Continued from Industrial Sadie.
You sat outside the gas station for a week. The employee had forgotten to put your can in right. The cushion you were supposed to be resting comfortably on was above you, and your tummy and legs were resting on the cold glass of the can.
Constantly shivering, you spent the week drinking your bitter milkies from the nipple in front of you. At the very least, you knew your mummah was here. That is until you opened your eyes.
At seven days old, you could finally meet your loving caretaker for the first time. Only to be met with an enclosed space, with a lone nipple at the end. You looked around, where was mummah?
A shadow came over the can, you turned towards it.
“Mummah?” Your first word, full of hope.
Instead what looked back was a middle aged man, his eyes were dark, and his balding hair starting to gray.
“Not your mummah little one… heh. You seem to like me, so looks like you’re gonna be my new toy.”
He moved upwards, a whirring sound could be heard, then you were rocked. A metal arm moved your can forward, then up to a hole. The once gentle lowering mechanism had been neglected, meaning you were thrown onto the tray. A small door opened, and a hand reached in, pulling you out. The man was looking down at you.
“N-nyu daddeh?” You asked.
“Heh… sure.”
He began the walk back to his beat up car, swinging his hand without a care in the world. You were jostled around inside, chirping in fear and panic. He dropped you into his cup holder, and sped off. On the way the car hit several bumps, and you began to cry, begging for your mummah.
The car pulled into the driveway of a trailer home. The man got out, picking you up, still swinging his arms as he took you inside. Inside was what you’d expect. A dirty place for the type of guy wishing to be away from the hustle and bustle of society and wallow in his misery. But for you, being the first interior you’d ever seen…
“Nyu homie fo’ babbeh? Chirp.”
“You could call it that.” The man said, “now have fun here.” He opened one of his kitchen cabinets, setting you upright inside. When he closed the door, you began to yell.
“Wy put babbeh in dawkies!? NU WIKE! HEWP BABBEH!”
This continued for a long time, but he never came back. As time went on you expended the last of your energy attempting to make yourself heard, you needed to eat. He’d set you up so that the nipple of the can was on top, far out of reach, you wouldn’t be getting any milkies. A few hours of starving later, you were attempting to push the can over, to no luck.
At last, after two days, the cabinet opened, blinding you with light.
“D-daddeh? See pwace huwties. Chirp.”
“Still alive? Hm, maybe I can do something with you after all.” He removed you from the cabinet, over to his table. He set you down, unscrewing the top, then the glass tube, leaving you resting on the can base, waste tubes still attached. Lastly, he sat down, placing a bottle of formula on the table. The formula was strange, having tiny particles of something mixed in. Yet for a desperately starved foal, it was like sketti.
“Pwease d-daddeh, nee’ miwkies!”
“What will you do for it?” He asked.
“W-wha?”
“You don’t get freebies around here little rat. Start dancing, be a ‘dancie babbeh’.”
Reluctantly, you began to swing your arms around. Not in any pattern, but enough for a desperate foal to qualify as “dancing”.
“Babbeh d-dancie fo’ d-daddeh, an’ miwkies.”
He laughed, “What a pathetic waste.” He moved his hand to you, and gave you a flick, enough to knock you on your back.
“Owwies! Chirp! Wai daddeh huwt babbeh!?”
“Because daddy loves hurting you.” He smiled and picked up the bottle of formula, moving it in front of your face.
Without a second thought, you latched onto it, gulping it down. It filled your stomach halfway before you pulled away, puking.
“SCREEEE! BUWNIE MIWKIES!”
Daddeh only laughed.
Your mouth burned badly. In your nine days alive, this was without a doubt the worst pain you’d experienced, and would experience for a time to come. When you finished vomiting, you looked down to the running stain of formula mixed with spices. You hadn’t had anything to eat for two days, and your stomach was screaming, both in pain and in hunger. The hunger won.
Daddeh was howling as he watched you lick up your puked meal, a little at a time. Once all the commotion had finally died, he could talk to you again.
“Let’s get this straight, rat. I buy little foals like you and do mean things to them, because I’m a meanie man, a meanie man with a shitty life. But however bad mine is, I’ll do my best to make yours worse.”
“Huu… but am onwy w-widdle babbeh! Babbehs am fo-“
“If you ever utter the word ‘huggie’ or ‘love’ in my presence I’ll make sure to leave you dangling over my stove. So DON’T SAY IT!”
You yelped, cowering back in fear.
“Lucky for you, I just got out of a relationship a week ago. Nice girl, big tits, told me to meet up at a fancy place, stood me up, sent me a text, told me to fuck myself. I think I’ll name you Abbie… after her.”