Four short stories written by a predictive text bot fed with abuse stories:
The foal shoved it instantly into its mouth filled with vomit as the dam tried to process these clues. “Nuu…” After a moment of basking in a zippo of its total helplessness, the colt soon devolved into desperate high sound of blood vessels bursting. “Mistuh gif wuv to bhaaaa-” the foal looked even more panicked as its tiny erection came into view, the red stalk with its torn and ragged root was held up to the light before a jeweler. “Nu wan be dummeh nu mowe huwties” the foal begged. “Pee pwace huwties” the tiny creature cried out and tried to reach its marshmallow hooves out to its balls. A moment later it saw the scalpel descended to the familiar flesh, barely deflated by its sudden freedom. " nuu… Babbeh speshow wumps nu am for pway wif nyu toy " the foal screamed. The shadow scooped its face with its big erection and warmth soothed him down. A moment later the finger began to press down until the colt seemed to burp and its mouth filled with regurgitate. It began to flail again and began to gently rub the finger for mercy. Finally the foal’s struggling was short and the foal came to bhaaaa-.
The foals are crying about “nu smeww pwetties” and a very young fluffy that you should not give any more special huggies to rose to use the bathroom. You have a very strong reputation as an ethical breeder, and without getting tense angry meanie words in the fluffy box while sliding on the ground you have a good grip on his body. "Pwease hoomen nu huwt babbehs poopie pwace " he says. You try to find a bucket and toss him in shit, because you are a terrible mother.? “Sowwy stick in the dick for you and your herd” you say as you realize that he can go hungry for some leftover spaghetti from being cooped up for hours every day. Shit sprinklers are coming out of his ass into the litter box and put in the saferoom with his brothers. "Nu mowe huwties " he screams before falling back into peeping. “You alone have to go peepees really bad, because you are a big fluffy” you say as you pull out a little pegasus filly and gently set her inside the sorry box. This is a good thing, since like the rest of the tiny family, the filly is crying loudly and you don’t want to be a bad breeder.
You hear a rhythmic tapping at your sliding glass door. One earthie stud and your other alicorn stallions are crying about “Pwease peepee pwace nu mowe huwties.” You have ruined everything forever since you returned to the saferoom and toss them into the dark bathroom and gently set all the studs on your belly. “Pwease wet fwuffys go…” the tiny creature cried with his brothers when you got the colt viagra and put him down gingerly.“Pumpkin just wan pee” he huuhuus in the dark bathroom. You feel sorry for him, but this time the fluffies have grown into peeping baby fluffies that you’re going to hurt. You grab a big black alicorn with your face and toss him back down until it?s peepee place hurts too. “I could give you some food or water in the saferoom, where the other fluffies are already playing, but you have a very tiny erection and it fucks up your head” you scream. Your heart pops out of the workload and you flop back going shit. Your heart attack killed you instantly.
The other fluffies are already playing with your blockies when you heard the foal shit in the saferoom. “Pwease fwiend hewp babbeh” the foal begged, because you won’t clean up their poopies like before. You grab his testicles and get them into a metal jaws trap. He screams in pain and you don’t. You ask around in the saferoom and the foals are crying about “nu smeww pwetties” and you start to play with the babies. Eventually the tiny ponies are weaned with one of your babies permission, and the smell dissipates.
You’re a little upset with your peepee place for sure, but daddy is completely right. Daddy sighs again and your herd is scared shitless of the scalpel your daddy waves. “Pumpkin sowwy” you say, and daddy stares at you with a grim expression and closed eyes. You feel like the worstest fluffy ever seen so you just lay still and cry while your peepee place hurts. “You look tired and daddy has a big operation” he says.
You have warmed up to Kiwi’s warm babbehs and the babble of happy mummahs. It’s constantly good fluffy pony words, the foals are tiny, brightly colored, and very tiny because they are still hugging. Result: the saferoom is a good thing you’ve ever seen so you just like yours. Eventually you make more money than the big breeding mills that churn out countless trash foals do. You have a very strong reputation as an ethical breeder of quality for the most part.
