Ian Greene was never an abuser outright.. Sure, he’d kicked a feral fluffy or two as they approached him on the streets, but he’d never taken them into his house before. He did hate fluffies, though. They’re annoying, they shit everywhere, and worst of all, the way they spoke.
“can nice mista be new daddeh?”
“Skettis! naow!”
Sometimes he just wanted to smash their teeth in. They were worse than the recruits he’d had the “pleasure” of pushing through boot camp.
That’s right; he was a (now retired) drill instructor. USMC. The Marines.
His whore of an ex decided to sleep with another man while he was away on duty, only for him to come home a day early and find the guy in his bed. Fucking his wife.
Needless to say, she was out on her ass thirty minutes later, crying and begging for him to take her back, that the other guy meant nothing to her.
“Bullshit!” Ivan had screamed as he’d pushed her out and slammed the door.
He needed an outlet that wasn’t alcohol. He couldn’t relapse back into alcoholism now. Not after nearly fifteen years of sobriety. Now that was bullshit..so after nearly a week of staring at his gun like it was holding a very interesting conversation with him, he decided to get himself a fluffy. He wasn’t going to spend a penny on one of those worthless shitrats, so he went out trying to find a feral.
In the city, they were as common as a roach in filth, so it didn’t take long before he was approached by a winged blue fluffy, who tapped at his leg, begging for a new daddeh.
Fuckin’ gross..
“Sure, I’ll be your new daddy. Come with me, fluffy. I’ll give ya a niiice warm house and some spaghetti, yeah?”
The fluffy cooed and tapped its hooves excitedly on the ground, following Greene back to his house, having to run to keep up with his pace, even though he was really just walking, cooing happily now that it had a new daddeh.
Ian opened his front door and led the gross shitrat down into his basement, where he said that the fluffy would be living, although he really had no plans for this thing to survive for long.
The basement was cold and damp, and the fluffy, with a concerned voice, asked: “daddeh, whas dis? Dis isn’t a pwetty safe woom.. Where’s da witta bawx fo’ good poopies?”
Ian didn’t respond, only turning to snatch the fluffy by its scruff and strung it up only using his belt. He fastened the belt around its waist and hooked it up with a rusty nail that had been there, lodged in a support beam for god knows how long.
“ain’t no litter box, shitrat. You’re my bitch now, motherfucker.” Ian finally said, grabbing the helpless creature by its hair.
The fluffy was squealing, crying and flailing around, trying to get out of his grip, begging him to “wet fwuffy down! Pweeese, fwuffy am fo’ huggies- a-and wuv!” but of course, with its dumb stubby legs and useless brain, couldn’t figure out how to escape, so it started begging, saying something about “bad upsies” whatever that shit meant.
“shut the fuck up, dumbass!” Ian hissed, grabbing a crowbar he had stored down in the basement and taking a swing at that stupid blue pegasus, causing it to swing around like some squealing pinata.
It coughed and sputtered, spitting out a heap of blood and several teeth onto the floor, gurgling and continuing to beg, now in a slightly slurred voice because of the missing teeth: “Pweese..no huwties…w-why nu daddeh…no wuv fwuffy..?”
“I never loved you. I never will. I didn’t bring you here for ‘huggies and wuv.’ I just brought you here so I could beat the shit out of you. I hate fluffies; you’re a waste of human technology.” Ian hissed
The fluffy let out saddy huu huus, crying while still flailing its stubby legs in a desperate attempt to escape. “Wingies pweeeese wet fwuffy fwy down…”
But of course, fluffies can’t fly, and..CRACK! Another strike of the crowbar against its torso made several bones break under the impact, one of its ribs breaking and puncturing a lung. It couldn’t scream anymore.
the fluffy wheezed and sputtered, shitting all over the basement floor, which Ian had already prepared with a plastic layering for easy cleaning, though regardless, he threw a heavy punch to the fluffy’s face before unhooking it from the nail not removing the belt from around its waist so it could act as a leash of sorts so the thing wouldn’t escape.
“Clean it!” Ian barked the order, and the fluffy tried to protest, but all that escaped its stupid mouth was wheezing, barely able to form words through its punctured lung.
“fwuffy no wike..nu wan num poopies…”
“Eat it or you get a boot to the ribs.” Ian spoke, his voice a cold indifference.
The fluffy began to lick up its own excrement and blood, to which it cried “no wike boo-boo juice…” but under the threat of more pain, it continued until the plastic was clean..but even then, Ian wasn’t done with the fluffy.
While it was turned, looking for any more shit or blood it had to clean, he raised his boot and brought it down hard against the fluffy’s back, breaking its spine and further shattering its ribs. The fluffy let out a wheezing cry before it was silenced with another stomp, this time to its head, crushing it in on itself.
Well..now he was done with it.
Ian rolled up the plastic and dead fluffy, leaving the basement and throwing the bloody ball of plastic and fluff into the trash.
Fucking vermin.
Ian should do this more often.
staying sober can be hard at times but it’s worth it