Things had been uncannily quiet in that living room since the incident.
The mother fluffy was all but catatonic at this point.
After the already unpleasant experience of being made to eat her partner’s excrement, which was made worse in her moment of lucidity due to the inclusion of one of her other foals at the bottom of the stomach-churning meal, the mare’s mind and spirit were thoroughly broken.
It was not that she uncovered the foal by eating the feces. Fate would have been far too kind if it had extended such a mercy. No, the grim reveal came to her when, in the thicket if her misery, the mother fluffy bit into the disgusting mound and felt the short, coarse coat of her child on her tongue. By then it was far too late to stop what was already in motion.
Her teeth grazed and crushed into the small body, crunching the especially fragile bones, and drawing salty blood of the departed youth.
When the mare made to scream, the horrendous mixture of defecation and foal-meat lodged in her throat. Only the swift doting action of the caretaker prevented her death by choking. However, the girl was adamant when she instructed the fluffy to eat. The mother fluffy had to clean the bowl. Of everything.
Fate would be too kind if it extended the mercy of death to the fluffy. But in a way, that mare had already been killed then. All that remained of her was the desolate husk that sat on her haunches at the carpet’s edge staring out at the rest of the room without seeing a thing. What little of her old self that still was, resided in rapidly diminishing memories of the past-- of her favorite baby.
The caretaker had begun leaving out milk trays for the thin foals that still lived, knowing that the mare was too far gone to fulfill her maternal duties. Without intervention, the other three would be doomed.
That was fine.
She could still produce young, even if her stallion was too broken to do so himself. Even if he wasn’t yet aware of his predicament.
Aggressive Neutralbox Pt. 3
The father fluffy was shaken, despite his simple and selfish nature. What happened to the mare could have happened to him! That was scary to think about!
The fact that it hadn’t was not the solace that it could have been, either. His body was a prison of pains and aches. Especially his amputated leg. It tingled and stung, as if there was a whole leg there instead of a bunch of bandages. That confused and upset the stallion. Every so often he would study his injury and “huu huu” pitifully.
“Bad babbehs did aww of dis? Wai babbehs so badsies? Wai huwt gud daddeh? Stoopi dummehs!” the stallion lamented not five feet away from his last three foals. His back was turned to them, so they practically did not exist at that moment.
The foals glared-- glared at their father while listening to his rants. So deep was their betrayed trust, both of their parents were things to fear and hate in equal measure.
They did not speak much as of late. The caretaker found that ironic when she took notice of her infrequent visits to the living room. A shame, really; the young fluffies had been such a reliable alert system for fuckery.
They only acted like foals when she was giving them milk to drink, at present. That was when they made their best efforts to act endearing for attention. They were ascribing the motherly role to her. Otherwise, the living room was as silent as the grave most of the time.
The happiest time of day for them was when they were fed.
Typical fluffies. What was a girl to do?
Nothing, it turned out. All she had to do was keep her feeding schedule, and her fluffies carried on well enough in their misery. So acclimated to it they were, they did not ask for anything more. All they wished for was to not have less, or suffer any more pain.
Thanos would have been proud of her achievement of whipping order into chaotic dullards. The girl used the time she would have spent correcting her charges on more productive things and hobbies.
Yet, the father fluffy remained an adversary to her peace. Although inactive up to present, his stormy thoughts concerning those bad babies of his festered in the restrictive confines of his mind until they germinated into a plan. As much of a plan as a fluffy can conceive of, at any rate.
Lo, the fateful hour chimed. There was no fanfare or significance to the time that the stallion put his machinations into gear; it was a moment when he was not too busy feeling sorry for himself, or stewing in fear of what the caretaker would do if she appeared at an inopportune moment. A fortunate happenstance for the fluffy was that the foals were asleep at this time. Though their rest was unsettled by the circumstances that they lived in, they were outright unaware and defenseless. The young fluffies could not so much as balk at the approach of their haggard parent as he loomed over them with terrible intent.
“S-stoopi… d-d-d-dummeh babbehs.” The stallion’s words dripped with contempt, but even so, he felt a lump in his throat saying them. The familiar wetness of tears overflowing his eyelids followed. Quiet tears. Remorseful tears. The father fluffy sat on his haunches with his one good foreleg poised to squash the heads of his children into the soft, pretty carpet. Why was he crying when he knew what he had to do?
Just another piece of confusion in this jumbled puzzle that was his life. The stallion disregarded these wasted tears and pressed down on the first foal. Its eyes shot open upon the unexpected contact, and the tiniest fragment of a sound peeped out of its small throat before the fatal pressure was applied. With a soft squelch that made the other two fluffies shudder in their slumber, the foal was gone. A stain spread through the colorful fibers of the carpet and blended into those that were red.
Without pause, the stallion hovered his hoof over the next foal and–
“STAHP! STAHP ID!” the mare shrieked with a fury unbecoming of a fluffy. It sent a shiver through the stallion and he voided his bladder where he sat. Some of his urine splattered onto the foals. They had been shocked out of their sleep to start with, and now they were showered with the foul warmth of their father.
The foals wailed for the first time in who knows how long, thoroughly frightened, dejected and humiliated.
The mare huffed and puffed in a decisive charge. The uncoordinated gallop was visually unimpressive, but to the stallion, it inspired a kind of fear that had him locked in place without any faculties to run or respond to the aggression in kind.
The mother fluffy barreled into her mate and the impact disoriented the both of them. They tumbled across the carpet without regard for the two foals, who were crushed in between the undignified flailing of fluff and limb. The two fluffies came to a panting, exhausted stop less than a foot away from the smear of flesh, blood, and excrement that used to be their young, all three bodies reduced to a grisly mess.
The mare saw this in her peripheries. She saw the blood that stained the stallion’s coat, and the bits of sinew and tissue that clung to his body. This mortal imagery overtook her addled brain, her consciousness slipping between the past and present. The body of her favorite foal left headless flashed before her eyes. The body of her poo-buried foal with a hole bitten into its midsection flashed before her eyes. The strewn out splotches of blood and viscera in the carpet and on themselves confronted her eyes.
The former mother fluffy rolled to her hooves before her mate could; he was still struggling with only having three legs. She got upright and screamed. A mindless, rage-filled scream. A primordial sound of absolute distress. A sound that took such effort to produce that the fluffy became hoarse after a couple of seconds of uttering it. All that was left to express this tremendous sense of loss was a raspy hissing of varying pitch.
And then the mare, utterly crushed, fell to her stomach and sobbed.
From the corner of the living room entrance, staying out of sight by choice, the caretaker observed what happened next. The girl watched the stunned stallion regard the mare for some time; minutes of him just lying on the carpet-- she wondered if he had split his perception of reality as the mare had. Had his trauma finally grown too much for him to handle?
The former father fluffy stood up finally, and cautiously circled about the crying mare to position himself behind her flank. He then moved her tail aside with some deliberation using his bandaged stump-leg. The girl snorted quietly to herself. Of course. Of course.
The girl was tickled by a giddy kind of humor that had her cover her mouth to conceal the noise she was making. A school girl like squealing as she laughed at the stallion’s reaction to his body’s betrayal. His spirit was willing, but ever since his meeting with the pneumatic pump…
“Huu huu huu huu huu! No-no stickie! Fwuffy nee’ hab ‘peshaw wight nao! Fwuffy nee’ hab gud feews to ma’e beddah babbehs! No-no stickie, nu be meanies! Nuuuuu!” Bitter sobs wracked the flabby body of the fluffy stallion. The constant stinging of his nethers was too much to bear now that he knew that he was too broken to fulfill the most basic of tasks for his kind.
The stallion threw his head backwards and released the sum of his tragedy into the living room.
“SCREEEEEEEEEEE! SCRRREEEEEEEEEEE!”
He let his feces drop from his behind, dirtying the fluff of his haunches and tail. He let his urine free despite the agony, right onto the mare. He continued "scree"ing until there was nothing left in his small body, and he lost consciousness. He flopped into his own dung and excreta.
The girl was truly beside herself when it was all over.
“Holy. Fuck.”
This could not have been any more hilarious to her. Everything leading up to that moment of perfection, and she had the mare to thank for notifying her that shit was about to go down. In so many ways. The girl wondered what she was going to do about that defiled carpet when all was said and done, until she decided that dealing with it could wait. When all was said and done was not quite here yet.
She walked into the living room with her nose held for fairly obvious reasons.
She casually opened all of the windows.
She casually sprayed the contents of an air freshener.
She did all of this without paying the fluffies any mind.
Then she left the living room to give the stench the time it needed to subside.
By then, the fluffies were as hungry as they were mentally destabilized. The caregiver returned with the usual feed, sans the milk tray, since it was no longer required. She saw that the mare and stallion were purposely avoiding each other, and did not speak a single word.
They hated each other. They hated their caretaker.
This was wonderfully insightful, the girl was sure, if only she had the scientific mind to have been recording all of this in detail notes. She would have to be satisfied with the journey’s fun, as is. For this reason, she could not help the smile on her face. The girl was disarmingly serene given her surroundings.
She set the food bowls down next to each other to force the filthy creatures to get close to each other. With food as the leverage, the duo did not take any coercing at all to overlook their qualms. The girl then stroked their manes affectionately, as though she actually cared for the fluffies as her pets-- some warped inversion of what one’s relationship with a fluffy was intended to be by their creators.
“The two of you have made me so incredibly happy…” she confided in the pair.
“W-weawwy? Mun-- niciest w-w-w-wady am happies with fwuffy?” Naturally, the stallion only cared for his stake in the matter. The girl ignored him.
“I have something… special, as a reward.”
“Wewawd!?” the male fluffy gasped. “Fwuffy wu–” She backhanded him to get him to shut up.
The mare locked eyes with the caretaker. The fluffy’s gaze was blank and melancholy, but the girl could see that her awareness was back from the fog. She was mentally present. As mentally present as a heavily traumatized fluffy could be. And the mare was deliberately choosing not to speak.
Oh well.
The girl took the mare by the mane and twisted her wrist to yank the roots. The fluffy yelped, and readily gave into the pressure the girl applied to make her turn in place. Then, the caretaker lifted the fluffy’s tail. The mare gasped and finally croaked, “Pweasies! Nu wan’ 'peshaw huggies ebba 'gain!”
“Done,” the girl replied offhandedly, though she did not stop what she was doing.
She jabbed the nozzle of her instrument into the mare’s vagina and pressed down on the plunger. The stallion’s seed flooded her insides. The mare’s horror was frozen onto her face.
The girl slapped her behind in jest and comradery.
“Congratulations, girl. You get to do all of this one more time!” the caretaker beamed.
“W-w-w-w” the mare hyperventilated. The tears flowed down her cheeks anew.
“WAN’ DIE! WAN’ DIE! WAN’ DIE’!”
–Author’s Words–
Aggressive Neutralbox: An ironic story that deliberately obfuscates genres. Thank you so much for reading! While writing this series, someone, who you can probably guess, had some choice feedback that I would like to address here:
While they conceded that the writing was well done, the subject was something that they vehemently objected to. This is a valid opinion, which I respect. However, they went even further and called this kind of writing lazy, and then insinuated that I did not know how to tag my stories properly since many of them are as irreverent to fluffy’s well-being as this one is, while being tagged as neutral.
Firstly, considering no one on the admin staff has ever had an issue with my tagging before, on this platform or Reddit-- though I have mislabeled my work many times as a product of being on mobile most of the time and have been corrected on that front, I’m going to go ahead and say that, just because a piece of work isn’t something you would like to be included with a certain genre, doesn’t mean it isn’t that genre. For all of the abuse in this story, there is enough nuance in here for it to be considered neutral as well.
Secondly, insulting a piece of work, or a genre you don’t like by preference, is just a cuntish thing to do! This person has pointed out that my username and abuser tag should have been off-putting to them from the start, and you know what? I agree! If you don’t like it, leave it alone. @Virgil, that is how peace will come to the fluffy community.
This did remind me of a story I wrote that, by this user’s own criteria, would be perfectly acceptable, though. I will post it shortly after this goes up, so if you enjoy this, you’ll be sure to enjoy “Typical Consequences”. Also, if you’re able to, remember: buy Turbines! @infraredturbine
