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The guest room had a new occupant now that Lucy’s days had come to a merciful end. Duncan was living in there now but not in the closet. All of the furniture in it had been removed and something new was in place: A long metal slab of a table along with a few basic pieces of medical equipment. The basic things like an IV pole, a chest of drawers containing various implements. Of course, the cameras too.
Duncan was strapped to the table all day every day. He wasn’t fat enough to be immobile yet but the leather straps cinched around him took that small blessing away. He was forced to be on his back, staring up at studio lights and the red dots of recording equipment all day every day. This was the special 24/7 Duncan stream. No matter what time of the day you could pop right in to see the little guy crying, looking around nervously, or simply sitting there staring blankly into space. It really depended on the time of the day, but viewers always checked in around 5 PM EST. You see, that was dinner time.
Duncan didn’t eat that much these days. Diane had taken a ‘Quality over quantity’ approach as of late. Every day around dinner time she came in, humming to herself, rolled open her little set of drawers. Most of the time all she needed was a scalpel and a sharp pair of shears. The woman scored nickel and dime incisions across his flesh, lifting out the smallest chunks from the fleshier areas. To staunch the bleeding she simply hit him with a good shake of alum powder, as they were often shallow wounds. For the larger ones she had to get out the suture kit but that was rare. At least in the beginning.
The fluffy was real cold these days. She’d shaved off all his fur in order to best get a crack at his meat. Oh, and you wouldn’t think it but he was always hungry too. He only got to eat several small chunks of meat a day, small circlets of flesh pulled straight from his own body and fried in a hotplate beside the bed. There was nothing else provided to him, and the audience got a real kick out of seeing him drool as his flesh cooked up right beside him.
Special parts of his body to get offered up always brought in a heavy crowd and was advertised excessively beforehand. The day she’d removed his ears, coated them in flour, and fried them in olive oil had gotten her nearly five grand in donations.
“Hey guys! Today we’re celebrating Oktoberfest. And what’s Oktoberfest without sausage?” Diane asked the cameras one day with a big smile. Duncan’s eyes rolled. All he wanted was food. Kibble, a chirpy, even his own mummah. He was so hungry these days. It hurt so bad. When he felt the scalpel remove his no-no stick and speciaw wumps, he gave a small ‘huuuu’, only because the thought of food was so close. After greedily numming his own genitals to the enthused cheering of thousands of online onlookers, he could only cry for more.
“Pwease mummah. Ducken am gud fwuffy. Num aw da nummies. Pwease.” He cried for her to remove more of his body, but she wouldn’t.
Eventually she’d figured out how to rig it up so donors could leave stream messages read aloud to Duncan. The only sounds in the room were them leaving a tip and mocking him for most of the day in a robotic text-2-speech voice:
Duncansux has tipped $4.20: Hey dipshit, I’m eating a big plate of skettis!
Dianeishot has tipped $69.69: Make him eat his own ass!
Hatefluffies666 has tipped $5: GET FUCKED TRASH LOLOLOLOL
The only way he was kept alive was with IV bags. One for fluids, the other filled a slew of antibiotics. He was on a precarious slope of likely getting a Hell of a case of sepsis one day.
“Huu…buwny-huwties…nuu…” They always felt like fire going in. His entire body often did. It wasn’t uncommon for him to develop a flash fever, temperature suddenly spiking up before the antibiotics could fight whatever nasty bugs were getting through his wounds. He’d hallucinate, shiver against the metal table, screech and have seizures.
The longer it went on the less he had to spare and it was becoming more apparent each and every day that he was likely going to die if she kept taking and taking from a nearly empty vessel. One day she’d decided to take a rather drastic step and have one of her special streams. You see, he still had most of his teeth. While Lucy had been fed a constant stream of sweet or acidic foods which had rotted most of hers away, he’d been eating far more meat. She took the time to yank each of them out with a pair of pliers, dragging them out by and wrenching until they came free from the root. Duncan didn’t even do much. On occasion he’d stop whimpering and pass out from the shock his body was being put through then came roaring right back when she forced smelling salts under his nose to deny him that reprieve. The teeth were pulverized into dust with a mortar and pestle (easier than it sounded: Fluffy teeth were notoriously soft), the fine powder deposited into what little thin and anemic blood she could draw from him.
Duncan gulped down the drink and asked for more.
The woman knew her little project was going to come to an end soon. These were the final days and it was important that she find a replacement and set an example while he was still clinging to desperate life.
“Teehee! Wub nyu housie!” Said the new fluffy as they both walked in after getting home from the Fluffmart. She was a bright little soul which Diane had named Polly. Polly was so excited! Mummah had bought her skettis for her first meal here. Just as she’d done for Lucy. Just as she’d done for Duncan.
“I have something to show you. Come here.” Diane picked up Polly and held her up in one arm, leading her off to the guest bedroom.
Duncan heard the door open and the voice of the new fluffy. It didn’t really matter much. Just like Lucy he wanted to tell the newcomer to run away. That this was a munstah house. He couldn’t though. Diane had decided that since he was basically on his way out at this point that it was time to put on one last big hurrah. His abdomen had been slit open. A coil of intestines had been pulled out from him, drawn out, slipped so far into his mouth that all he could do was try and chew against them with his gums uselessly. Polly got a good look at Duncan.
“MUNSTAH! IT AM MUNSTAH, MUMMAH!” She cried and pressed her face to Diane’s chest to hide from the sight. Duncan felt the same shame and pain that his predecessor had. That he could make anything feel that way.
“That’s right, sweetheart. That’s what happens when you don’t eat all your nummies for mummah.” Diane told her with a reassuring rub.
That wasn’t true though. Duncan had eaten all of his.
(End)