The Abuser’s Web Guide - Episode 7
By: Turboencabulator
Interocitor, in his usual flannel, jeans, and mosaic, is adjusting the straps on a harness, a
pegasus excitedly singing and kicking lightly in the air. After a moment, he dims the lights,
turns on a fan, and starts a slow-TV recording from what looks like the front of a train. The
pegasus immediately begins cheering and flapping his wings, stretching them out and wiggling
around.
After quietly walking over to the table in the foreground, Interocitor sits on a stool and pops
a few vertebrae. “Hello again everyone. Just setting up Hurley for bed. He gets nightmares
easily but once he tuckers himself out having a fly he’ll be asleep before I can get him down
off that thing.”
“Today,” he begins, popping a few knuckles as he speaks, “we will be looking at the less nice
side of working fluffs. Some people go as far as to call these ‘utility fluffs’ instead. We’ll
be starting with everyone’s favorite, the milkbag. Afterwards, we’ll look making enfie friends,
and finally we’ll have a discussion on litter-pals, and why you should avoid them. And then of
course we’ll have mail.”
He gets up and turns the camera, showing a mostly empty fluff room. “Also, my breeding stock
has unfortunately been sabotaged. Someone sprayed my garden with slow-acting
fluffycide. Fortunately I have plenty of ova and sperm samples in my freezer but still, this is
kind of a dick move. And oy, the smell.”
“Not a total wipe-out though, just enough to put a dent in things. Besides, I have night vision
cameras set up in some quite clever places for herd-spotting. Pretty sure intentionally
damaging several thousand dollars worth of product is enough for a lawsuit.”
“However,” He continues, picking up an empty carrier and setting it on the worktable. “since
milkbags can come from any grade of fluffy, we’ll go grab a shit factory from one of the local
fashion breeders and begin with her. The only rule is that a milkbag must have had a litter at
least once, otherwise milk production will be both stunted in volume, and terrible in
quality. Age doesn’t matter so if you have one that was bred too early, this is a perfect way
to recycle her into a useful fluffy.”
Hurley is snoring loudly, wings fluttering in the wind. The fan sways him gently
around. Interocitor looks back at the catatonic fluff, chuckles, and gets up. “Told you so.”
Interocitor is shown bathing a one-eyed mare. She’s pearl and whiskey colored, a fresh bruise
around the missing eye. The bathwater is murky brown-grey, and the mare stares at her
reflection, huu-huuing quietly.
“This is Selkie.” Interocitor says, lightly bumping her and pointing at the camera. “Say hi to
the nice people, Selkie.”
She looks up, good eye red from crying, and gives a half-hearted little wave.
“Selkie is having a bad day. The people at the breeders were very mean to her, weren’t they?”
Selkie nodded, and sniffled. “Dey say Sewkie am poopie-factowy. Sewkie hab gud babbies, pwetty
babbies, not poopies.”
Interocitor transfers her to a clean basin, rinsing her down with a handheld nozzle. “Some
people think that brown and grey and not-bright colors mean the babies aren’t good babies.”
“Nu!” She says, looking up at Interocitor. “Dey GUD babbies. Dey Sewkie’s babbies. Ebben de
widdlest gweeny-bwowny wun.”
She looks down again. “Wan babbies back. Widdlest nee’ mummah, need miwkies an nee’ minded, nu hab stwong bweavie-pwaces.”
She sniffles, and Interocitor looks up at the camera and sighs.
Selkie is in a pen with seven earth-tone chirpies. Interocitor is helping her feed. “Now, this
littlest moss-colored baby. He’s very tiny for a chirpy, so make sure he goes on the green
milkie-place. That’s got milk in it to help him get big like his brothers and sisters.” He’s
indicating an autofeeder with a colored ring around the nipple.
She nods, crying, carefully keeping her children close and comfortable. The tiny moss runt is
fussing over a little nebulizer mask on his face.
Interocitor looks up at the camera. “Ok I’m a softie. Let’s get a mare that deserves it
this time.”
A hot pink mare with a cherry mane is sitting, puff-cheeked in the washbasin this time. She’s
sitting in a slowly-diluting pile of her own feces.
“This is Rose, everyone. I’m afraid the other fluff that was living here with the name Rose was
one that got a dose of flufficide.” Interocitor says, giving her a wash. “Rose was at the
breeder’s earlier but she didn’t like any of the stallions, isn’t that right Rose?”
“HMPH!” The fluff says, irritatedly huffing. “Dummy nu-pwetty stawwions.”
“Well I’m sure there are stallions around here more to your taste, Rose. Let’s get you clean
and shiny first.”
After a bath and fluff up, Rose is slowly falling asleep as Interocitor massages behind her
ears and along the ridge of her neck.
“Now, Rose here was a bit of a meanie to the stallions, and had a tendency to stomp their
special places when they weren’t looking.”
Rose giggles, drifting off slowly.
“So, when making milkbags, you have a few choices, and a few requirements. Requirements are as
you might expect. You need a way to feed them, a way to evacuate them, and a way to use their
milk. How you accomplish this is where your choices come in. Are you going to simply restrain
the mare, paralyze her, or amputate? Will the babies feed direct, will she be milked and you
use the bottled milk later? How to deal with feces is also a question, as well as how to feed
them. I’ll be demonstrating my personal method but there’s plenty of other references that you
can pick from, to fit your own tastes.”
He sips from a rocks glass, and Rose looks up at it. “Funny smewwin wawas.”
Interocitor chuckles. “I suppose it does. It’s called ‘scotch’.” He offers a bit from the
bottle in a small fingerbowl.
Rose sniffs it, then laps up the few mouthfuls. After a moment she coughs. “Buwny but tasty
wawas.”
Then she giggles, swaying, getting a bit loopy. “Wose feew funny.”
With a little laugh. “That’s why we like scotch, Rose.”
Interocitor is in his ‘fun room’, Rose passed out on the work surface. “So, now that we’ve got
the fluffy mildly sedated, we can start off with a quick sketch of what’s going to happen. I
don’t let milkbags and adolescent fluffies see each other. The milkbag room is exactly what it
sounds like. It used to be a walk-in closet attached to a spare bedroom down here, but now it
has space for fifteen milkbags, and a pair of breeding pens. We’ll be seeing it later.”
The view switches to overhead. Interocitor sets down a thick book next to Rose. “You’re going
to want to pick this up. This is an Alenix publication called ‘Introductory fluffy
surgery’. Honestly I could lecture you through how to perform amputations on a fluffy but this
book is better than any I’ve found, short of grabbing a few and working it out for yourself
through trial and error.”
He begins restraining Rose, turning her on her side, using a strap to keep one hind leg tucked
up against her stomach, the other, on top, loose. “Now, how you restrain your fluffy is key to
the success of the surgery. The joint should be on top, and don’t be afraid to let it kick at
first, that level of control goes away real quick.”
After a moment securing the rest of her, he slides a hefty wood block so her free leg can lay
flat on it. “Don’t bother with painkillers or sedatives when milkbagging.” He begins shaving
her haunch, using a small electric razor. “In fact beyond prepping the surface here and a
standard iodine application, you should save the real medicines for the fluffies that matter.”
“However, for those of you who wish to live life in the fast lane, we’ll quickly demonstrate
the cheap way to amputate.”
He pulls out an industrial butcher’s cleaver and in one swift motion, he severs the leg right
in the middle of the femur.
Rose immediately tenses up, every muscle in a spasm, her eyes bulging and a whistle of a scream
coming from her nose. Piss spurts out, splashing against the wood block.
“Naturally before surgery you should de-poop your fluffies.” Interocitor says, using a
blowtorch to heat a steel bowl to a red heat. “Urine doesn’t matter since it’s sterile.”
He presses the steel bowl to the exposed muscle and sinew. Rose spasms and struggles, eyes
bloodshot and a spurt of blood shooting out of her nose. Then she passes out, gurgling quietly.
“Well now we can get on with it.” Interocitor says, cheerful. “My personal method is quiet
simple. Take all four legs, and give them a colostomy. If you aren’t keeping your milkbags
inside, then feel free to just let 'em shit into a trough behind them. Since I’m keeping mine
inside I prefer a scent-free solution. Urine is easily dealt with as your choice dictates. I
prefer to use a trough, mostly because it humiliates them every time because, well, it’s bad
pee-pees.”
He picks up a surgical blade, turning it so it glints in the light. “Why don’t I rejoin you
after I’m done here with Rose?”
The shot opens with Rose, passed out, sans limbs. No stumps, just smooth fluff, lightly
bloodstained where her legs used to be. There’s a plastic-and-silver port installed in her
side, the skin around it red and raw, and covered in an ointment.
“Hello all.” Interocitor says, seated in a chair next to the cart Rose is on. “No
complications, thankfully. I will warn you right now that if you get surgical equipment for
fluffies, get the real deal. Alenix is best, but normal surgical tools work just as well,
barring the fast-heal sprays and similar specialty chemicals. It might cost but it’s better
than losing a fluffy to gangrene because you bought bootleg fluff-meds.”
“So we’ve gotten a few choices out of the way. We’ve picked milking-and-bottling instead of
direct feeding, and full amputation. Next up is how you feed them.”
He reaches over and boops Rose a few times, who wiggles and groans, waking up.
Interocitor gently holds her mouth closed as she tries to yell, then leans in slowly. “Rose. Shut your shitpig mouth. If you speak without my permission I will take your voice from you.”
Rose’s eyes get really wide, and she tears up. He lets go of her mouth, letting her huu and
wiggle weakly. She looks around for her legs.
“Rose, I took your legs. You need to understand one thing right now. You are helpless. You are
unloved. You are only going to survive if you are a very good fluffy. You cannot run. I
even made it so you can’t give sorry-poopies.”
She shudders, trying to scoot away, pupils slowly turning to pinpricks as Interocitor stands
up. She hangs limp after a brief struggle as he picks her up.
“Let’s go meet your new friends.”
The milkbag room is a quiet, long, narrow room. The floor is carpeted and clean, there’s a
large television on one wall, and shelves with soft pads on it, in the middle of the opposite
wall. There are a few waiting milkbags, a pair quietly talking to each other on the lowest shelf, one snoring contentedly under a blanket. Interocitor sets Rose next to a teal mare, watching an episode of blue’s clues.
“Now, Rose, this is Tandy. Tandy, say hi to Rose.”
Tandy wiggles happily. “Hewwo Wose.”
Rose has started to calm down, looking around cautiously.
“So, Rose. Here is the happy place for you. You be a good fluffy, and you get to be with
friends, you get nice food, and you get to watch good TV.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but Interocitor gently puts a finger to her lips. “You hurt a lot
of other fluffies, and were very, very bad to other humans. You will never leave this room
except for two things. If you are a really, really bad fluffy, or when you go forever
sleepies.”
Rose starts to sniffle and tear up again. Interocitor continues. “If you are a bad fluffy, I
will take away the nice food. You will never taste good food again. If you are a bad fluffy
after that, I take your see-places. No more nice TV. If you still decide to be a bad fluffy, I
will make you a dummy in the Sad Room.”
Rose nods, crying, and Interocitor carefully positions her, her teats going into the automilker
built into the bottom of the pad, then he connects the colostomy port to a pipe system. “You
will have babies, Rose. I will pick the stallion. You will never know your babies.”
He lifts her face, looking her right in the eyes. Even through the mosaic filter, it’s evident
he has a massive, sharp smile. “Be good, Rose. Or I take more from you. Understand?”
Rose weakly nods again, and the colostomy port gurgles as the fear-shit is diverted into the
tubing and taken away.
Interocitor is helping Selkie tend to her young again. The little moss-green one is breathing
with a little wheezey cough, and Selkie watches as Interocitor sets up the nebulizer again.
“Folks, as a side note while I’m helping out Selkie and her litter here. One of the procedures
you need to be mindful of is not to mix milk from your milkbags. Testing them regularly is also
required, since it’s possible for infections to get into the milk, and this can wreck a
juvenile fluffy. Nutrition levels are also important. You’ll find that milkbags last on average
around six months before they start producing watery milk. Milkmares, especially ones that are
well socialized, can last as long as any other normal fluff.”
He gently puts the nebulizer on the wheezing runt, who fusses, but calms down as the mist
begins to work. “Fluff’s milk should always be stored in dated containers and well chilled, but
not frozen. I’ve found with sterile bottles it can generally be stored a month before it
turns. Sour milk can be used for baking though, and if you make soft kibble with it, it can
really help fussy eaters wean off. Once it gets clabbered though you need to use it within days
or the high sugar content will promote some nasty things in there.”
He gently moves chirpies from feeder to Selkie, and continues. “When it comes time to feed, the
autofeeder will warm it up to around 100 Fahrenheit. If you’re using a normal bottle, heat
there by submerging the filled bottle in warm water with a thermometer.”
The shot opens with Interocitor whistling and unstuffing a very cheap plush fluff-mare. “So,
let’s talk about enfie pals. These are pretty straightforward, in use. They’re basically
fluffies that you’ve designated to be a cumdumpster. First, I wouldn’t use a female
fluffy. They’re too valuable for actually breeding, and it provides release too well for a
randy stallion. You want them to use another male for that, since first, it isn’t as good, and
second, it lets them get off their territorial urges on a designated victim. This tends to keep
them in good spirits rather than getting feisty with the humans.”
He begins inserting a 3D printed framework in the back, so the plushie has a hollow section in
the rump and supports going down the legs. “That being said, you should make sure your breeding
stallions know that getting their rocks off is something you can take away so they don’t get
any big ideas.”
“First, however, I had this idea last night and I feel like having a laugh.” He says, sliding a
rat-trap in the framework so it’s suspended, upside-down inside the hindquarters of the plush
mare.
It’s an alleyway, at night. Interocitor plants the mare plushie near a dumpster, sprays it with
something, and sneaks back to the camera.
A brief moment of fast-forward and a ridiculously lavender stallion peeks his head out of a box
further down, sniffing the air.
“Mawe? Dat mawe… smeww su guud…”
The stallion creeps out, looking around, then sits heavily. “Wh… nu-nu stick feew weiwd.”
After a moment, the stallion starts pawing at his own engorged penis, makin little happy enf
sounds.
He gets up with a frustrated snort, sniffing the air and following it towards the mare doll.
He stops, watching as he catches sight of the doll. It’s facing into the dumpster’s corner,
as if the mare had stopped to eat.
The stallion slowly creeps forward, tail all fuzzed up, mane extra poofy, until he can lean
forward and smell the doll’s artificial pussy. He pulls back, licks his lips, then rears up,
grabbing the doll around the waist, and shoving his cock in, joyously releasing a single,
doofy-sounding ‘enf’.
There’s a loud, wet snap sound.
Then a loud, keening scream.
Back in the workroom, Interocitor has the feral stallion bathed and with a bandage where his
penis was unfortunately removed. The stallion is crying, on a pad.
“Now, normally I would say to remove the genitals when a colt is still a chirpy. This greatly
reduces their aggression in later life. If you decide to convert an adult as a punishment, you
can always leave the testicles intact, as I have done here. The stallion will still get sexual
urges, but the only way to sate them is to get fucked.”
Interocitor pets the stallion gently. “Now, the last thing is to make sure they can’t damage
your breeders. In colts, this would be as I showed you in the first video, using a needle to
cripple their hind legs. This prevents kicking but lets them get around fine. If your enfie-toy
goes for the balls while a stallion is asleep, then removal of the forelegs is always an
option. Or let them get gangraped to really drive home the point.”
“However, this is an adult. Either weakening of the knee joints as in the surgical manual, or
just use a ball-peen hammer on the joint, your pick. Both are effective. I’m giving this
stallion to one of my bigger, more energetic breeders, so I’m going to go the route that gets
him the least amount of trouble.”
Interocitor injects the stallion, who whinnies, then passes out slowly. “Oh, one thing. There
are such things as homosexual fluffies. If you can get a pair, usually they will breed with a
female as long as you don’t make them be special friends with anyone other than the other
stallion. Same thing goes with mares. They’re far more rare than you might think, and they
probably don’t understand it since it isn’t a part of their inherent knowledge.”
A transition later and Interocitor is laying the stallion in a pen, two bandaged legs sticking
awkwardly out. He sets some food and a water bottle down and turns to the camera. “So. Finally,
litter pals. Don’t. They were a HasBio method of using bad colors and just serve to reinforce
the ‘poopie babbeh’ garbage. They’re horribly non-hygienic, have been known to transmit diseases to young children, and it’s an exception to a rule. Litter pals are not litter boxes. If a
fluffy has a litterpal and starts thinking that other ‘friends’ are litter pals too, they could
get it in their head any stuffed toy is an acceptable place to take a dump.”
"Now, " he says, pulling out a clipboard. “I already drew the mail for today, so let’s jump in.”
“Totallynotathief asks, how do you deal with chipped fluffies?” He begins, from the first
line. “Well generally I don’t, all chipped fluffies that I come across I take to the nearest
shelter and let them handle it.”
“Old hag asks, when punishing a rapist, why don’t you just cut its penis off and feed it
Viagra?”
He leans back and nods. “I’ve gotten this from a few friends. Viagra is useless in that case,
since Viagra is a vasodilator. It helps someone maintain erections because it helps blood
flow. In fact it’s used by mountain climbers as well to help keep oxygenated at high
altitudes. However, if you cut off the penis, there’s nothing to maintain, and you’re just
giving a fluffy cardiac problems. It also doesn’t inherently act upon the sex drive itself,
just help maintain erections.”
“Someone actually wrote one in on stationery to the PO box.” He says, waving a
letter. “Charitable Interocitor, I have two simple questions that, if you have time, I would
like you to clarify to me: Can you explain a little more about a Fluffy’s mentality, how to
correct and torture them? Would you accept extra income to intervene in bad behavior fluffies?
As always, thanks for your time, Mister A.”
“On the second point, yes I do, details on the website, as well as the usual terms and
conditions, liability, bleh bleh bleh.”
“The first point, yes I can. In fact we will be covering this very topic in the next part as we
go over the biggest misunderstood topic in fluffyology, the wan-die loop.”
“Thanks for tuning in, everyone. I’ll see you next time!”
