Public parks are always a reliable source of fluffies, especially in major cities. As such, public parks became popular with another type of nuisance: People who torture and abuse fluffies. As a result, it is often the actions of humans which draw the attention of locals, who then demand crackdowns on the little bastards.
But not just from the really public violent ones.
In a mid sized suburb of a mid sized midwestern city, there are a series of modest public parks. In these parks sleep families. Not many, and not in herds. But two or three families per park. Youâd see one living under the big flat rock by the creek, one in the roots of the big shady tree, and one in the dense shrubs near the footpaths. That sort of thing. They cluster near a thing they want. Resources, comfort, or attention.
A mummah sleeps soundly in the scrubgrass behind a public restroom in the Van Spronsen Memorial Gazebo Park. Her babbehs have recently been weaned, and her milkie places are no longer heavy and prominent. Her babbehs have even started sleeping out in the pretty grassy places, since itâs so warm out still.
They like the independence.
Daddeh has just come back from making good poopies. He and his special friend have lived near hoomins long enough to know that they prefer giving nummies to fluffies who make poopies in one place, away from where they eat, drink, play, and sleep. Their family has a spot over by the bad wawa pipe. Daddeh put it over there because âdat wawa nu gud an make fwuffies sickies, su poopies hewp memba cuz nu smeww pwetty.â He curled up with his mate and soon they were both fast asleep.
Off on one of the tufts of grass, there was a chubby brown earthy colt. He had a sandy mane like his daddeh and freckled face like his mummah, and they loved him very much. He was in the middle of a wonderful dream about giving huggies to the sky when he found himself jerked awake by human hands.
Before he could open his eyes or even cry out, something was shoved in his mouth and down his throat. It was so big! It hurt so much, like he was swallowing a whole cawwot nummie! As he opened his eyes he saw a hoomin. Scraggly looking man with an equally scraggly woman. The man was carrying him with theâŚthing down his throat.
He could breath through his nose, but he was straining trying to yell! To call for help! He was gagging with the big soft thing in his throat, and it was starting to really hurt. Every time he started to choke some of it out, the hoomin would roughly shove it back in. Sometimes even further than it had been! He thrashed his little leggies, for all the good it did.
The hoomins got him over to a dark spot, one of the far more hospitable bits of shrubbery that unfortunately didnât have a light, so fluffies never live there. They gestured at each other, clearly well rehearsed. The woman pulled a board with four zipties out and the man softly places the coltâs back against it. Then the woman takes his back weggies and fastens the zipties down, pulling him uo and stretching his legs at an awkward angle. He struggles to reduce the strain, but his hips are at max torsion and itâs starting to sting and burn.
The man grabs his front weggies, but now in a panic he manages to get one lose. When he does this, the man grabs the end of the very long thing in his throat and wiggles it. The colt thrashes in pain and spasms as he gags again and again. His weggies go sort of limp, mkre twitching with his spasms than they are actively resisting. He places them in the zip ties, and as he cranks down the colt is pulled taught.
His hip joints all pop within a second of each other when the woman wraps her hand around behind him and pulls him up, away from the board. After the dislocating is done, she also shoves three golfballs up his rectum. Golfballs sheâd roughed up with a pocketknife on the ride over. Once the last one disappears in, she shaves the fluff off around his poopy place to make it smooth enough to accept the US Army sticker her brother got from his high school.
The colt has blacked out from the pain and hyperventilating. The man quickly pulls out the long thin dildo he bought from the local Discount Dildorium and replaces it with a small ball gag. One designed to silence adult fluffies just a bit larger than this colt. Of course his head is smaller and his mouth narrower, but his teeth are all in just the same so they hold it in place when itâs tightened.
He drowsily wakes up as the woman is shaving his tummy fluff with a straight razor. Sheâs doing a shitty job, but sheâs not trying to get a close shave. Not trying to wound the little shit. Just collect his fluff and leave him sad and cold. Heâs too tired to struggle now. Canât do anything but quietly cry while she does his poor bent and throbbing weggies as well.
While sheâd been doing that, the man had been peeling the coltâs lips back and taping them up to expose his teeth. Fluffies donât have baby teeth, itâs one set and youâre DONE. His were still fairly new, and the ball gag was displacing all of them by at least a little. Several were visibly splayed, creating wedge shaped little gaps where moments ago theyâd been touching. As the woman finished taking his fluff and walked off, the man pulled out a small aluminum ball, about the size of an orange.
Then he started smashing the coltâs teeth with it.
Starting from the far left and circling all the way to the far right, he was pulverizing the teeth until nerves were exposed and zero chewing surface remained. Only jagged misshapen chunks of tooth would remain.
Meanwhile, the woman had donned rubber gloves. With her bag of stolen hair, she proceeded to the shit pile. She dumped all the fluff in it, then reached down and churned it all up. Really mixed it. Pausing to give silent thanks to her friend having sprung for the HEPA Filter masks, she scooped and bagged several pounds of poopies, complete with poopy babbeh fluff. She then snuck around, dolloping it in common areas like where they played and ate. She put it on the footpath where humans would see it, and spread some beneath the drinking fountain and outside the bathroom door. The remainder she spread in a line between the poopy pile and the nummies pile twenty feet away. She didnât put it in the food, though. Theyâd picked this family both for their visibility as well as their diet. The local foliage produced a lot of small nuts and berries. People would also feed them granola mix frequently, as it was sold nearby. This meant the pile was big and chunky.
And heavily dependent on healthy teeth.
Back at the board, the man had collected a small bag of shattered teeth. The woman, having discarded her gloves, returns. They nod at each other as she takes it and walks back to the nummie pile. The man takes out the ball gag, then pulls the coltâs tongue taught just as he grabs his snout to clamp his jaw shut.
He starts thrashing in pain. The muscles attached to his now useless weggies are really working hard. Not only is his tongue getting shredded by his jagged mouth, but the jagged chunks donât match up so they each cut into the gums on the opposite jaw. While he makes soft humming sounds trying to scream, the man pulls out a roll of masking tape.
For those unaware, masking tape is a flimsy paper tape meant for painting. Helps define edges, easy to remove. So weak even a fluffy could break it no problem. Unfortunately, this is a colt. Heâs small, weak, exhausted, and in agony. His adrenaline ran out after the weggies stuff, and heâs slipping in and out of consciousness. The man wraps eight layers around. Enough to hold him until heâs rested, but weak enough heâll probably break out of it before he actually wakes up. Still holding the snout to keep the clock on the crying time bomb from starting, the man walked over towards the poopy pile.
The woman arrived at the nummies with her bag of teeth. She scooped the nummies into a mixing bowl and poured in all the tooth chunks. Then she mixed them in pretty evenly and poured like half a shaker of oregano on it before returning it to the ground. She returned to the poopies as the man was placing the traumatized colt in the pile. He rolled him in it before handing him off to the woman who then drug him through the dirt near the creek, carefully his sleeping mummahâs back, and the nummies pile. Once he was covered in evidence of his many crimes, she gave him back to the man, who had produced a very long pair of forceps.
Heâd heated the small blades with a pocket torch. Not white hot, but damned hot. He slid them in atop the coltâs tongue, in the center. The burning sensation woke the suffering babbeh just in time to feel his vocal cords singed. But the man didnât clip them. Instead, he wedged it between them and opened out, singing and deforming them while leaving them fundamentally intact. He pulled the still fairly hot forceps back out, being sure to drag them HARD against the roof of his mouth. With that, he set the colt in a hollow heâd made in the shit, and they piled the remaining surrounding shit up around him to form a sort of hill where he was the summit.
He shifted his focus to pressing the poor fluffyâs snout into the shit from above. As he held him down, he flicked him in the right eye really hard. Then he did it again. Then he kept doing it until he was pretty sure heâd detached the retina. Having done so, he switched eyes. The man pried his squinting eyelid open, denying the colt the basic dignity of not having to see when he doesnât want to.
All the same, since he was just here to zap it with a green laser a couple times. Not enough to ruin it, but enough to fuck it up BAD. Having done so, he followed the woman whoâd begun to leave. Pausing, he looks back at the broken creature heâd victimized.
So he went back and snapped his tail at the base, leaving his tail fluff buried in shit.
. ⌠⌠⌠⌠⌠⌠âŚ
There was much suffering to be had the following morning. The family was awoken at the crack of dawn by the wavery peeping of the colt. Heâd regained consciousness to find the tape broken and soaked with blood, sweat, and tears. All his weggies hurted, and they were all being dummy and pointing the wrong way. To make matters worse, they were meanies! When he tried to move them, they didnât listen! It made him very sad.
Mummah woke first with a cry of âBabbeh cwyin? Mummah on da wey babbeh, nu be fwaid!â This in turn woke the other children and daddeh, who started noticing shit everywhere.
Mummah reached the shitpile to find her brown babbeh in it. He was weak and chirping, so she grabbed his head tuft to pull him out. He was buried pretty good though, so with an audible "skrrrrritch" she ripped basically all of it off. She left only a ring around the base of his scalp. He looked like a Shaferaraks bowl cut fucked a visor cap and abandoned it in a park where teenagers come to smoke K2. Like a monk that was also a sad artifical horse with poor bowel control.
He was trying to scream, but he couldnât get much beyond a breathy, raspy whisper. "Skrehhhhhhhhh⌠SeâŚseh much hewtehhhsâŚ" His mummah was confused. She couldnât understand all his new speech impediments. Daddeh stomped over angrily. âBabbeh! Wai dewe babbeh poopies aww obah howe famiwy wand? Dis famiwy wand! Posed tu keep pwetty and cween! Wai du dis?â The weary colt can barely keep up, and his attempts to explain himself just make his father more angry.
âKâŚklâŚkâltâŚhuehuehue teh hehdâŚbebuh nuhâŚnuh duh. Waz muâuhs.â Daddeh scowled. âTawk wite, dummeh! Daddeh onwy heaw ou say âmummahâ in dewe. Ou betta nawt twy bwame mummah ow daddeh gib sowwy hoofies tu wude babbehâŚâ
Oh no! His daddeh didnât understand at all! âNuhhhrâŚnu muâuh! OoâŚoomâŚoomeeâŚâ He sulks in frustration at how hard talking is now. He had to focus on noises he could clearly make. âOo-ee! Muâduh eww oo-ee!â âHoominâ was such a hard word today.
âOu nu caww mummah poopies bad babbeh! Take sowwy hoofy fwum daddeh, weawn tu spect ou mummah!â The furious unicorn bapped his son in the side several times. Normally not enough to do serious damage, but two hits were on hips. Unable to shriek, he made a strained gurgling rasp that tapered off into his dry scratchy crying. âHehhehhehhehhhhâŚâ
Suddenly, a commotion at the nummies pile. The other babbehs were eating, but all of them had mouth hurties! While mummah kept trying to push or drag her poopy babbeh away from poopy, daddeh attended to the new crisis. He found bits of fluffy teeth. His sons. He figured that must be why they broke, he was over trying to eat berries in the dark but broke all his teefies on the nuts he and his special friend like. Heâd tracked shit everywhere, including where they eat! Where they drink! He was livid as he hugged his good babbehs to help with mouth owwies.
When the crying subsided, he returned to mummah. âSpeciaw fwend, hewp! Hafta sabe babbeh fwum poopies!â He grimaced. âNu. Weabe babbeh. Babbeh twy steaw nummies, weabe meanie pointie toofies dat huwt gud babbehs. Poopies am ebbwhewe. Babbeh being wude an nu tawkies wif daddeh ow mummah. Fowwow fwuffy, hafta gu cwean poopies off gwound by hoomin pwaces.â
He paused, suddenly enraged. He shouted at his miserable son. "Dummeh poopy babbeh! Wai ou wike dis? Wai dummeh poopy babbeh nu can be gud babbeh? Nu can hab gud nummies! Ou moufie nu gud fow nummies nu mowe! Ou gunna hafta num poopies!" Mummah and babbeh alike recoiled in horror, but daddeh had made his point clear.
That afternoon some nice hoomins came by where the family had finished cleaning. Everyone was relaxing and hugging and playing. âHello little friend, who are you?â The stallion perks up. âAm Wed Wovew! Dis am famiwy! Wub famiwy!â She smiles warmly and scratches behind his neck, but her gaze falls on poopy babbeh. âUmâŚwhy is that one over there?â Daddeh gets a sad look. âOw, dat. Nu wowwy bout poopy babbeh. Nu can hab weaw nummies nu mowe. Onwy can num poopies. Nu can weabe poopies piwe nu mowe tuu, su just haftu stay dewe.â Disgusted, the woman stood and walked away from the now confused and depressed father. Her eyes meet the vacant stare of the poopy babbeh who could barely see past the poopy pile and her stomach churned with revulsion.
âGoddamned fluffies. Always doing this fucked up shit. City oughta do something.â