Daycare Ch. 5 (by fluffysomething)

You are FV-0446, and your mommy’s mommy is trying to give you the worstest owwies! She lead you to the Sorry Room, whatever that is, and now she put you on a weird thing and you can’t move!


“Mom-mee, hewp Eff-vee-zewo-fouw-fouw-siks! 'Ou mom-mee wan gib owwies!” You shout for help, quivering at the sight of your mommy’s mommy sifting carefully through a large cardboard box.

“Hmm… Found it!” Your mommy’s mommy laughs menacingly, pulling a large stick out of the box.

“Wha-wha am THAT!? Nu wan! MOM-MEE, HEWP!” You cry out, desperately trying to move as your mommy’s mommy slaps you harshly with the stick.

“She can’t help you, lying little shit! She’s at work, trying to regain the money YOU got her sued for!” Your mommy’s mommy continues hitting you with the stick, each hit getting more agonizing than the last.

“Nuu-huuu-huuu! Eff-vee-zewo-fouw-fouw-siks nu du aneefing! Waiiiiiiiiii?” You sob, breaking down into tears as your mommy’s mommy finishes hitting you with the stick. There were discolored lines all over you, and you hope it was over.

Of course, it wasn’t.

“Here, baby. You need to clean those little cuts!” Your mommy’s mommy grins, holding a can labeled ‘Lysol’. What’s that? You don’t like it!

“Cwe-cwean? Cwean am bad fo’ ‘viwus-esses’. Nu wan!” You protest, trying to move as she heavily sprays you down with it.

“I don’t care! Now, what have we learned?” Your mommy’s mommy asks, holding up the can again.

“N-nu wie?” You respond, still feeling the outer layer of yourself burn as you answer.

“Good. If I see you on, in, or around Darling, you’re getting a lot worse the next time. Understand, you Bestest Sickie Friend prototype?” She questions, holding your small face.

“Eff-vee-zewo-fouw-fouw-siks ‘un-na-stan’. Awso, pwototype? Hab nyew fwiends soon?” You ask, visibly overjoyed by having a friend just like you.

“Yeah, your mommy’s helping to make them.” Your mommy’s mommy confirms, nodding her head, picking you up and placing you in a pen with toys.

“Dawwing hab fwend? Wub nyew fwend!” Darling squeals, leading you off to a room with other fluffies in it.

“I have a homemade, small fluffy daycare. FV-0446, remember what we talked about. That goes for these fluffies, too.” Your mommy’s mommy warns, walking off to go do something.


“Wai fwend hab huwties?” Darling asks, pointing her hoof at your discolored marks and the chemical burns on your outer layer.

“Eff-vee-zewo-fouw-fouw-siks git owwies by meanie mom-mee’s mom-mee!” You cry as Darling comforts you with her soft fluff pressing into your oh-so-sensitive outer layer.

“Wan-wan be housie-fwiend?” You ask, your lab-made programming kicking in and almost forcing you to say that sentence.

“Wha am housie-fwend?” Darling asks confusedly.

“Eff-vee-zewo-fouw-fouw-siks show 'ou.”

5 Likes

Looks like Harriet may lose the prototype and have to find a new place to stay… and get written out of the will. :sweat_smile:

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After all, it was the 50tiest fluffy rape/castration event that week, & someone had to be blamed. As it turned out, the virus designed to kill fluffies was the only thing more blatantly culpable than the daycare owners.

Oh. She actually knows.
But she still lets it be with fluffies.
Seems she has a firm grasp of the fundamentals of fluffy daycare!

3 Likes

Everyone in this series seems to have a PhD in Fluffy Daycareism

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