Part 4 can be found here
Part 5
Almost a month had passed since I bred the mare. I managed to get this week off so I could be present for the birth. I found myself enjoying her company as she had never gotten tired of expressing her gratitude. She never begged or demanded and always appreciative of even the smallest kindness. I had to admit, it was nice the evenings I just relaxed with her cuddled next to me on the couch. I even found her “soon mummah” song rather cute.
I fixed up the basement to be a more permanent safe room. I walled off her area with indoor fencing and put soft mats around to keep her warmer than the cold concrete ever could. She now had a self-filling water bowl and kibble dispenser. I even got her a nice birthing mat to keep the mess to a minimum. It was hard to make sure she didn’t feel spoiled; though I found she didn’t want for anything more anway.
The smarty, however, wanted a lot. I made sure that it was not comfortable in the least. The enfie trainers had worked like a charm. However, despite my best efforts, the site where the spikes went under his hooves got infected. Tried as I might his front hooves needed to be amputated. It had received a special treat, though. After taking off its hooves I ground the flesh and cooked it into a bowl of spaghetti. The final touch was a lump of the shit from the mare’s litter box. Given that it had subsisted on a diet exclusively of excrement (with a little soaked kibble mixed in to keep the bastard alive) it seemed like a delicacy to the rude shit. That was… until it found out it was eating its own “weggies”.
You’d think it would have appreciated that I left it larger stumps than normal. It could sort of walk; at least it could if it was ever let out of what I now called the “Sorry sink”. It had become the new home of the smarty. It lived its days in darkness; only able to experience the outside world from whatever sounds managed to penetrate the small hole in the sink cover. I made sure to hose down the sink completely with cold water to make sure that the shit didn’t build up. I had shortened the cable in its horn and crimped on a heavy duty carabiner. I had plans for when it was released. I frequently heard it cry out “wan die”. It would be fun to pull it out of the wan die loop for a brief moment, at least.
I had only just started hosing the smarty off when I heard her. “BIGGEST POOPIES!” I slammed the lid down on the smarty and went over to the mare. “Biggest huwties!” she cried. “Babbehs huwt mummah….” I had set aside a towel for just this reason and placed it behind her as I gathered up some baby wipes. She grunted as she pushed out her first foal. It fell on the towel, chirping loudly. I picked it up to wipe it off gently; a blue earthy male. I placed it in front of her to be licked clean as the second emerged. A pale green pegasus female, poor color but quite healthy as it chirped. I gave it a wipe down as the next one came out. I placed the pegasus in front of the mare as I looked closely at the last foal.
I could hardly believe my eyes. This pale green “poopie” mare had birthed a bright pink alicorn. I picked it up, amazed at the color. I wiped this one cleaner than the others, just to be sure I was seeing alright. Yes, this little foal had the tiny pink horn bud and a pair of small wings on its back. I cleaned it well, worried about the alicornphobia that fluffies tended to exhibit. The mare was too busy cleaning the other two foals to notice what I held. I was worried what she might do. Would her motherly instinct be strong enough to care for this foal? I doubted she would be a bitch mare but I knew she had already lost babies before. Would this be enough for her to overcome the typical fluffy behavior?
I had to know. I held the little foal in my hands, cleaned and chirping. “Fluffy? Will you love all your babies?”
She took only the briefest moment to nod. “Of couwse….” she said. “Dey am my babbehs. Must give wickie cweanies…” and she immediately resumed cleaning them.
I was not completely convinced. “Even if it was a monster baby?” I asked, opening my hands so she could see. She took a look at the pink little lump in my hands. She immediately reeled in fear, halting the cleaning of the foals in front of her. She was about ready to scream until the foal started chirping from having been abruptly exposed to the cold air. The foal wanted security. It wanted warmth. As it chirped in distress, I could see a moment of realization in the mare’s eyes. The foal wanted its mummah.
“Am nu munstah…” she said. “Am mummah’s babbeh. Has scawedies. Gib tu mummah!” she cried, worried I might keep it from her. I slowly placed it down in front of her, letting her give it motherly attentions.
I watched as she took care of her foals, making sure they were all clean before sitting up to present her teats to them. They immediately started nursing. The mare smiled as two of them suckled gently from her. She sweetly broke into the pre-programmed mummah song; lacking rhythm or melody but calming the foals. Once all of the foals were fed and happily chirping she laid down, curled around them.
“Poopie is mummah.” She beamed, tears welling in her eyes. “Poopie is happy……”
I stroked her mane gently as she snuggled her small fluff pile. All this time, I had focused on her care. I had focused on spiting the red bastard that brought her into this situation. I didn’t think to yet give her a name. I didn’t want her babies to think of her as a “poopie mummah”.
“You shouldn’t be called Poopie anymore,” I told her. “The smarty is the only poopie in this house….” She looked up at me, confused. Naming her would be a breach of fluffy etiquette; it didn’t matter to me much but I knew that it would mean the world to her. It had to be something good. This was a fluffy that had good manners. It had only introduced itself asking for a small act of……
“Charity.” I said. Looking at her. “Your name shall be Charity.”
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Don’t worry, fellow abuse lovers. I haven’t forgotten about the smarty. He will be thoroughly dealt with in the epilogue. Mwahahahahaha.
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Can’t wait buddy. Thanks for the good read!
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