Reuploaded 9/28/2021
The Abuser’s Web Guide - Episode 5
By: Turboencabulator
It’s the wee hours of the morning, and Interocitor is driving in his car. The camera is mounted
on his dash, and his face, as always, is mosiac.
“Morning everyone, Interocitor here. Well today is the episode that a lot of you have been
waiting for. Discipline, punishment, torture, and how to get rid of the carcasses. I’m going to
give you all a fair warning, judging by the scripts I’ve been doing and the way that my
shooting notes are piling up on this one, we’re in for a longer episode than normal.”
He turns, the orange streetlamps casting blocky shadows as he drives down the city street.
“Let me give you a little overview of the parts. Discipline and punishment is not abuse. This is
for the purpose of correcting poor behavior, and for instilling some knowledge that actions
have consequences. It’s a good judge of a fluffy’s intelligence to see how quickly they learn
what behavior is acceptable, and how much reinforcing a lesson needs.”
After a moment of all important coffee, he continues.
“Torture, however, is just for fun. We will be demonstrating some fundamental weak points of
fluffies, both physically and psychoemotionally. There will be specific time given over to
hygiene and safety, your work area, and demonstration of the fundamental tools. On the table
today we have generic pain, crippling, genitorture, soon-mummah-abuse via various aspects of
psychological abuse and pressure, and my personal favorite, electrotorture techniques.”
After taking a turn and lighting a small cigar, he continues. “However, some aspects of abuse
we will be covering separately, since they’re either more subtle or need specific time on their
own separate from our little recreation session today. We’ll be covering amputation, blinding,
de-voicing, and milkbagging in its own section, and we’ll have time in future for social
humiliation and herd manipulation. Plus we need to cover the wan-die loop eventually.”
He jabs a finger at the camera. “Some people on the forums, and you know who you are, seem to
have an interest in fucking fluffies. Needless to say that is not something that I will be
covering, both because it’s personally repulsive to me, and it would mean needing to film that,
which I’m pretty sure counts as manufacturing pornography.”
He pauses, then shudders audibly.
“Finally we will be covering disposal. Fluffies, despite being biotoys legally, decay like
every other animal. So safe, hygienic disposal methods will be covered.”
After another drag of coffee, he tosses the cup in a bin in the passenger footwell. “This
morning we are heading out to one of the city shelters. I’ve got a friend there who wants to
get rid of a few trouble fluffs that we’ll be using for the torture segment. Unfortunately, to
protect my friend, we will not be showing the shelter.”
The sounds of gravel under tires is heard as he pulls in to a lot and parks. “We’ll see you
back at the house with our new guests.”
The image cuts.
Cheery, but calm music plays as the scene opens on a glass and steel atrium with people milling
about inside. “Alenix Biotechnologies Incorporated is pleased to announce we have begun human
trials in blastomeric transplantation. Here at the headquarters the atmosphere is electric with
the prospects.”
A cut, and a young scientist is crouched behind a clear tank, a liver floating inside,
connected with various hoses and spider-like mechanical devices.
“Using our new cloning system, cells from a patient are cultured into the needed tissues
directly. This liver is one hundred percent human tissue, and is identical to the one the
patient lost. In a week’s worth of growth, it will be ready for transplant.”
Another cut, and a doctor and patient are shown conversing in a hospital room. “We expect to
roll out our blastometric cloning technology to be available in ten major hospitals around the
US within a year. If you or a loved one suffers from an illness that culminates in organ
damage, or the loss of function, please contact your insurance to find out if they will cover
replacement. Alenix Biotechnologies Incorporated will cooperate with most insurance carriers.”
“Thank you for listening to this announcement. Stay healthy, and remember: We care.”
Interocitor is washing his hands in a sink. “Now, some of you might be wondering why I got new
fluffies when I’ve got a basement full of the little goobers. Really all the fluffies I have
down here are either spoken for by other people, since I raise them as a side business, or
they’re projects. The ones in the ‘bad place’ have been picked out for their fluff quality. I
have a little arts and crafts project planned for them. So this leaves a vacuum where there
should be candidates for demonstrating the torture techniques. Hence the nocturnal adoption.”
After drying his hands, he walks over to the usual white covered table. “Now. Part the first,
we need to go over discipline and punishment techniques for non-abuse purposes, but also over
when it is appropriate to use them, and when a fluffy should be considered either too much
effort, or actually too far gone.”
“We should also discuss the sources of fluffy misbehavior, and we will be taking a section to
discuss mummah-fever and how to combat it. Also, and this is important, how to recognise when
you can’t combat it. There is such a thing as a mare so … charged with mummah-fever
that even affection and approval from humans no longer is a primary factor in their
motivations.”
He pulls a whiteboard into view. “Now, most of you watching are probably not going to be
working in volume with fluffies like I am, but just in case you are, let’s go over some basic
tenets of fluffy behavioralism and how this will impact how you work with them.”
He makes a few columns on the sheet. “When you have more than one family of fluffies, you’re
going to want at minimum three areas to hold them in. We’ll call these A, B, and C for now.”
After labelling the columns, he continues. “Group A fluffies are ones that you are not
expecting behavioral issues from. These should be basically only fluffies you hand-rear or are
shop-bought. You will need to keep a watchful eye out for the start of behavioral things,
especially in adolescence, but generally these are your ‘good fluffs’. Milkbags and
pillowfluffs will also generally fall into this category once you start showing them some love
since they’ll be so depressed that any positive interactions with humans are like heroin to
them.”
“We’ll cover handling special-needs fluffies in a later part, but right now let’s get on to the
B group. This is your ‘intake’ group. City strays, donations and rescues, shelter fluffies,
they all go in B. This is where the most discipline will be applied, because in my philosophy
of fluffy-handling, such as it is, every fluffy gets a chance.”
“C group is your recreational fodder. We’ll get to them in due course.”
He wipes off the board while continuing. “You have already seen my good fluffy housing, during
the tour of different kinds of housing and pens for fluffies. My recreation room as
well. In general this is what you’ll see in most cases for the groupings, but intake has yet to
be seen. In my case, it’s a third room in the back. Simple pens, not many toys, no music, and a
few isolation pens for traumatized fluffies. Each pen also has a camera and microphone, since
fluffies tend to think out loud when alone. It makes identifying their personalities a lot
easier.”
“Now, a fluffy is, in essence, a sentient animal. I’m not going to get into the whole
ackshually shit with their status as bio-toys and the like. They think, they have
emotions, they form bonds with each other and humans, and they are not completely
retarded. Usually. Nine times out of ten. Or four out of five. Let’s not dwell on that point.”
“A baseline fluffy is dumb, but essentially tries to be a ‘good fluffy’ based on a number of
core motivations. The first of which is to be loved and accepted by a human. Additional
motivations include following the rules, making others happy regardless of who they are, and so
on. All the ‘huggies and wuv’ shit is basically as fundamental to their needs as shelter and
food is.”
“Most severe behavioral issues come from the motivations being warped, just like in humans and
other primates. A lot of the time this is basically various forms of egotism. Smarty syndrome
in humans would be called egomania or malignant narcissism. Paedofoalia is as complex in
fluffies as the related… illness… is in humans.”
“There are five very important factors, however.”
He turns and writes as he speaks. “First. Fluffies are naive and are stuck that way. If you
don’t give them a reason to distrust you, they’ll listen. Even with smarty syndrome you can
generally convince them with some basic manipulation.”
“Second, they’re dumb, but in specific ways. Fluffies can learn very extensive vocabularies
if you take the time to teach them, but if you have beige shoelaces they may never understand
it isn’t pasta.”
“Third, they are motivated by emotion. Logic and reasoning can work, but it takes time to grind
it in and make it stick.”
“Fourth, this one is something people tend to overlook. Fluffies tend to assume that people
think the way they do, and if this is shown to be false, it can really confuse them. A lot of
disobedience from mares with mummah-fever is them essentially rationalizing that their humans
just don’t ‘get it’ and once they see the babies everything will be fine. Because for the mare,
that is indeed true.”
“Fifth, and finally, absent any other motivating factors, a fluffy will generally choose the
path that makes them the happiest. In good fluffies, this is the path that they think will make
their human the happiest.”
“Now, are these hard and fast rules? No. But they’re good guidelines, and every fluffy is
different, but generally you can start with these five and see how the fluff fits to them.”
“One thing that you need to keep in mind is that these fluffies are descended from breeding
stock. It’s known that HasBio was going to essentially have two separate lines going. Breeding
stock, and sales stock. The breeding stock is hardwired to want babies in the females, and this
shows up as mummah-fever. Originally this was going to be something that was ‘turned on’ in
selected breeding mares with a hormone therapy, which is where the ‘six months’ rule comes
in. The hormone is naturally occuring, and they hadn’t figured out how to control that yet. So
when a mare gets pregnant, it turns on the HasBio breeder trigger if it’s too early in their
development.”
“This leads to, pardon the term, absolute fuckery in mares. It wound up causing the bitch mare
phenomenon in the gross majority of cases, and is known to have been one of the primary
problems that the HasBio team was working on when the breakout happened. This, coupled with the
naturally high birth rate for factory production, led us to where we are now. This means that
there is massive psychological and hormonal pressure in mares to have children when they become
aware that they are capable of having children.”
“Oh, and: Alicorns are different. They’re much more emotionally developed, and generally
smarter as well. If you get an alicorn in your intake, separate them immediately and talk with
them. Seriously, just have a conversation and try to get to know them. That’ll tell you a lot.”
“Now, let’s get on to basic discipline. I’ll be using one of the better intake fluffies to
demonstrate. We’ll be working with an alley stallion, but he’s shown promise. Stallions tend to
be more ornery than mares so keep in mind that you may need different degrees for different
fluffs.”
The shot cuts to a bright blue earthie stallion eating timothy hay in a separate pen. He’s
clean, but an ear has a chunk taken out of it, and there’s a large pile of feces in the middle
of the pen.
Interocitor walks in and sighs. “Fluffy, what’s that?” He says, pointing.
The stallion blinks, then looks. “Is poopies?”
“What was one of the rules?” Interocitor asks, sounding disappointed.
The fluffy’s ears lower. “Gud poopies go in da wittabawks.”
Interocitor nods. “Do you know why they go in the litterbox?”
The stallion shakes his head, listening. “Nu.”
“Poopies can make fluffies sick, and they smell bad. If they’re in the litterbox, it’s easy to
keep the rest of your pen clean. Poopies and pee-pees stay in the litterbox and it’s much
easier to get of them there.”
The stallion thinks, then nods slowly.
“But you broke the rules, and breaking the rules is something bad fluffies do. Are you a bad
fluffy?”
The stallion whinnies and shuffles in place. “Nu, nu am bad fwuffy.”
“Ok.” Interocitor picks up a short length of foam-covered tube. “Now, good fluffies who don’t
get punished turn into bad fluffies. This is to make sure you stay good.”
With a firm, but calculated movement, he pushes the stallion gently down, rump in the air. With
a swing, he makes the tube whoosh, but stops and gives the stallion a gentle swat to the rear.
The stallion’s crying and sniffling, but takes two more before he’s let up.
“Fwuffy so-so-sowwwyy.” He says, sniffling and hiccuping.
Interocitor crouches and gives the stallion a gentle earscratching. “I know you are. But we
need to take the consequences of what we do. Let’s get your pen cleaned up and smelling nice
and we’ll have some popcorn.”
Just like that the stallion bounces back. “Popcown? Wub popcown!”
Another cut, and Interocitor is washing out a popcorn bowl. “So you just saw a textbook example
of disciplining a good fluffy. Proper discipline follows the same general outline. First,
identify what the fluffy did wrong, and make sure the fluffy confirms that it did
wrong. Second, explain why the rule exists. Third, remind them that rules are followed by good
fluffies, and that punishment for broken rules is for their own good. Then, apply the
punishment. I’ve found that the anticipation and your disappointment is as much a motivator as
the impact.”
He sets the bowl aside, wiping his hands off. “Needless to say with good fluffies you don’t
need to do any serious stuff to them. Punishment is psychological, but you exploit this with
physical cues. I’ve found that rule-breaking is best adjusted with sorry-sticks, but social
issues with the sorry-box.”
“One of the other things that a lot of new fluffy owners neglect is the less confrontational
side of discipline. It’s good to have a schedule for fluffies, and to maintain it. I had one of
my more tech-savvy friends make a fluffy schedule display for out in the pen room. It’s a
week’s schedule, but all color-coded and animated. Each group of fluffy can see what time it
currently is, what is coming up, and when special days are. Bath days, treat days, vet visits,
the works. Things like this help the little fuzzballs keep themselves happy.”
“Now. Let me get the good fluffs tucked in and calm, and we can begin the part you all probably
are getting hard for. An introduction to fluffy torture.”
The screen brightens up with nauseatingly upbeat music, a row of dancie-babbies in a
garden-themed pen are singing the FluffMart jingle.
Huggies and love
Huggies and love
All you’ll find at FluffMart is
Huggies and love!
A severely overgroomed man walks in with what can only be described as a coke-fueled grin,
faux-dancing like the foals are. “Hey everyone! FluffMart is opening a new location near YOU!
Come on in, we’re open twenty-four hours, seven days a week! The only place you’ll find
licensed HasBio products all in one place is FluffMart! Only on opening day though, we’ll be
giving away a FREE FOAL! That’s right, no payment necessary, one foal per family, randomly
drawn. Also we’ll be doing a door prize drawing for a five hundred dollar gift card AND a new
Mister Hugsy collectible character fluffy bed! So we’ll see you there at opening day!”
The man continues dancing, his eyes going out of focus as the foals sing the jingle
again. Right before the screen cuts, he develops a nosebleed.
The scene returns with Interocitor pulling on a bloodstained apron in a much less friendly
room. The sounds of fluffies quietly huu-huuing is present, the harsh overhead fluorescent
lights throwing hard shadows.
“Well here we are, gang. Let’s start with your workspace, and your tools. First,
soundproofing. This should be obvious, even if you live out in the countryside. The little
fluffies have quite loud screams when properly motivated. In my case I’m working with double
courses of brick filled in with non-degradable foam. I could set off a hand grenade in here and
you wouldn’t be able to hear it on the other side of the wall. You might want to go with
something a bit more normal like studio soundproofing, plus carpets and ceiling hangings to
muffle echos and the like. I’ve actually got a double layer of anechoic studio foam on the
ceiling but the lighting up there is garbage so excuse me for not showing it.”
“Second, you will need a work surface. I’ve got a steel shop table here in the middle, picked
it up from a transmission service shop that went out of business, with built-in guttering and
the lot. Anything will do really, as long as it’s sturdy, can be cleaned, and the table top is
around a comfortable level for you. I find navel high is where I like mine. A friend of mine
has a pool table he’s stripped the felt off of. Rather fun sticking a fluffy head-first in the
pocket and watching them kick.”
“Third, you will need a sink, preferably a deep-well double sink. Not only is this important
for hygiene purposes, but bathing the fluffies if need be. Also drowning them if you’re into
that but I prefer using fishtanks for that so the others in storage can watch too. I picked up
some good industrial plumbing from a local high school when they remodeled their chemistry
lab and other spaces. I also snagged one of those overhead dishwashing sprayers from their
kitchen, and plumbed that in over the worktable.”
“And finally, your fluffy storage, see previous videos on that. Also storage for other things,
tools, cleaning equipment, and of course a first-aid kit and other safety things necessary
depending on what you like doing.”
He turns and picks up an empty immobilization frame. “You’re probably familiar with these. Four
holes and no running around for a fluffy. Check out your favorite fluffy site and you’ll
probably find a blueprint for these. Carpentry to 3D printing.”
“Oh and I almost forgot. You probably can’t see it but running over my bench I have a few metal
bars. Useful for hanging things.”
He takes a minute to plunk a few heavy magnets on the table surface, and loop some paracord
through the rings on top.
“Right. Let’s start with the Ten Essential Tools.” He walks out of frame and comes back with a
bile yellow fluffy, setting it in the immobilization frame. He uncorks it, letting the filth
spew out into the drainage gutter in the middle. “I’d keep water flowing through that if you
have a good drain system.”
“Now, number one.” He takes time to hose the fluffy down, cleaning the recent filth off it. The
fluffy is snorting and struggling in the frame, and shivers constantly after the water
stops. “Number one is paracord.”
With an almost gesture-like flick of his wrist, there’s a braided loop of paracord around the
fluffy’s neck. He takes it out of the immobilization frame and sets it on the tabletop.
Immediately, the fluffy bolts, waddling away at high speed, but Interocitor lazily yanks on the
paracord noose, making the fluffy flip over and land on its back, coughing and pawing at its
own throat.
Slowly, he drags the fluffy back, elicting coughs and snorts, until he has it between the
magnets. Each limb is attached to a magnet, and slowly stretched out until the fluffy is almost
completely immobilized.
“Paracord is immensely useful for simple bindings, as well as for psychological purposes of
control. Use it for nooses, limb isolation, and with appropriate knots you can tie it snug
enough to start killing tissue. For extra fun, tie it around a nursing mare’s teats tightly and
her milk will turn toxic over time as the cells break down.”
He reaches over and picks up a tray of implements. “Second, we have hemming pins. These are two
to three inches long with a large bead at the head. Prevents it from slipping into the fluffy
beyond retrieval.”
He pulls one out, letting it glint in the light. The fluffy, obviously a mare in this position,
watches it, pupils contracting as Interocitor lowers the pin towards her. She begins to
struggle. With a deft movement, he slides the needle through the mare’s clitoris, causing her
to spasm in shock. A few more motions and the mare’s vagina is pinned shut.
“Now, at this point she’d have that muzzle off. Listening to them and interacting while they
plead and beg is a whole world of amusement in and of itself, but right now I’d rather have you
able to hear me while I work.”
Gripping the fluffy’s chin, he slowly slides the pin through the fluffy’s throat, in one side
and out the other. “Applying a pin here paralyzes the vocal cords.”
He takes the muzzle off the fluffy, who only makes a hoarse croaking whistle sound, struggling
against the paracord. Her mouth works like she’s trying to talk, but only muffled squeaks come
out.
“Number three, dowel rod.” He says, picking up a foot long section of half inch dowel. “Shave
it into a spike for impalement, use with paracord to make a simple hobbling bar, beat them with
it, you have a lot of options, but one of my favorites is as a breaking surface.”
He slides it under the mare’s thigh, and holds down her ankle with his free hand, then slowly
begins to lift the dowel. The mare emits a hollow, cottony scream, and the sounds of joints
popping is heard, then a loud snap, as the mare’s femur breaks. She spasms, coughing and trying
to beg, but only a few droplets of blood and more whistly grunts come out.
“There, there.” he says, patting her on the belly. “You’re nearly done. Just four and five to
go and then we’ll let you rest.”
There is a definite smile in his voice, one that the mare has not picked up on. If she had, she
would not relax so much.
“Number four, thumbtacks. A classic. Put them on the ground for a simple anti-fluffy barrier,
in the hooves for pain, but my favorite is in food.”
He takes the mare’s hooves, gently feeling them with his thumb. “Though today we will be using
them for their classic usage.”
One by one he puts a half dozen thumbtacks in the mare’s hooves, slowly pressing them in flush
with the leathery pad. She’s struggling, but weaker, crying, a puddle of urine under her slowly
draining into the table’s gutter. A trickle of blood seeps from the corner of her mouth as the
pin in her throat destroys her larynx with every attempted scream.
“And five, of course, we have pliers. Narrow tip in this case.”
With a slow, careful motion, letting the fluffy watch, he lowers the pliers to a nipple. Within
a second he has the teat in the jaws of the pliers and twisting severely. She spasms, muffled
screaming actively spraying droplets of blood from her violated throat. He twists slowly until
a drop of blood seeps from the teat, then lets go. He watches as the fluffy pants, whimpering,
mouthing words that could only be pleading and promises.
Using the dowel, he forces the mare’s jaws open and starts pulling teeth. The screaming
actually gains volume, the fluffy struggling and screeching with an unearthly
timbre. Eventually he has a full set of fluffy teeth in a tray, and a semi-catatonic
fluffy. He turns to the camera and shows another needle in his fingers.
The sound the unfortunate biotoy produces is incredible as Interocitor digs a needle into the
exposed nerve bed, holding the mare down by her neck. Her eyes roll up and she eventually
passes out with a squirt of piss and one final screech.
Interocitor takes the needle out, chuckling. “Ah well, she lasted longer than I thought she
would, honestly.” He reaches under the workbench and pulls out a fluffy medical kit, opening
it. “Now, I’m going to apply a paste to seal her gums so she doesn’t get an infection. We will
be covering fluffy first aid soon.”
He takes out what looks like a plastic dental form, peeling the seals off the top and
bottom. With care, he puts it in the mare’s mouth and softly presses her jaws closed, looping a
bit of paracord around her muzzle to hold it in place. “In about ten minutes, she’ll be just
fine. But with a broken leg, hooves full of tacks, no voice or teeth, and the delirium from
being in pain, she’ll be an easy fucktoy for my more aggressive stallions. Though given how
long she survived me, she might even be able to last more than a night before they kick her
head in.”
After a pause, he chuckles and removes the needles from her genetalia. “Better take these out,
or it’d be really difficult for them to have their fun.”
Taking the time to untie the mare and set her aside, Interocitor begins cleaning the table,
hosing it down and rinsing out the gutter. “Now, cleanliness is a requirement when working with
fluffies. Their feces is very easily spread, and an infection when you don’t want one can
really ruin your fun for long-term victims. I recommend finding a secondhand autoclave for your
sterilizable materials, burn the ones you can’t sterilize. If you don’t want to go for an
autoclave, then you can make do with boiling, or if your dishwasher has a sterilize option,
that will suit fine. Make sure you also routinely clean your storage area.”
“So, that’s half of the Ten Essential Tools. We saw some crippling techniques, some pain
methods, some genitorture, and now we’ll go to the other side. This time I’ll be working with a
stallion. I’m going to lay out the tools first since this time I’ll be interacting with the
fluffy.” He begins setting out items on the tray. “First, a good sharp knife. I prefer
something around the size of a paring knife, but to each their own. Next up we have ye olde
clamp, I’m using these small machinist’s clamps, but anything can work. Next up we have a
lighter, and…” He sets a TENS unit on the workbench. “We have a muscle stimulator and some
leads. I normally use a more advanced, adjustible source but it’s currently junk so until I
replace it, this basic unit will do fine. And finally, we have a secret item which we’ll get to
when it’s time.”
He walks off camera, and rummages around. Coming back, he has a wedge-shaped pad, with
velcro cuffs at the bottom of the wedge, and at the end of its taper. “This is just a breeding
stand you can pick up at Alenix. We’ll be using this for the next section, but the visual
angles are a bit tight so I’m going to take a minute and switch over to my glasses camera while
I set up further.”
He walks behind the camera. The shot cuts.
Abrupt fanfare plays as the nauseating pink and purple HasBio logo rises out of a colorful gift
box, opening to reveal a smaller colorful box with the head of a fluffy poking out the front,
sans teeth. The fluffy is a murky grey color, is smiling widely, and obviously very, very
drugged.
“New! From Hasbio! The Ever-cheer Litter Pal!”
A unicorn bounds up and promptly shotgun-shits in the litterpal’s face. The unfortunate grey
fluff immediately chows down and cleans the unicorn’s rear.
“Dis da bestest wittapaw eber!” Says the unicorn, who takes a moment to push his rear back on
the litterpal’s face, eyes rolling up a little, before the shot cuts to another pair of
litterpals.
“Now you’ll never have a sad Litter Pal again, and with our patented happiness enablement
technology, they’ll even keep your fluffies in good spirits as well.”
The litterpals are singing, the lisp more pronounced due to lack of teeth. One starts to cry
while singing, and a light on the box flicks from green to yellow. It shivers, eyes dilating,
and going slightly out of focus as it gets happy again and sings more emphatically.
“They even have the same three-week use period as the original Litter Pal! Ever-cheer Litter
Pals are available now at all Hasbio retailers.”
A small text appears as the narrator talks. Ever-cheer Litter Pals are not available in
California, Oregon, Washington, Illinois, or Maine, but are available by mail order to those
states. Terms and conditions apply, do not open Ever-cheer Litter Pals.
Interocitor is back with a purple unicorn stallion, holding it by its mane as it tries to get a
grip on the slick steel table.
“Wet smawty go! Dummy hoomin gun get wowstest-”
The smarty is interrupted by Interocitor smashing its nose on the tabletop. “Going to get
worstest what?”
The smarty’s crying, hooves holding its bloody nose. “Guhuhh huu huu why huwt smawty?”
He puts the smarty on his back, and presses a coldpack into the fluffy’s abdomen, holding it
there while the fluff kicks and whines.
“Cowdie bwock nu feew nicey, stahp!”
After a moment, the smarty’s abdomen contracts and a long, semi-liquid stream of feces shoots
out into the gutter, and the smarty tries to curl up against the cramping, making little pained
squealing sounds.
“So you think you’re a smarty now, hm?” Interocitor asks, putting the cold pack aside and
rinsing the fluffy off. “Weird, since I know your name is Eggplant.”
“Hmph.” Eggplant shakes as much water off as possible in Interocitor’s grip. “Nu wike stoopid
name.”
With a shrug, Interocitor hauls Eggplant’s forelegs over the fat end of the wedge, and makes
the fluff lay down along the wedge, strapping it in to the cuffs and a belt around its waist.
“Wet smawty gu.” Eggplant demands, pulling at the straps and trying to kick. Interocitor
silently takes one leg, pulling it to the cuff mounted on the corner, and straps it in
place. Then the other. Finally he tucks the stallion’s tail up under the strap running over his
back.
“Eggplant, you know how I know your name?”
The stallion is grunting and struggling against the straps.
“I know your daddy.”
Eggplant stops. He tries to turn his head, look back at Interocitor. “Wiar, daddy wots of
fowebbers fwom hewe.”
With a chuckle, Interocitor takes out his phone and shows Eggplant a picture. “He’s on the
other side of town but that’s not many forevers at all. We go fishing sometimes. When you were
a little foal you lived in a pen on the other side of that wall. Remember? You had a milk-mare
because your mummah didn’t want you. She was mean.”
Eggplant is staring at the wall, zoned out. “Mawshmewwo?”
Interocitor patted Eggplant’s rump. “That’s right, Marshmellow. She was so worried about you,
because you had problems breathing when you were very small.”
While talking, Interocitor is slowly setting out tools behind Eggplant.
“It’s too bad you’re a bad fluffy. Stomping chirpies, giving bad special huggies… the shelter
was very glad to be rid of you.”
Eggplant’s ego comes back in force. He snorts. “Smawty get what smawty wan.”
Interocitor takes out two sheets of lexan, cut with a curve in one side. With the clamps, he
secures the stallion’s testes between the sheets. “No, not anymore. You were so adorable when
you were small.”
“Wet smawty’s wumps go! Unwess you wan gib gud feews.” Eggplant snorts, grinning.
There’s a moment, then the clamps tighten and Eggplant squeals, eyes watering. “OWWIES!”
“I thought for a moment there you might be a good fluffy again. I’ve learned that once a fluffy
starts seeing humans as servants, that’s a line of no return.” Interocitor says, heating a
needle over a lighter.
Eggplant’s shifting from hoof to hoof. “Wet wumps go, is owwies. Wet go NAO!”
His eyes widen as a sizzle sound announces the needle spearing a testicle. He screams for a
brief moment before the needle is removed, then simply sobs, breath hitching, unable to get his
voice back.
“You don’t make demands anymore, Eggplant. You’re going to get a lot of hurties because you
chose to be a bad fluffy. I saved you from your mother, helped raise you to be good, and you
decided that rather than live with a good person who genuinely cared for you, you wanted to
rape his mare, stomp her children, shit up the house, and leave on your own.”
“The only reason I’m not going to just toss you to one of my really nasty fluffies is
because you had great parentage. So I’m going to make sure your genetics can be passed on.”
After shifting tools around, Interocitor slowly shaves two bare patches on Eggplant’s nuts. The
fluffy is shivering and blubbering.
“Pwease, stahp, nu wan be smawty, wan daddy.”
The knife is set down. “Your daddy doesn’t want you. You hurt him.”
After a stunned pause, Eggplant starts crying again, sniffling. “Pwease no mowe huwties?”
Interocitor drops two pins in a tray of rubbing alcohol and swabs the bare spots on Eggplant’s
jewels with iodine. “You hurt me too. I gave you a good life and you decided to be bad. You’re
going to be getting a lot of hurties.”
Eggplant struggles, sobbing and hurking. Interocitor takes out a tupperware container
and opens it, taking out a section of ginger root. He uses the knife to break off a thumb-sized
section, peel it, and carve it into a rudimentary buttplug shape.
With a firm shove, Interocitor corks Eggplant with the ginger. The stallion eeps in surprise,
then starts panting and snorting, eyes watering.
Then the screaming starts, low and gutteral. Eggplant’s haunches and calves spasm as he
struggles and tries to buck. The fluffy’s head is swinging, eyes bloodshot, screaming and
sobbing, trying to catch his breath.
Words are mangled as the stallion sucks in breath and screams, in waves. “MUMMMMAHHHH”,
“MAW-MAWWO”, “PWEEEEASE DADDYYYYY”
Interocitor just watches the fluffy, finger keeping the ginger plug in place. In the background
the fluffies in the storage kennels are all hiding behind their hooves, or trying to cover
their ears. They all have soiled themselves, quaking in terror at the back of the steel boxes,
sobbing and begging for the sounds to stop.
The footage fast-forwards, a timer counting fifteen minutes, then the normal playback resumes.
Interocitor takes the plug out and tosses it in the trash. Eggplant, already far weakened, goes
limp on the wedge, finally vomiting a watery soup of bile and hay, sucking in air like a
sprinter.
A quick hose-down and Interocitor slips a beaker under the fluffy’s penis, then puts the two
needles in the fluffy’s testicles.
Eggplant starts to chirp, weakly struggling. “P-p-p cheep pwease no peep no mowe
pwease-”
The TENS unit is attached to the needles and turned on.
Eggplant starts squealing, arching and shuddering, accidentally biting his own tongue off as
the current surges through his testes. Every few minutes a surge of semen squirts into the
beaker, mixed with a little blood.
After some time, Interocitor turns off the current, taking the needles out. Eggplant is just a
mass of chirps and peeps, shuddering and spasming.
Interocitor gently pats Eggplant on the rump, putting the beaker of semen to one side. “I’m
going to go put this in storage for the next time I do IVF.” He begins shaving a section of
ginger down to a long, thin rod, with notches cut to prevent removal. "Let’s occupy your time
while I’m gone.
With a deft movement, the ginger is inserted into Eggplant’s urethra, and the clamps are
tightened further.
Then Interocitor leaves the screeching, struggling fluffy in the dark, cold room while he takes
the samples for safe storage.
“NEW! From Hasbro Records!”
A vomit-inducing panoply of animated fluffies dancing like wavy tube men in a terribly CGI’d
rave club are all bopping to a squealy, ear-splitting rendition of ‘Who Let the Fluffs Out’.
“NOW! That’s what I call 90’s hits, Fluffy Edition! Volumes One through Eighty-Seven.”
“Including your favorites like SuperFwuff, Who let the Fluffs out, Icey Icey Fwuffy, and more!”
Five fluffies are animated like the Spice Girls, singing a fluffy-ized version of ‘Wannabe’.
“Call now and get a limited subscription offer, one volume per week for only ten dollars an
installation!”
An abrupt cut to a mare singing a horribly off-key version of ‘Downtown’ by Petula Clark.
"Call in the next fifteen minutes and we’ll throw in the first volume of ‘Best of the Oldies
for Fluffies!’
The scene cuts to a group of fluffies dancing around eighty-seven disk cases all in a neat
organized display.
"Call 1-888-FLUFFIE, that’s 1-888-FLUFFIE to place your order now! Please have a valid debit
or credit card ready, no refunds.
Interocitor re-enters the room, turning on the light. Eggplant is lying still, chirping
quietly, eyes slightly out of focus. With a single, smooth motion, Interocitor slices off the
stallion’s testes and penis, tossing them in a disposal bin.
Eggplant barely notices, only twitching.
“Now that I’ve gotten you introduced to the Ten Essentials, let’s take a look at the real heavy
stuff. Abusing pregnant fluffies.”
He takes a minute to unstrap Eggplant and put him in a carrier, before rinsing off the
workbench and plopping a pregnant dam on the damp surface.
“Oof! Dummy hoomin be cawefuw, am soon-mummah.” The dam complains, a mottled peach color, and
rotund enough only two limbs can contact the workbench at a time.
Interocitor holds her mouth shut while speaking into the camera. “Your course of action depends
on if you want to keep the infants or not. Naturally, impact to the stomach should be avoided
if you do. Psychological methods are the most effective if you are looking to keep the litter,
and you should be careful applying painful methods, since this can trigger a miscarriage. Right
now, I don’t care either way, but let’s demonstrate how fun purely mental methods can get.”
With one smooth motion he pushes the dam flat on her back and gently feels her stomach. “Now,
you, be calm, the shelter people said you might have babies with sickies.”
The nameless fluff wiggles her limbs, and squeals lightly. “WUT? Nu! Babbies nu can be
sickies.”
He sighs and nods. “They can, but I want to make sure. Have you felt them dancing in your
tummy?”
She nods, cooing, hooves patting her belly. “Aww de time, dey vewwy happy dancie babbies.”
“Oh dear, a little dancing is fine and dandy but all the time? That’s not good.”
She looks up at Interocitor, worried. “What nicey mister mean?”
The shot pauses, and Interocitor voices over. “I’m pausing here to point out something about
the behavior of pregnant fluffies. As soon as she believed I was invested in the welfare of her
children, I went from a ‘dummy’ to a ‘nicey mister’. This is some evidence that she was bred
earlier than is recommended and has the bitch-mare issues. It is not exclusive though, since
she could also have had dumbasses for owners before, or spent time feral and learned some
things on her own. But the key is now, I’m on her side.”
“Well, if they dance all the time, then that makes them really tired, and if they’re really
tired when it’s time to come out of your belly, that might be too hard. They could get stuck,
and that’s really, really bad.” He nods.
The fluffy gasps, blinking, then wiggles, patting at her own belly. “Babbies? Babbies, nu
dancie so much, need resties.” She starts humming a mummah-tune and gently rubbing her own
rotund abdomen, before looking up at Interocitor. “Dey still dancie.”
“Well if they aren’t listening, that’s bad isn’t it? Bad babies need to be taught to be good
babies.”
The dam blinks more, thinking, then nods and starts smacking her own belly. “Bad babbies,
wisten to mummah, nu dancies! Bad.”
Then she pauses, and feels her belly. With a huff, her brows furrow and she snorts. “Dey dummy
babbies maybe. No wisten to mummah.”
Interocitor fakes a little gasp. “Wow. I’ve heard of babies not listening to good human daddies
and mummies because they’re young, but not listening to their -actual- fluffy mummy? They must
be really bad. And after you were being such a good mummah for them.”
A little frustrated, angry snort comes from the dam, and she begins kicking herself hard in the
belly. “Bad babbies! Bad! Bad!”
Then she pauses, turns, and vomits a little. “Ooh, nu feew… feew funny.”
With a gush of fluid, her water breaks. Interocitor watches as four stillborn babies slide out
onto the cold metal of the workbench. “Well. I guess you were too hard on them.” He says, while
the dam screeches with the pain of childbirth.
She turns, picking up one, and nuzzles it. “Babbeh? Babbeh!”
He leans down and whispers. “You gave them forever sleepies. I wonder if they knew you were a
bad mummah after all.”
The dam sits there, going from corpse to corpse, whimpering, sniffling, then breaks down
sobbing. “Nuuuuuu hic nuu pwease, mummah sowwy, mummah su su sowwy, pwease babbies
wakies, pwee-ee-ee-eeese…”
There’s a quiet chirp. A fifth baby, covered in fluid, lifts its head, yawning, blindly seeking
a teat to latch onto.
“Babbeh!” The mare shouts, weakly struggling to reach her last surviving young.
Her hooves are only an inch away when the rubber mallet lands, crushing the foal and spraying
blood and foal meat over her hooves and face.
After a moment of shock, Interocitor loops a zip-tie around her neck and hauls it tight. The
former dam paws at her neck, dropping on her side, and begins to wildly kick, thrashing weakly,
until she goes still.
“Needless to say the prospects of torturing the mother through torturing the foals are quite
varied, but we should move on to corpse disposal now. Half the fun of this is figuring out your
own techniques, after all.”
In a shed, Interocitor is placing down plastic bins full of fluffies, mostly dead. “Now, when
disposing of fluffies, you have a few options. Some people go for eating them and treating them
like food waste, but unfortunately I’m on a low-meat diet so, that’s out for me. The next best
option would be burning, which I will demonstrate here, and show how to build a basic fluffy
incinerator unit.”
He walks to a fifty-five gallon drum with a steel cone on top, leading to a chimney. Opening
the top, he points the camera inside, showing it lined with a white-grey substance. “Take a
fifty-five gallon drum, cut off the top and bottom, and line it with refractory
cement. Underneath, you’re going to want to build a forge burner and a chamber where you can
put fuel. I use applewood, so the smell is nice, but some people use scrap paper, coal, what
have you. Just make sure you have a foot of fuel for every three feet of fluffy. Put a grating
at the bottom of the drum and then…”
He starts dumping fluffies in, a few whimpering. On top is Eggplant, weakly wiggling, trying to
raise his head to Interocitor, weakly mouthing ‘wub’.
Interocitor lays several layers of steel screen over the top of the drum and puts the cone to
the chimney back on.
“A ten minute burn should be enough to reduce the biological materials, including bone to ash.”
He leans down and lights the burner, the vent holes rapidly starting to glow, and dew sizzling
off the sides of the drum. “Now, afterwards, you’re going to have quite a bit of ash inside,
which is going to be quite rich in nutrients. If you burn their waste, though, that’s a
mis-step. Burn the bodies, compost the poop and urine. After the ash cools, mix it in your
compost pile and you’ll have the richest garden you’ve seen. And if you’re one to enjoy
cannabis, jesus christ this makes your buds look like you’re growing fuzzy green gourds.”
“The one thing you should not do is just dump them. It’s unsanitary, draws vermin, and it can
also tip off other fluffies that something hostile is in the area. This can thin out hunting
prospects for others in your area. Also don’t bother with acid or anything over the top like
that. It’s more trouble than it’s worth.”
“Now, let’s get me cleaned up and we’ll have some mail.”
With a change of clothing and scenery, Interocitor is on a couch with a grey, slim pegasus
asleep on his lap, stretched out in what would appear to be an awkward position, but on it
snores anyways.
“So, after you have your fun, it’s always good to unwind. Cloud here is one of the family
fluffs and he’s an absolute mush. However, on to mail time.”
He draws out a slip from a coffee can. “Dear Interocitor, how far in advance do you plan your
videos?”
“Generally two or three. I’ve scripts in the works for working with special needs fluffies, and
after that is going to be on raising and training working fluffs of various stripes, but this
is not going to be a perpetual series. It’s specifically a video guide and it will have a final
episode once I run out of basics to teach.”
Another slip comes out. “Dear Interocitor, why do you blur your face and tweak your voice?”
“I am in an area that is prone to having hugboxer milita activity. Even though everything I’m
doing and showing is legal where I am, they don’t care, and have used violence against people I
know when their own hobbies were leaked. It’s also why even though I’m a literal leftie
socialist pinko, I support the second amendment.”
Another slip. “Dear Interocitor, you said you find human-on-fluffy sexual activity to be
repulsive. Is there anything else you dislike?”
“Yes, I try to make sure that only fluffies who have chosen to be bad are abused in my line of
work, and I dislike people mistreating good, honestly trying fluffies. Abusing good fluffs in
my mind is the same as abusing a child.”
“Well folks, we finally got to the end. Just as a note, please send in your questions, the inbox
has been running a bit thin lately. If we have enough I’ll do a Q-and-A video here sometime
soon. See you next time!”
