Brioche and Bechamel, Chapter 2
The master of the house was still away “on business.” Wiggins had a suspicion that the business called herself “Diamond” and worked as a model/waitress at a strip club downtown. These business trips usually lasted about 3 months, going to the family summer home in Cancun, possibly Europe, because these low class gold diggers were never satisfied with the overpriced hotels and urine soaked streets of the united states, they needed to see European piss soaked streets. These trips lasted until the master needed to come home to recuperate from a coke bender or the poor girl got tired of his bombast and raging ego.
This was probably the true source of Madam’s irritation, and not Wiggins, even though the mistress had been particularly shrill today. Nothing was clean enough and it was Wiggins’s fault. The house was dark and musty, and it was Wiggins’s fault. The pathetic and glamorous woman sniped orders at him while painstakingly arranging her enormous collection of designer perfumes.
The miasma of the perfumes was worse than the fluffy shit, in Wiggins’s opinion, and he hated being in the mistress’s suite for that reason above all others.
The lady of the house had arrived from the family estate up north, and apparently not even the wintery delights of a luxury chalet were not enough to soothe her nerves. The elder boy, doughy and useless, had been dismissed from his private school for skipping class. The bitchy girl-child owner of the fluffies was back from boarding school, and the youngest boy was being a total hellion and running his elderly nanny ragged.
So many people in the grand manse meant that Wiggins had to actually perform his duties, and there would be no sneaking liquor or banging the ugly, big titty maid on the master’s desk for awhile.
All was well in the fluffy pony realm, at least. Little Brioche was globular, heavy with foal, and Bechamel was a dutiful and proud soon-daddeh. Wiggins had been giving them a little extra tv time during the show about babies in the hopes the two fluffy idiots didn’t murder the foals out of stupidity.
Right on schedule, Brioche’s labor pain screams echoed through the halls, and the silvery mare was delivered of four beautiful foals, all shades of silver and buttery gold like their parents.
The teenagers were the first to visit the newborns. The lumpy firstborn son had no reactions, took a single picture with his phone and said nothing. The child-bitch teenage girl scoffed and was very mad there were no alicorns, storming off to her room. The monstrous youngest, though, took a keen interest in the newborns.
The elderly nanny was utterly useless, and Wiggins took it upon himself to supervise the young sir with the expensive biotoys. Brioche shrieked every time the little beastly boy handled the foals too roughly, and Bechamel would try to defend his mate, only to be met with the demon child roughly kicking him away.
Bechamel, who was a docile and passive fluffy pony, absolutely lost it. Wiggins couldn’t blame the stallion at all. He began trying to stomp on the child’s shoes and bite at his trouser legs, nuggets of angry shit popping out of his ass from the strenuous task of trying to rescue his foals and mate. Brioche sat helpless and crying in her basket with her three foals, paralyzed by fear for her baby.
The little asshole child demanded Wiggins punish the distressed stallion, waving a newborn foal around by a single leg. Wiggins did nothing, only shook his head at the whole sad scene. The spoiled brat threw the foal to the ground with great force and stomped it beneath his italian leather loafer. The squelch was sickening. The child’s maniacal laughter reached a crescendo as Brioche and Bechamel both cried horribly at the loss of their foal.
Amid the noise, Wiggins took five long strides across the room and squared up to the child. Wiggins wasn’t a strong man or a young man, or had ever had cause to strike anyone in his entire boring life… but Wiggins put his entire soul behind giving that brat the most vicious back handed slap he could.
The little murderous bastard immediately took off crying big crocodile tears to his mother with a single drop of blood from his nose adding to the drama. Wiggins knew he had a little bit of time to act because the mistress of the house was deep asleep after mixing sedatives and martinis most the morning.
When the lady of the house awoke, it was late afternoon. the nanny was soothing the bitch-slapped child in his room, teenagers oblivious, and the fluffy ponies, the butler, and the homely maid missing from the house.
The bleary eyed and hung over socialite sat at her vanity and poured herself another drink. a bright piece of her own stationary caught her attention.
“Madam- You are an utter failure as a wife, mother, and employer. These working conditions are unbearable. In lieu of pay, I have taken the fluffy ponies where your monstrous children can’t hurt them.
p.s.
I have replaced several of your delightful perfumes with varying amounts of urine. Hopefully this improves their quality.”
No one in the house paid any mind to the screeching and smashing of bottles upon the marble tile of the master suite, or even the cloying stink of a million dollars of perfume permeating the house, because nothing of value could be lost in the expensive house full of worthless people.
Wiggins, Brioche, Bechamel, the three remaining foals, and the plain looking maid had piled into her sensible toyota and rode off into the sunset to start a new life far away from silly rich people. Wiggins would get a retail job at the department store. or they could move to mexico. Wiggins thought he should also figure out if his little fuck buddy’s name was Matilda or Hilda. He couldn’t remember.