Day 1
Chris had moved on from the Mare and Foal’s pen after dealing with Fat-Bitch. She was a disgusting coward, but Chris felt that he knew it from the start. Those addicted to power and who often use fear in order to maintain their position over others, often end up being the biggest cowards when confronted with their own wickedness. As he walked over to the Toughie pen, there was arguing over who gets to eat most of the food Chris provided, among other troubling issues. Chris rolled his eyes; all it took was one set back to have this herd at each other’s necks over even the pettiest of issues.
He observed the three remaining toughies in the pen: An Orange fluffed and navy maned unicorn, an overweight blue fluffed and white maned unicorn, and a weirdly muscular brown fluffed and green maned earthie. They were shoving each other around, as if to try and further assert dominance over one another while the hierarchy has been damaged. It was pathetic, like watching a feud over who would be king of the trash pile. Its amusing, they followed their smarty for what Chris assumed was years and nearly three hours away from their leader they fight amongst themselves for any shred of power. Chris to the gate of the pen and looked down at them, they stopped fighting amongst each other to glare at their capturer. One of the toughies, the brown fluffed one, flared his nostrils at Chris and gave him a death glare.
Chris looked at him and said, “The fuck is your problem, Shit-Colored-Baby-Fucker”?
The Brown fluffy was enraged, he stomped his hooves on the ground and yelled back in his weirdly deep fluffy voice, “Dat am Nu Name Stoopi Hoomin! Am Bestest toughie”! He flared his nostrils again letting out a loud grunt, he screamed back at Chris, “Munstah Hoomin make Speshul Fweind and tummeh babbehs go foweba sweepies, toughie Hatechu”!
Chris glared back at the brown miniature horse in front of him with a look of hatred and malice. How dare he talk back to Chris like that after what he did to his foals, especially what he did to Indy. Though the Smarty and his other toughies took advantage of poor Indy’s brief status as an enfie toy, this brown asshole went back for thirds. It sickened Chris that a fluffy could do something so wicked and vile yet have the gall to call Chis a monster. He glared back at the stallion and said as calmly as he could, “You get what you deserve, you hurt my foals and I hurt yours”. The brown fluffy sneered at Chris with a nasty grin on his face, he looked Chris dead in the eye and said something that Chris would never think was possible for a fluffy.
“Toughie wan enfie toy nao, munstah hoomin gib backsies dummeh enfie babbeh so toughie can hab gud fewws”!
Chris felt his blood go cold, fluffies weren’t supposed to be capable of such complicated thought yet this shit colored rapist was deliberately trying to get a rise out of him. The orange and blue fluffy laughed at Chris, also demanding that Indy be brought back to them for their amusement. Chris felt himself flash back to the other day when he came back home from the hardware store, the brown asshole dismounting little Indy while he frantically cheeped for help. His vision went red as Chris hopped over the fence and kicked the brown toughie hard in its ribs, causing it to wail in pain. The Orange and Blue toughies tried to tackle Chris but were each grabbed and tossed onto the other side of the pen viciously. The Brown toughie tried crawling away, crying to itself over how badly his side hurt. Chris screamed at him, “Where the fuck do you think your going shit head”?
In a violent jerking motion, Chris grabbed him by the green mane and lifted him up. Like nearly every fluffy who is grabbed this way, he shrieked about the “bad upsies” and demanded Chris let him back down. Chris paid him no mind, as he brought him kicking and screaming into the near by barn. As Chris entered the front door of his barn, he took the toughie all the way to where he kept his work bench and toolbox. He grabbed some rope and tied the toughie to one of the wooden beams inside the barn, as he looked at the various tools he had to work with. Chris found a sizeable money wrench and brought it back with him to face the shit-colored toughie.
Chris raised the monkey wrench high, and just began to beat the brown fluffy senselessly. He screeched and sobbed, begging Chris to stop hurting him with the “sorry stick”. Chris smashed the wrench into its mouth, knocking its front teeth out. Chris dropped the wrench and moved back to the toolbox to look for anything else he could use to inflict as much harm as he could to this miserable excuse for a fluffy. He looked through all the drawers until he finally found it, his step drill bit. A step drill bit looks a bit like Christmas tree, in which as you drill a hole it “steps out” and expands the size. Primarily this tool is used to ream out holes that require precise sizing and Chris new of a hole that needed reaming.
Chris attached it to his electric drill and came back to the sobbing toughie, who was now chirping like a pathetic foal. It sickened Chris when adult fluffies tried to illicit sympathy through imitating foal chirps, especially for a monster that liked to enfie them. Chris knew that this probably wasn’t the first time that this creature got his enfies through force, suspecting that his nasty brown color made him very undesirable. Everything about this fluffy sickened Chris to his core, and he was going to get retribution for Indy and any other foal this monster had harmed. Chris yelled at the stallion, “Hey shit head, you like to fuck huh? Well Mr. Drill here needs enfies and you’re going to give it to him”! The toughie looked at the drill in Chris’s hand and screamed to Chris, “Nu huwt Shit-fawce pwease am sowwies! Nu wan enfie toysies pwease nu huwt”! Chris held the fluffy down on the ground, readied his drill, and began to ream out his asshole.
The Brown fluffy shrieked in pain as the drill’s dip burrowed into his bowls, a nasty flesh cutting noise rang loudly throughout the barn. He shrieked and begged as Chris continuously stepped up the diameter of his drill bit, widening his anus from a pencil width to a nickel’s width, and finally all the way to the size of a silver dollar. The brown fluffy unloaded its bowls unto the drill, but neither the blood nor the shit could stop its burrowing. Chris removed the drill from the toughie, who was violently shaking and sucking on his hoof. He said to the quivering brown stallion, his voice dripping with hatred, “did you finally get the good feels you wanted”? The Brown fluffy continued to chirp like a foal as it violently shook, no smart remarks or anything else to say. Chris grinned at the earthie pony and grabbed it by its mane, he looked right into its eyes and said, “why so glum, we’re just getting started”! The shit-colored toughies squirmed and screeched as Chris brought him to the worktable.
The First thing Chris did, was grab one of his old and rusty saws and began to saw the fluffies legs off. Pillowing a fluffy seemed like a cruel and unusual punishment for generally well-meaning creatures, but Chris could confirm there was nothing well meaning about this monster. Chris sawed the first limb off, listening to the shrieks and pleading of this brown stallion but would not be moved. The other day he had to amputate his own foal’s hind leg from the damage these monsters caused, so he would hear none of it. When he removed the first leg, he shoves it straight into the mouth of the fluffy to get it to shut up. Chris then removed each other leg, displaying them in front of the toughie to its horror. Chris smirked at the pillowed fluffy and said, “Not so fast now, are you”? He could see in the stallion’s eyes he desperately wanted the pain to stop, but the day was still young, and Chris had many things left to do.
Chris then flipped the pillowed fluffy onto its back, exposing its lower half to him. Ironically for a monster so obsessed with having, ‘gud fews’ his penis and testes were incredibly small for an adult fluffy. Chris took out a knife that he had in his pocket and looked into the eyes of the brown fluffy. He lowered the knife to its genitals and said, “I hope the ‘good feels’ were worth it, you sick fuck”. He dug the knife into its genitals and cleaved them off. A coarse screech was let out from the crying brown stallion before he passed out. Chris threw his knife down unto the ground, permanently soiled by this nasty waste of flesh. Chris was satisfied with what he did to the sexually aggressive brown fluffy, he grabbed it by the mane and brough it back with him to the toughie pen.
He threw the pillowed fluffy into the mud right in front of the orange and blue toughies, they screeched as they saw the damage Chris had done to their comrade. Chris got into the pen himself, grabbing the remaining two toughies by their manes, and walking out dragging them to the barn. This would be the last time these two fluffies will ever see their pillowed compatriot, much less the relative safety of the pen. The brown fluffy was now alone, in searing agony, and unconscious.
Day 7
It had been a full week since Chris had imprisoned his home invaders, and what a busy week it had been. The herd had been punished for their crimes, they were broken, and their morale was destroyed. Several died throughout the punishment process, though many more somehow desperately clinging to life. Although admirable in their resolve, Chris firmly believed that these fluffies were just too stupid to properly die. The week was drawing to a close and soon Chris would need to check up on Indy from the doctor. It was time to finish what he had started; it was time to finally terminate his captives. Chris had just finished burying alive the Fat-bitch, when he decided perhaps it was time to take care of the shit-colored rapist.
Chris had deliberately been ignoring and avoiding the shit colored fluffy he had beaten, reamed, pillowed, and castrated last week hoping that it would straight up die in silence. He never bothered to fed it, or even to listen to its incessant moaning about its missing legs and special lumps. Perhaps due to that creature’s final stroke of luck, it was thrown within reach of a water trough, so it did not die of thirst. As much as Chris wanted to end its miserable existence, he wanted that foal fucker to die while in constant pain. He was one of the reasons that Indy will always be treated with disgust and contempt due to his sick actions, so he ought to suffer for the reminder of the time he still lived. Chris went to check on the brown monster to see how bad his condition was but had almost wished that he didn’t.
When he returned to the former toughie pen, he heard the familiar low-grade wheezing that most overstressed fluffies do when in agony. He looked down upon the pitiful mess that was once a fluffy rapist, now a creature of filth and decay. The brown fur had become patchy due to a massive skin infection caused by his open sores on his pillowed leg nubs. Chris had also noticed that its eyes had completely glazed over with a white film, speculating that the fluffy had a bad parasitic infection in its eyes. Sometimes feral fluffies carry nasty parasites in their shit, with many of them entering from open wounds and attacking the eyes. Parasitic blindness was a serious issue for fluffies, their eyes being quite literally the only part of their body that regularly keeps them out of trouble. Not only that, but fluffies are naturally terrified of the dark so losing their vision must have been a new level of hell for them to experience. Sick, emaciated, and terrified; this shit-colored rapist was almost suffering as much as Indy.
Chris walked over to the brown stallion, raising his voice in a cold and commanding tone, “Well it looks like you’re still alive huh”?
The shit-colored stallion shrieked, his voice was horse and fearful as he proclaimed, “Cough Pwease Nice Wawden Nu huwt shit-cowoed-babbeh-fuwkuh, am sowwy! Pwease no huwties-Cheep Cheep”.
Chris grumbled as he heard the pathetic cheeping come from this once violent creature, the way they try to illicit sympathy through such dirty means was disgusting. It was bad enough they felt entitled to Chris’s home and land, but these creatures have the audacity to beg when they get caught. No matter the case, Chris was determined to see the end of this nasty fluffy no matter what it took. Chris grabbed the disgusting and half rotten Stallion by the neck as it screeched, bringing it to the table he had brough outside weeks ago. Chris laid the pillowed monster on its back and went back to the Mare and Foal pen. He returned with two weanlings that he had seen the shit-colored rapist care for on his saferoom’s camera, most likely his children from a previous encounter. The two weanlings were both colts, one unicorn and one earthy; they shrieked as Chris held them in his hands, crying for their mothers to save them.
Chris placed them on the stallion’s abdomen and placed a small half cage over them. The weanlings immediately recognized their father’s scent, desperately trying to nuzzle into his putrid fur. The shit-colored rapist smelled his foals, and immediately began to panic. Why did the mean human bring them to him? Doesn’t his offspring know what danger they are in? He felt the small cage press onto his abdomen, hearing his foals cry in fear about being put in a weird “sorry box”. The brown fluffy wondered what Chris was about to do to them.
During Chris’s time in the military, for as much action as he had the displeasure of seeing there were even longer stints of boredom. To stave off boredom he and his fellow sailors would often browse the internet to find nearly anything to keep their minds off of the all-consuming nothing their days sometimes were. He remembered one day, one of the creepier sailors in his unit was discussing archaic and unusual torture methods used back in ancient times. There was one such torture that really stuck out to Chris, it was the old medieval “Rat Torture” method that was particularly gruesome. Victims would be placed on their backs, with a half-cage of rats on their abdomen. The cage would then be gradually heated until it became so unbearable for the rats, they would try and dig through the abdomen to escape, causing the victim untold agony. Chris had a cage, a blow torch, an unwilling captive, and two small shit rats; perhaps this method would work.
Chris placed a heat resistant glove on one hand and used it to hold the cage firmly over the pillowed fluffy’s abdomen. He looked at the shit colored fluffy and spoke to him in a stern voice.
“Shit-colored-baby-fucker, you have caused grievous crimes to the carter family especially to my foal Indy. I have sentenced you and your remaining foals to death, may the agony from this execution follow you down to hell”.
Chris pressed the cage hard unto his captive as it let out a quick screech of pain. He took the blowtorch and turned it on, putting the flame directly on the metal of the cage. The weanlings screamed as they felt the unbearable heat, frantically pacing and crying. They tapped on the abdomen of their father and tearfully pleaded to him, “Daddeh pwease save babbehs! Suu many buwnie huwties daddeh”! As the heat ramped up the foals desperately continued to tap harder on their father’s abdomen, until they could no longer bear the pain any longer and began chewing into his stomach. The shit colored fluffy screeched in agony as his children chewed through him, their tiny teeth slowly digging into him. Their chewing and digging went on for almost three agonizing minutes, making it about a quarter of the way through the brown fluffy’s flesh. Sadly, the foals could no longer endure the heat, and perished before they could make it through.
Chris noticed the foals had died and took the cage off the half-eaten pillowed fluff. He shook and sobbed, perhaps he realized his final two foals had died leaving him all alone. The shit colored fluffy sobbed loudly as blood pooled from its abdomen wound, it screeched the words Chris had been hoping it would say since he caught him using his poor foal. The Brown Fluffy coughed up blood, he incessantly began to repeat the words, “Wan die! Wan Die”!
Chris glared at the brown fluffy on the table and threw him back into the pen with his dead foals still in his abdomen. He looked upon the pitiful creature with complete disgust, he did all that he could to get revenge for Indy. No longer was Chris obligated to listen to this rotten sack of flesh and fur, he could die at his own leisure. He walked away from the pen to go check on the other two toughies he was punishing, leaving the brown fluffy to wallow in its own agony. The brown, blind and legless fluffy continued to sputter blood as it continued to screech for death. It took an hour for him to completely bleed out, with its final moments being scared and alone.