Virginia’s suggestion.
“Why that one?”
“Oh! Well…” She leans closer, cupping her hand over her mouth and whispering so the foals wouldn’t hear her words. “Rumor has it, that foal’s from a litter of an alicorn couple that was already adopted out last week, but she wasn’t taken along because she’s not considered ‘favorable quality’. There’s a chance she might make good breeding stock, even if she doesn’t look it.”
While everything Virginia said was true, she more-so urged Terry to pick her because she felt bad for the filly, seeing as she was only two days from extermination.
Terry thought about his options for a bit. Alicorns fetched a good price, even if they were ugly colours, but was it really worth the risk? In the end he decided ‘fuck it’. If her first litter ended up being shit just like her, he could easily dispose of her and replace her with something better. He shrugs and picks up the magenta foal as well as the poopy one.
“Alright, I’ll take these two.” He says, much to the brown foal’s and Virginia’s surprise.
The brown foal looked up at Terry, her eyes brimming with hope that this was a dream come true. In a quiet voice she shyly says “Thank 'ou, Dadd-”
“YAY!! Babbeh wub 'ou suuu muchies, Daddeh!” The magenta one boisterously cheered, interrupting the other filly as she hugs his thumb.
After a short exchange of money and some filing of paper work, Terry had brought the two young fillies home and given them their own names. The magenta one he named Trisha, and the brown one, he named Susie. Shortly after they had acclimated to their new safe room he had begun to work on their behavioral training. It took a lot of hard work, but Terry had convinced himself that it would all be worth it in the end.
They both had proven to already be litter box trained, though that didn’t stop a few nighttime accidents to happen. One of the more concerning habits he’d seen was that Trisha, being the ‘smarty babbeh’ she claimed to be, was considerably hostile to Susie, and often forced her to sleep in the litter box or eat shit.
This was a habit Terry had considerable trouble getting Trisha to break. Eventually though, Trisha managed to lighten up with her brutality towards Susie, but it wasn’t all peaches and cream. The magenta fluffy still had a habit of playing rough, and bullying Susie when Terry wasn’t around to see or hear it.
Soon enough, the two fluffies had grown mature enough that they wanted to have their own babbehs. Terry put them to the test, training them to show him if they could be responsible, good mummahs by using stuffed toys and educational videos to help them learn.
“Alright, girls, I think you’re ready.” He says, a proud smile on his face.
“Ready fo’ whut, Daddeh?” Susie asks, her attention taken off of Trisha in the midst of their game of tag.
“I’ve set up an appointment. You two are ready to have your very own babies.” He answers.
Susie’s excitement is halted by Trisha catching up and tackling her, ‘playfully’ stomping her hooves down on Susie’s head.
“WEAWWY?!” Trisha shrieks. Her tail wagging as she beams up at Terry. Her body bounces in excitement, forcing her hooves to stomp and grind on top of Susie’s skull. "DADDEH WAN FWUFFIES TU HAB BABBEHS?!"
“Yep. I’ve found someone with a nice looking stallion that’s sure to give you some premium foals.” Terry explains.
Trisha hops off of Susie’s head, trotting around the safe room and singing with elation.
“Twisha gon’ be mummah~
Gon hab pwetty babbehs~
Daddeh am bestest daddeh~
Gib Twisha bestest babbehs~”
Susie rubs the bruises forming under her mane, smiling at Terry. “Daddeh, wiww Susie hab pwetty babbehs tuu?”
“I sure hope so, for your sake.” Terry answered. He’d spent a lot of resources raising these two, and despite Susie’s wonderful temperament, he’d hate for her to go to waste if she couldn’t earn her keep as a breeder.
Days passed and the appointment with the breeding stallion came and went. He was a very handsome unicorn specimen with a glittering coat of fluff that was sure to fetch a nice price with his offspring. Terry had paid quite the pretty penny just to use him once each for both the mares.
Soon the safe room was set up for Trisha and Susie to grow their unborn foals without any unnecessary stress. At least, as little stress that Terry could give without Trisha causing it.
As soon as their tummies started ballooning up, Trisha’s smarty symptoms had only grown worse. Mood swings were expected, but it was becoming ridiculous, even for Terry. She was constantly eating, even hogging all the kibble from Susie’s bowl and forcing her to skip meals or lick her asshole clean before kicking a couple of bites of kibble towards her. She developed terrible gas, often causing Terry to invest in air fresheners and keeping a fan on to alleviate the house of the horrid stench of rank fluffy farts. Her beration of Susie had triple-folded as she no longer called her by her name any more, instead calling her ‘Dummeh’ or ‘Poopie’ Mummah.
To top it all off, once the two became immobile due to their tummies, it became Terry’s responsibility to make sure their needs were sustained. It was a layer of Hell Terry hadn’t anticipated. For a little over two weeks, Terry had to scratch their itches for them, make sure they got enough food(which was difficult on Trisha’s gluttonous end), wipe their asses, bring them their toys, and keep Trisha from giving him a migraine with her boasting, screaming, and obnoxious singing.
It was enough to make him wonder if becoming a fluffy breeder was even fucking worth it.
“DAAAAADDEEEEEEEEHHH!!! TUMMEH BABBEHS AM HUNGY!! TWISHA NEE’ MOWE NUMMIES!!!”
He groans, trying to remind himself that it would all be worth it once he got those fancy foals out of her.
“Here, Trisha, I got your kibble…”
“NU WAN KIBBWE! WAN SKETTI NUMMIES!!!”
“You had spaghetti yesterday, you’re not gettin-”
"SKETTI NUMMIES AM BESTEST NUMMIES FO’ MAKE TUMMEH BABBEHS GWOW BIG AN’ STWONG!! NEE SKETTI NUMMIES NAO!!!"
Terry, already feeling his head ready to burst from the ache behind his eyes, simply sighs. She wouldn’t stop screaming until he gave her what she wanted. “Fine…”
As Terry left the safe room to heat up a can of spaghetti, Susie rolled on her side to look at Trisha, being forced to listen to the magenta mare’s boasting.
“MUMMAH GON’ HAB BESTEST BABBEHS EBAH! NU WIKE UGWY NU SMEWW PWETTY MUMMAH~” Trisha gloated, flicking her tail.
“Why Twisha su meanie?” The brown mare asks, her voice hushed.
“TWISHA NU AM MEANIE, DUMMEH! TWISHA AM SMAWTY! TWISHA GET BESTEST DADDEH TU GIB BESTEST SKETTI AND BESTEST- B-BESTEh-Oough…” Trisha trails off, her tummy cramping as it gurgles. Before she realizes, she’s expelled another rank, liquidy shit.
Susie gasps, a worried tone in her voice. “Twisha make bad poopies 'gain!”
“SHU’ UP DUMMEH MUMMAH!” Trisha shouts, huffing as she feels another cramp before her rear gives out another wet fart. “DAAAAAADDEEEEEEEEH!!! TWISHA NEE’ WIPEY-CWEANIES!!!”
By the time Terry had entered back in the room with the bowl of spaghetti, both the mares had been cramping from contractions, huffing and puffing in distress as they entered labour. Susie’s water broke as she cried, “DADDEH! HEWP! B-BIGGEST POOPIES HUUHUU!!!”
Terry dropped the plastic bowl, scrambling to get everything he needed to help the two give birth.
It was a long, grueling seven hours of Terry alternating between the two mares. He helped keep them calm and reminded them to breathe, giving them encouraging words of affirmation and making sure none of the foals breached to ensure a smooth and safe delivery. Once the foals were all cleaned up and suckling down their first milkies, he sat and stared at them in disbelief.
Both mares had given birth to three foals each. Susie’s foals were exceptional quality. Bright, vibrant colours, two with the glittering fluff of their sire, one with two tones looking like freckled cheeks a heart shaped birth mark on it’s chest. The two toned one was a unicorn, like it’s father. One foal, an orange one, was an alicorn. Susie, true to her good temperament and rumoured parentage, loved and fed it the same as her other foals.
Trisha on the other hand, had nothing but earthies. Not just any earthies, though. Dull, ugly, shit quality ones. There wasn’t a single appealing trait about them. Not a single foal took on their prized sire’s genes, nor his or Trisha’s vibrant colours. The batch was a complete and utter waste.
“What the fuck is this?!” Terry asked, bewildered by Trisha’s litter. Had he not seen them give birth himself, he’d have believed the litters were switched between the two mares.
“Huuu… Babbehs am aww poopies wike mummah an’ daddeh an’ bwuddas an’ sissies!! Nu wan poopie babbehs!!” Trisha cried, disappointed in her own foals, watching as they peeped hungrily and wriggled around on her blanket nest.
“…What?” Terry asked, his voice low.
“Twisha am smawty, pwetty fwuffy! Nu wan ugwy poopie babbehs!!” She continued to lament.
“You’re telling me… Out of all of your litter born in that shelter, you were the only one to be born with good colours?!” Terry asks, feeling his blood pressure rise.
“Twisha nu bown in shewtew, daddeh, Twisha bown outsie, wike poopie bwuddas an’ sissies! Mummah an’ Daddeh was outsie fwuffies! Shewtew take Twisha 'cuz Twisha was pwettiest babb-”
Trisha’s words are interrupted by Terry punching her in the face. “OWWIES!! UUHUUHUU WAI DADDEH HUWT MUMMAH?! AM GUUD MUMMAH!!”
“YOU STUPID FUCKING FERAL TRASH!” He shouts, grabbing the sorry stick and yanking her up by her tail as she tries to crawl away. All that time, all that hard work trying to train her. All that bending over backwards like a fucking moron to try to keep her fat, gluttonous ass happy. All wasted because he didn’t think to check her history to see if she was a fucking feral after seeing her bright, ‘quality colours’. None of the trouble in raising and breeding this damned ‘smarty’ mare was fucking worth it.
He continues to beat the literal shit out of her as she screams and begs, her worthless foals peeping, pissing, and shitting in distress beside her.
Susie turns away form the violent scene, scared, but finally feeling relief that she was proven to not be worthless. That her babbehs were pretty, just like Terry wanted. She comforts her foals, feeding them milkies and licking them clean as she takes in the satisfaction of Trisha getting her comeuppance.
