So this is my first real try at a long-form fluffy story in lieu of a lack of motivation to draw much, so here you all get to meet one of my abuser characters. He’ll be a recurring face and I already have multiple stories planned out starring him, so keep on the lookout for that if this one happens to tickle your fancy. With that, hope y’all enjoy!
Marcus may be a decent student, but that doesn’t mean he won’t find himself on the receiving end of disciplinary action more often than not. This time the young delinquent is stuck in detention for refusing to take off his self-proclaimed “sweet shades” during classes. As a high school senior with very little to do, he finds entertainment where he can, annoying choice members of staff that he can easily get a rise out of.
What the school is somehow unaware of is Marcus’ choice of hobby: the torture and torment of fluffy ponies. Following the debacle that was the school sea fluffy program, it would seem that the board of education just can’t help themselves from more unnecessary meddling. Sitting bored in an empty classroom waiting out the clock, Marcus overhears a conversation across the hall through a half-open office door. The voices inside are those of the marine biology teacher and principal of the school. Creeping out of his seat to get closer to the door, Marcus strains to hear what he soon realizes is a discussion regarding new fluffies coming through the district.
Apparently, the last sea fluffies proved to be too high-maintenance and unpredictable. Marcus couldn’t help but snicker under his breath at the memories of his time with said sea fluffies. As a result, the marine biology teacher has managed to secure a shipment of “bowl fluffies”. They’re barely any cheaper than the sea fluffies were but the staff believe they’ll be easier to deal with and won’t have as demanding of needs. Due to the sensitive nature of this cargo, the delivery is set to make its way to the school grounds the next morning in an unmarked semi-truck. Full soundproofing on the inside and no indication of the cargo is intended to keep would-be thieves or abusers away from the highly rare creatures. As a confidential matter, the principal has been informing key staff of the shipment and the general timeline of the whole process.
Temporary staff will be helping out all tomorrow to unload the fluffies and set up their new habit in place of where the sea fluffies once lived.
Hearing this, Marcus cracks a sinister grin as he begins scheming up some fresh entertainment for himself. Immediately after detention, Marcus sneaks by the science labs to grab a handful of nitrile gloves just in case he finds himself having a messy evening. He then takes his bike and pedals to the nearby industrial lot. Most transported goods make their way through there, being a pocket of industrialization in a mostly rural and suburban small town. The young man can barely contain his excitement, hopes high for finding his jackpot.
It’s a bit of a gamble to go there since the principal was cagey on the exact location, but this is as good a place to start as any. A bit of poking around reveals only one truck in the bunch to have zero company branding, information, etc. on its exterior. It sits completely unattended and unassuming at the end of the lot. Marcus remarks that this is a clever scheme to keep someone like him off their trail, but his “intel” has proven invaluable. This time of year means that the sun had already begun to set when Marcus left school, so he makes his way over to investigate the truck under the cover of twilight. Nearby heavy foliage allows Marcus to temporarily stash his bike and make for a quick hiding spot if things get ugly. Donning a pair of the stolen gloves, Marcus inspects the exterior to see if a break-in is even feasible.
A bog standard master lock seals the rear shut, with a tangle of chains that look quite formidable… before Marcus realizes they’re not actually connected to anything. So much for high-security transport, did they just hope nobody would notice? Being a little shithead delinquent, Marcus is more than familiar with busting a few locks open, and this model is as generic and deceptively low security as they come. He’s able to smack it open easily with quick brute force, using a bundle of chains almost like a makeshift hammer. The sudden slam and clattering of the lock to the asphalt triggers what sounds like heavily muffled squeals and babyish voices chattering inside. Fuckin bingo.
Marcus slides the door up with ease, trying to be quiet in case the responsible trucker for this payload is anywhere nearby, and sees before him many rows of small, but not uncomfortably so, cages lining the walls. All eyes are now on him, with the cacophony of fluffspeak assaulting Marcus’ ears without even a moment to waste. Each cage is made of a solid plexiglass with holes for air, featuring a drown-proof water bottle and some high-calorie kibble to last the fluffies through the journey.
Not all of the creatures inside are bowl fluffies, with a mix of normal and designer fluffs, some micros, and all the usual shit people buy for God knows why. However, one stands out in particular: an indigo-coated bowl mare with a garish pink mane and tail, bloated beyond belief with foals. Skimming the clipboard attached to her enclosure reveals her name to be Lilly, and contains notes documenting her pregnancy, pedigree, etc. She would be quite valuable as a breeder, and this is confirmed by the ludicrous MSRP marked on her paperwork by the breeders. Nearly 5 fucking grand for this little abomination? Marcus snaps back to reality after being appalled into contemplating humanity’s failings, suddenly reminded of the endless babble that surrounds him. He slams his fist against the metal wall of the truck to shut them all up, eliciting some screes and cries but the din mercifully dies down. So they’re at least somewhat trained… Interesting…
Suddenly the aforementioned pregnant dam speaks up.
“Hu huuu nyu mistah scawy… Da big mistahs at fwuffy wand sai scawy noisies am wowstest fo tummeh babbehs!”
Fluffy land huh? That’s a big breeder operation a few towns over. Seems they’ve managed to crank out products worth half a damn this time. Marcus has had plenty of fun with their foal-in-a-can line as well as the hopeful, loving domestics they raise up with such care. The fond reminiscing will have to wait, however, as he needs to be quick and he’s got exactly what he’s looking for right in front of him; practically on a silver platter. He moves to unlatch Lilly’s cage from the fluffy cell block much to her horror and protest. The unit is secured with some hefty hinges but they prove remarkably easy to unscrew with a bit of elbow grease. Her paperwork is collected just in case, digging around some boxes as carefully as he can to avoid leaving evidence of his search. Inside he finds stacks upon stacks of brochures explaining bowl fluffies, their special needs, biology, the whole fuckin shebang. Guess these are going to the various schools for distribution, but Marcus supposes it won’t be noticed if just one goes missing. Can’t hurt to be informed by the so-called experts.
The other fluffies along the walls are now pitching a fit about it being “nu faiw” that Lilly gets a new daddeh, begging to be taken too. This whole time Lilly had been crying into her hooves and complaining of the discomfort from being moved around less than carefully in her plexiglass prison. However, she perks up slightly at the words of the others, hearing that she now has a new daddeh she begins to calm down ever so slightly. Gotta thank that mental programming for being helpful at least once in a while.
Thankfully the cages are all semi sound dampening, with the holes being the only real avenue through which the fluffies can be heard. The commotion is easily tuned out as Marcus steps down from the truck, being careful for now with his new plaything. Lily’s cage is then attached crudely to Marcus’ bike on the back; utilizing a mix of assorted cable bike locks and trash can bungee cables he keeps in his backpack for… field research purposes. The cage is secure enough, the straps ensuring that she won’t come loose with an errant bounce or two. The truck is resealed with the shitty lock and the chains, replaced to be as close as possible to how Marcus remembers them being when he arrived. He then turns proudly to his prey, satisfied with the biotoy heist, and acknowledges Lilly for the first time.
“Soooo… little fluffy, your name is Lilly, yeah?”
“sniff yis nyu daddeh, am Wiwwy. Wiwwy am soon mummah wif bestest cutest wittwe tummeh babbehs!”
She really puts some emphasis on that last part. God these things are fucking annoying, so proud of their little parasites they’ve never even met yet. Everyone thinks their little hellions are the best after all, but a reality check is due very soon. She’s tapping her front hooves together as if to mimic clapping, shakily cooing at the memory of being pregnant as if she had forgotten until now. Marcus pretends to have not heard that last part, as it would ruin his plan to go in on her so soon. He needs her to believe that he’s entirely oblivious to her pregnancy for the plan to work, instead changing the topic by reassuring her that she’s going back to his nice housie now. This causes her to perk up and cheer as if the trauma of her abduction didn’t just happen.
Marcus arrives home quickly, with Lilly only slightly worse for wear after an unfortunate (totally not intentional) pothole bump along the trip. She’s sniveling about tummeh babbehs and how this is not good for a soon mummah, but Marcus continues to ignore her as he unchains the cage to bring inside. But first thing’s first, bath time. She still somehow managed to make herself into a disgusting mess despite being plugged and cathed.
He doesn’t want to induce premature labor with the stress of a hose down, as funny as that would be, so opts instead to tell her she needs to make good poopies and peepees in the bushes before she can come in. The promise of a warm bath is used to entice her, which leaves Lilly ecstatic as Marcus removes the plug and catheter preventing her from soiling her cage in transit. After that “fun” task involving a lot of muffled cries and complaints, Lilly is brought over to the bushes and forcefully emptied. Marcus keeps her muzzle firmly shut so as to not draw any unwanted attention, as she is in great distress following her involuntary venting. After he’s satisfied that she’s cleaned out, it’s into the garage utility sink for the now miserable bowl fluffy. Marcus gives her what could generously be considered a warm bath. The complaints are minimal though and he’s extra careful around her semi distended belly, with her squealing if he gets anywhere near her “speshuw pwace” or “miwkie pwace”. Yeah Lilly, it’s every teenage boy’s dream to molest a disgusting little biotoy. Even for a pregnant fluffy Lilly is damn near elliptical, barely able to touch the ground with her squat wide stature and distended abdomen. This means a fuck off massive litter is in store and makes Marcus’ plan even easier. Now comes the challenge of getting her inside the house.
The plexiglass cage is emptied out completely, with the water bottle set aside and kibble trashed. This is followed by a quick wash of the interior before Lilly is replaced inside. The momentary “upsies” seem to have given the mare some semblance of happiness, as she coos during their brief window of contact. Marcus resists the urge to drop her then and there, cleanup be damned, for the hilarity of a bloated fluffy splattered on the concrete. However he thinks better of it, gingerly replacing her into her cage much to her attempted protests. With some careful maneuvering, Marcus covers the cage with a large scrap rag from the garage, both so Lilly is unable to see what’s happening and also to slightly muffle any potential noises. Marcus swiftly peeks out to make sure the path to his room is clear. He’s maybe a bit too prepared for this regular ritual of pig-horse chimera torture, having changed out his door knobs to his room so nobody can come poking around without his permission. The biggest obstacle is his sister Sam’s fluffy, who could easily sniff out another fluffy and beg to meet the “nyu fwend”. Marcus cranes his neck a bit more out from the garage to see that nobody is in the living room or kitchen. He hears a slight commotion out back that sounds like Sam and that little rat she holds so dear, probably playing and having a grand old time. Perfect, they can stay right where they are. Marcus grabs Lilly’s water bottle and creeps up the stairs to his locked bedroom door. Fishing for the keys in his pockets, Lilly begins to whimper slightly at the motion and darkness of the cage being covered, but luckily nobody is within earshot, so any compromising contact is completely avoided.
Now inside Marcus’ room, Lilly is placed in a makeshift fluffy pen in the corner. The pen is a bit above knee height tall, made of scrap wood, and heavy layering of fluffy playmat padding on the inside walls. It’s not so tiny to be unlivable but he’s sure as hell not giving up any more of his space for a shit rat, and it’s pretty much impossible for her to hurt herself in there anyways. (Famous last words right?)
He quickly installs her water bottle onto the pen before thumbing through her papers and brochure. All the nonsense about them needing a small pool to float in is immediately noted and ignored, apparently being part of some kind of psychological need for them to go “swimmies”. Not as needy as sea fluffies my ass, you still need a pool of some kind to keep them from going insane? What a racket these breeders are running here.
“N-nicest daddeh?” That snapped Marcus out of his reading, glancing over to see Lilly wiggling anxiously and looking just a bit concerned by the new environment. She undoubtedly notices the lack of a food bowl and litter tray, but is woefully unaware of the intentionality of this.
“Whewe am Wiwwy speshaw wawa? Nee fo swimmies an pway!” Marcus sort of scoffs at this but the dumb little mare doesn’t notice. This thing really doesn’t understand that it’s been kidnapped. He chuckles to himself a little, thinking about how it’s hardly swimming if you’re just floating on your back and wiggling like a retard, but whatever. Lilly is restless and making annoying little taps on the floor now with her soft hoof pads in a semi-rhythmic pattern, clearly some kind of nervous tic that other fluffies would probably liken to dancing. She’s now spinning in awkward circular motions, not unlike a dog chasing its tail. It’s as if she thinks looking around constantly will make a pool and nice toys manifest for her if she just wishes hard enough.
Marcus tells her she doesn’t need a pool, as after all, “wawa is very bad fo fwuffies”! This causes her expression to immediately scrunch up as if she were ready to cry, sputtering out a “b-bu-” before Marcus reminds her she’s lucky to even get a safe room at all, and that only greedy bad fluffies demand such extravagant and dangerous things. Daddeh knows best, and that’s final. Lilly’s head is spinning. No special wawa for swimmies? This is utterly unthinkable for poor little Lilly, as she continues to pace frantically while tears run down her face fluff. The floor in her pen is made of multiple sheets of cheap plexiglass Marcus snagged on sale at Home Depot, all superglued together one atop the other to make one thick piece of flooring. All possible seams and edges in the pen have been waterproofed by a generous slathering of flex seal. That shit really does work miracles. Marcus may be a nasty little bastard, but he’s smart enough to know what to expect from fluffies and doesn’t need a biohazard mess in his bedroom.
Lilly sits down on her haunches, wincing from the cold and uncomfortable plastic ground before looking up pleadingly. She stretches her front legs out in an “upsies” pose, and speaks out through barely muffled whimpers:
“Huuuuuu pwease daddeh, gib mummah Wiwwy upsies? Wiwwy su scawdies, dis nyu housie am bad fo fwuffy! nee daddeh huggies fo feew bettah… huuuu Tummeh babbehs hab wowstest saddies! Mummah fwuffies 'posed ta hab deiw speshuw bwankies and nestie!”
Marcus stares blankly at the pathetic thing, clearly incredibly uncomfortable with the weight of her awkward body putting pressure on her rear.
“Why, what in the world are you talking about Lilly? Fluffies don’t need ‘nests’ or special blankets. You’re a toy! Who would go to that effort, let alone be ‘supposed’ to do it?”
Her face drops even more, now plastered with a look of profound confusion mixed with terror. What does daddeh mean she’s a toy? Fluffies are for huggies and wub, they’re alive after all! Lilly begins to pout even harder as she shakily asks again,
“p-pwease daddeh… Huuuu Wiwwy weeeawwyy nee bwankies and nestie! Is mostest impowtant fing fo soon mummah! Am soon mummah!!”
She almost wails out that last part for emphasis, but Marcus keeps up his deadpan facade, ignoring any and all mention of her being pregnant. One thing’s for sure; whatever spoiled nonsense treatment this thing received at the breedery, it’s the last thing even close to kindness she’ll ever be receiving again. Lilly stands up on her hind legs now with immense difficulty and an occasional “huu huu”, now propped up uncomfortably resting her belly against the wall of her little enclosure. She’s reduced to hysterics, begging for help and attention from her nyu daddeh as she desperately strains her weggies up to reach for him. This isn’t how fluffies are supposed to be treated… This isn’t what fluffies are for at all! Let alone a soon mummah! A soon mummah! How could daddeh not understand that nothing is more important than tummeh babbehs? Marcus stares down at her, pretending to be in thought, before finally breaking the act ever so slightly.
“Eugh, now that we’re in the lighting of my room, you are one ugly fucker! That pink is absolutely hideous, and you’re so fat too!”
Lilly is taken aback and tears immediately begin to flow freely. Marcus wonders to himself how the hell these things can cry so damn much. She then cries out:
“Buuuhuuhuuuuu! Pwease nu sai dat daddeh, Wiwwy wub ou suuu muchies! Wub pweety pinky taiw and haiw, fwuffy wand mistahs sed wiwwy an pwettiest ob aww!”
Huh, so these guys were either so sure she’d just be a mill breeder whose mental state and behavior didn’t matter, or they are profoundly incompetent at raising a fluffy to have given her any delusions of worth. She carries on further, saying through tears,
“Huuuuu huu Huuuuu, Wiwwy nu am fattie! Dat am meaniest fing ebah hewd! Am soon mummah! Soon mummah hab pwecious babbehs in tummeh fo huggies an wub! Mummah Wiwwy wub dem aww suuuuu muchies huuu… Wiwwy su sowwy fo be bad fwuffy an ask fo swimmies, just pweeeease nee nestie! Cowdies am wowstest ebah hab!”
Jesus, what a chatterbox. She is an earthie after all, but thankfully this little tantrum wasn’t loud enough to draw any attention. Just to be safe, Marcus quickly peeks through his blinds, seeing his sister joyfully playing with her fluffy in a big sandbox. Apparently, the little shit’s attempt at a “sandcastle” (a formless pile of sand) has earned her some high praise and great big hugs. Ugh. He hated to see it experience any form of joy, but that fluffy… eh, she was behaved well enough.
With that little outburst out of Lilly’s system, she seems quite tired out, weeping increasingly quietly and slowly while slumping back down to sit on her haunces. The gears turn in her tiny mind and her expression shows that she’s maybe starting to understand that this is not a place where she is loved. Damn straight, and it’s only going to get worse. Marcus decides now is as good a time as any to really make things interesting. “Tell you what Lilly, how about I get you another fluffy friend to play with? All that play will surely get rid of that ugly repulsive fat!” Marcus makes a point to gesture at her bulging stomach and fat cheeks, knowing full well that she’s perfectly healthy for a pregnant mare. However, she doesn’t know this. With each demeaning adjective, Lilly winced and the waterworks started up once again; but a nyu fwend sounded absolutely incredible! She knew daddeh couldn’t be a meanie after all, hoomins have to wub their wittwe fwuffy fwends and give them huggies! She knew it just had to be so! That’s what fluffies are for after all!
(Next >)
