>Corralling the fluffies to the orange groves wasn’t easy.
>Most, except for John, still seem to doubt the power of the sorry stick.
>God, that sentence makes you feel stupid to even think. Moron.
>Whatever, the point is, as a whole…the fluffies don’t seem quite sure about the sorry stick yet.
>John is the only one who’s convinced, but he’s a bit useless currently. He just keeps crying and babbling, non-stop.
>The rest are either trying to cheer him up, or barely holding still, whether from anger or excitement.
>This could be a problem.
>“We eat nummies?!?” Screams an orange earth fluffy.
>Could be a big problem.
No! No you are not-
>Fluffy ignores you and goes straight towards the nearest fruits he can find.
>He pulls one off, clumsily, with great effort, causing himself to tumble back.
>But soon enough, he’s on his hooves, eating.
>This causes the other fluffies to join in even sooner, all of them ignoring your protests.
>John seemed to have forgotten his earlier experience in the midst of the glory of food, joining his companions.
>You can physically feel your heart beating so hard it might explode.
>Why aren’t they obeying?
>Grab the orange Earth fluffy-
>“Mwhahm-noouhm! Pum’ee dowb!” It says, still chewing the paltry amount of fruit it could retain in it’s maw.
>The sorry stick is equipped again.
>…None of them seem to care, they’re too busy gnoshing on your fucking PRODUCT.
>This may be your fault some, you took them out here without even feeding them but.
>They should know better.
>God damn it.
>What did you do wrong here?
>You take out the sorry stick.
>John is the only one who seems to notice, but he…doesn’t seem to remember quite what it is.
>What is going on?
Fluffies…
>Nothing.
>Orange Fluffy in your non dominant hand still thrashing about.
Fluffies.
>Nothing.
Stop fucking eating!
>That gets their attention.
>Initially, they’re befuddled by the sudden, sharp noise.
>The reaction is interesting…you tuck that information away for now.
>Then it starts all over again.
>It’s a similar routine to before.
>They all are demanding you let go of their companion, the one you held tightly now under your arm, ass faced out toward them.
>Trying to kill you with their ‘hooves’.
>Feel like you’re standing on your head.
>How the fuck could they have forgotten..?
>They seem extra agitated.
You all remember what this is?
>Your tone is harsh, harsher than it was before.
>“Pud down Sk-skettios!” Socks is beyond furious, slamming his hooves into you.
>“Meanie pud cowtie down, pwease! Now! Now Now Now!” Screeches Sunshine.
>“Skettios s’a good cowt! Pud’ Down!” comes from…fuck you don’t even know who.
>The others are all saying and doing about the same thing.
>It’s all blurring together too, all those high pitched baby voices, into one slurry of annoyance and amazement.
>Again, similar routine to before beyond the fact that they’re not stopping this time.
>With the exception that none of them seem to realize this is useless.
>And really, it is useless.
>It doesn’t feel pleasant, mind you.
>But it’s easy to deal with.
>They’re all just about under the strength of your average toddler.
>Why aren’t they scared of the sorry stick?
>Calloused, leathery hooves assault you non stop as you stood there, holding your stick and pondering the issue.
>Your mind ticks away at the issue, until finally it skitters and slows, like a train after hitting a wall.
>The fluffies weren’t WATCHING you stick’ John.
>They were looking everywhere BUT that direction.
>Hell, some even closed their eyes when they finally got to begging you, the first time.
>Time to try something.
This!
>You yell again, holding your stick up high enough for all to see.
>Your yelling stops them, momentarily, enough to ponder your display with some terror.
This is a SORRY STICK.
>Fluffies don’t seem to like yelling, looks like it’s making them more nervous than the first time.
>Some go right back to giving you sorry hoofsies.
>Others are yelling at you, demanding you release the fluffy.
>“WAN GO DOWNNNNNNUHHHHH EAD NUMMIES!” Skettios writhes under your grasp, you clutch him under your arm a little tighter.
>You can feel citrus juice dribble off his mouth onto you.
>That sets you off.
THIS is what happens when you DON’T FUCKING LISTEN.
>Silence.
>Followed by a horrendous, horrible crack.
>Then tears, from Skettios.
>“Whuuhh! Nnn-Nuuuuuuu! Nuuhoooohooohoohhhh!” Skettio’s isn’t even forming words, he’s too petrified. It hurts too bad.
>He’s not expecting you to slam back down again at equal strength.
>Then again.
>And again.
>Until you reach a steady pattern of merciless sticking, the sound like thunder in the open orange field.
>The light is beautiful today.
>You don’t pay much attention to it as you punish the fluffy horribly.
>No sense holding back like you did with John.
>That was a mistake and a half.
>The pattern initially is, on a surface level, similar to the last time.
>They keep trying to hurt you, force you to let him go.
>But it’s weaker this time.
>Their heart isn’t into it.
>It’s not long before they switch to crying, begging you to stop.
>Even Socks joins the pathetic parade of tearful creatures.
>You notice the same thing.
>They’re looking everywhere but at Skettio’s and his punishment.
Watch!
>You holler.
>“nUUHHhh dun- dun wan-” one cries out, followed by several others trying to reject your demand as well.
WATCH! Watch or I’ll hurt him worse!
>Reluctantly, they do.
>They’re not just crying anymore.
>They’re bawling.
>It still feels familiar for a bit, because each time they plead with you to stop.
>You hit the fluffy harder.
>Eventually they seem to get the picture and shut up.
>Best that they can, anyway.
>It takes alot of effort for them not to cry out for you to stop.
>You have no clue how long you’re at it for this time.
>Probably longer than you should have.
>But the bastard ate your oranges.
>AGAIN.
>Wouldn’t let that slide twice, no sir.
>By the time you’re finally done, you’ve whipped off the fluff from his ass. Leaving the tender flesh beneath exposed, horribly bruised and bleeding very lightly.
>You take your flask out from your pants and do a quick disinfectant with whiskey.
>He screams.
>And screams.
>Until he can’t scream anymore.
>Far as you reckon’ it, the thing has never been in any sort of pain like that before in his life.
>Skettio’s just gets to bawling now.
>Crying on and on.
>The crowd of fluffies looks at you like you’re some sort of demon. Struggling to grasp the event they’ve been forced to witness.
>There’s not a single one among them that isn’t crying.
What is this?
>You hold up your stick again.
>“D-da sssuuhhh…sowweee sticckkkkk…” exclaims Socks.
>The rest echo his statement.
When Fluffies are bad, they’re going to get the sorry stick.
>You point the colourful crop out to them.
Does anyone else want the sorry stick!
>Nobody does.
>You kneel and release Skettios to the ground.
>He can’t stand.
>Can’t sit either though.
>Both options hurt his tenderized rear end.
>Look over the crowd as you plan your next move.
>They’re fucking mortified
>Suspect the only reason they haven’t tried a collective bolt yet is that you’ve petrified them to their core.
>The thought makes you a little queasy.
>But apparently it had to be done.
You.
>Point at John.
>He’s shaking.
>“Whuhh?” he blubbers out, his face soaked in snot and tears.
Go get an orange.
>“Nuuhh…nummiiesss?” He hiccups.
>Several incredulous fluffies watch the exchange.
Yes. Go get an orange.
>You can hear him gulp, he looks to you, the trees, then you again before he toddles up to one.
>He picks a fruit and begins to eat it.
>You grab him and begin to stick him.
>Screams and tears, same warning as before to the others.
>Finish up with him much sooner.
>You leave him less injured than Skettios.
>Point at another fluffy.
>Make the same demand.
>Stick them when they eat the fruit.
>This happens one or two more times.
>One fluffy simply pauses when you try to give them the order.
>You stick them for that.
>Finally get one that picks the fruit but doesn’t eat it.
>The next part is a little easier.
>You explain to the creature the process;
>They pick oranges.
>They put them in the baskets.
>Lather, rinse, repeat.
>If they don’t do what they’re told, they’ll get sticked.
>Rest of the fluffies learn by example.
>They’re too scared of the sorry stick not to.
>You make sure to hold it exactly where they can see the whole time.
>Hour passes.
>Mildly impressed with the work done so far.
>Not bad.
>Guess your mail man wasn’t shitting you after all.
>It’s a bit of a strange sight, you must admit.
>Watching the fluffies work.
>Not just because they’re clumsy overall.
>But because off and on, they’re singing.
>God help you, they’re singing while they work.
>Still crying, yes, but singing during it.
>The lyrics are strange, limited by their infantile vocabularies.
>You don’t pay much attention to the exact content of what’s said.
>That being the case, from what you do pay attention to…it seems the majority of their songs are revolving around the scary sorry stick.
>The songs don’t ever last long, they’re fairly short, barely comprehensible.
>Stroke your chin, watching the spectacle.
>A week passes from here.
>Or maybe it’s a week.
>Hard to tell.
>Keeping fluffies on task is difficult.
>They take frequent, unauthorized breaks to do…all sorts of inane fluffy crap.
>Being constantly drunk or hung over also makes it difficult to keep up with them.
>You hate to admit it, but you may need to slow down on your drinking to keep this going.
>Attempted rebellions are semi-common and short lived.
>The moment you make the sorry stick visible, it changes their tone completely.
>Fluffy behaviours are bizarre every time to you.
>This is really the majority of what makes this slavery process difficult. You don’t quite understand the still.
>Why they keep trying to rebel.
>Why they haven’t tried to really escape…yet.
>Why they keep stopping to do…whatever.
>The singing…the playing…all of it. You just don’t get it.
>You’ve only thing so far.
>If fluffies do not have a complete, sensory-visual experience of something, especially something they don’t like, they will almost always forget it.
>Fuckin’ headache that one is.
>Suppose that’s probably why they keep fucking off from their labor duties.
>Sigh.
>It’s particularly difficult today.
>They just keep stopping.
>To do literally anything else.
>You’ll come up to them, tell them to get back to work, they whine they don’t want to do the ‘swave gamesie’ anymore.
>You pull out the stick, they go back to work reluctantly, etc etc.
>But it’s not enough.
>They’re taking too much time off work.
>They still think, to some degree, they own the land and that this whole slave thing is really temporary.
>How do you fix this?
>If you could atleast get them to stop playing and hugging.
>Fuck.
>It’s close to the end of the second week of the slavery experiment.
>They’re shitting and pissing everywhere.
>Won’t sleep in the shed because its ‘too dawk’.
>Will stay up all night crying and screaming when and if you force them in there.
>The next morning they’re tired until the afternoon, when they suddenly get energy…to goof off.
>So most nights, you just don’t put them in there.
>Which of course, makes getting them all together in the morning difficult.
>When you can get them on task, it’s pretty good.
>Otherwise? it’s not paying off yet.
>You consider briefly if maybe killing yourself would be easier as you tredd into your house after giving the fluffies the night off.
>When you reach your living room, you see it.
>A set of tapes, arrayed delicately infront of the Television hutch.
>And a letter.
>‘Anon,’
>‘It’s your old friend, Claudius. Your mail man, if you’re too drunk to remember while reading this.’
>‘Stopped by earlier and left you a little gift to help with your problem.’
>Huh.
>Well.
>Wish he wouldn’t just go into your house whenever he wanted.
>But not like you can really make that complaint to anyone.
>Not in second California.
>Anyway, the tapes you find, pleasantly, are numbered by order. A quick glance at the title-
How to raise fluffies.
>Tells you all you need to know
Alright,
>You go to your television hutch. It stands a little over five feet tall, made of wood that borders on a yellow tone. The top-most part of it has a set of two glass doors, allowing for a VCR to be put there.
>The midsection contains a wooden screen set on a rolling track.
>The lowest section therein has a set of drawers you haven’t looked through in years.
>You push the screen until you can see your CRT and turn it on, then go about setting your VHS tape into the player after turning it on.
>The tedious ritual ends with you sitting down on your couch, leaning forward on your thighs as you watch the TV intently.
Let’s see what you’ve got for me, fucker.