Enjoy this complementary Carpdime art story filled with foal abuse!
To say that fluffy ponies breed like rabbits is an understatement. Fluffy mares were designed to pump out offspring at astonishing rates, producing an average of 5 to 6 foals per week. Such high reproduction rates were meant to fit within an industrial mindset of product manufacturing efficiency, owing to the fluffy’s purpose as a cheap disposable toy.
Some fluffy-centric stores make the mistake of boasting too many breeding mares, leading to an unwanted surplus of fluffy foals. To avoid the high costs of maintaining so many fluffies, stores often sell boxfuls of chirping foals at a discounted price, regardless of their fluff coloration.
Usually, the only people who would purchase so many foals are reptile owners seeking to feed their pets or abusers craving easy prey. Those who love to inflict misery and pain onto fluffies may find their juvenile forms more enticing, they were more naive and helpless than their older counterparts, all the more satisfying to break apart.
It’s a sunny day on the West Coast of the United States, brimming with people basking in the warmth of summertime. Lounging alongside strip malls and recreational parks lies a warehouse-sized Fluffy-Mart, selling a wide variety of fluffies and fluffy accessories.
With so many customers during the summer, the Fluffy-Mart breeding chambers accumulate an abundance of pregnant mares to keep up with the insatiable demand. Products ranging from sparkling alicorns to the poop munching litter pals line the shelves, bought and restocked by the dozens each day.
Eventually, the buying frenzy dies down as the lively summer months are eaten away by the mild arrival of autumn. The Fluffy-Mart, once rife with frequent shoppers, is now left with an unwanted excess of squealing smelly fluffies. Thus begins the year-round pattern of emptying the store’s reserves, with boxes of foals crammed into the bargain bins, sold off as a commodity.
The hapless critters will often be shipped off to the factories to be processed into kibble and fed to their kind. Cargo stuffed to the brim with crying squirming foals, struggling to breathe and shitting amongst themselves, are poured into meat grinders, meeting a gruesome end as cold steel easily crushes their feeble flesh and bone into a mush.
Allured by their low price, reptile owners treat their scaly animals to a feast of multi-colored morsels. A red earth foal drums his tender hoof pads against the wall of a glass enclosure, in a vain attempt to escape the encroaching python.
In a flash, the snake snaps its jaws around the foal’s squishy body, constricting its prey within coils of cold-blooded muscle. The foal’s last few conscious thoughts were overshadowed by the tight slimy confines of the python’s stomach.
Lastly, the rest of the foal boxes will usually end up in the clutches of bloodthirsty abusers, seeking to indulge themselves in the utter despair of the young critters. One box of foals, in particular, is purchased by a pale slim man, fueled by the dark fantasies plaguing his thirsting mind.
In the box, a purple unicorn foal manages to pry open his eyes for the first time, only to find himself engulfed in darkness, buried under a layer of cramped foals. His ears and nose were aching from the incessant wails and stinking shit stains of his brethren.
“Wan mummah! Wan huggies!” cried one foal.
“Nu wike sowwy box! Huuuhuu!’ sobbed another.
A few days older than his fellow foals, he mustered up the strength to shove and wiggle his way to the surface, instinctively drinking up the fresh air above the tumbling mass of flailing limbs, snouts, and rumps.
He was no different from any other mass-produced fluffy foal, being taken from his breeding mare mother within the moment he was born, blind and chirping, innately desiring the warm hugs and soothing licks of his mother, only to be tossed into a musty box, crammed amongst similarly love-deprived newborns, kept alive by the occasional sip of soy protein formula.
Now, he was stressed and confused, standing on top of his scrambling peers, unable to see above the tall barriers of the box they were confined in. A harsh fluorescent light from above strained his retinas, the head of a lamp peering right into the center of the whining foals.
A particularly noisy pink pegasus, her sight still undeveloped, lost control of her bowels and sprayed a torrent of feces, right into the face of the purple foal. It was not uncommon for fluffies to shit themselves under distress, it was known as “scaredey poopsies”
“Icky! Nu smeww pwetty! Nu taste pwetty!” yelped the purple foal, his snout stained with putrid fecal matter. He fruitlessly tried to wipe the sludge off with his marshmallow hooves, gagging in disgust.
“Oh me, oh my. Can it be? A foal that can speak and see?” sang the man who bought the box of adolescent fluffies, a sinister melody in his tone. His pale gaunt face replaced the head lamp’s white glare, locking eyes with the poop-smeared purple foal.
Ingrained within his fluffy physiology, a primal urge for tender human care, surged throughout the foal’s genetically programmed neural pathways. Here, the foal saw a face that promised comfort and endearment. Perhaps this man will be his new owner?
“Nyu daddeh? Babbeh haf poopie smeww, cwean babbeh pwease?” asked the purple foal, standing ontop of his fellow fluffies, with his front hooves raised and pressed against the wall of the box.
“Well, since you are the first to open your eyes, I suppose you can enjoy the show,” said the man with a plastered grin, grasping the foal tightly and lifting him out of the crowded mewling pile.
“Owies! Bad upsies!” gasped the purple foal, his delicate ribcage squeezed together, weak lungs struggling to inhale.
Desperately trying to breathe with the man’s iron grip compressing his torso, the foal managed to get a view of his surroundings. They were underground, in a dimly lit basement, the box of foals lying on a long table. An assortment of tools and items filled the table space, stuff that the naive foal could not discern.
Still holding the wheezing foal, the man retrieved a small plastic pillory with 4 holes and a velcro strap. The man clamped the pillory around the foal’s legs and fastened down his back with the strap, restraining his movement entirely. To finish it off, he placed the bound fluffy onto a nearby shelf, facing the long table at the other end of the room.
“Weggies nu work! Nu wike dis toysie! Gib bad huggies!” whined the foal, unable to shake off his constraints. Stubby limbs twitched uselessly, confined within their plastic prison. Why did his owner do this to him? How is he supposed to run and play now?
“Lucky you!” spoke the man with false cheer, who picked up the squealing pink pegasus, and used his other hand to grab a pair of tweezers.
“You shall be my spectator!” The man forced the tweezer into the foal’s mouth, scraping her tender palate and gums.
The pink foal was distressed, her maw begged for a soft “milkie pwace” to suckle milk from, only to feel a sharp painful chafing, her chubby limbs flailed uselessly as the metal instrument probed her oral cavity.
Soon, the man found his target and pinched the thin tongue of the foal, slowly pulling and stretching out the weak flesh.
“Chrip! Chirp! Eeeek!” cried the pink foal, her tongue torn off like a bandage, hanging by the grip of the tweezers.
“Nuuuu! Why mistah gib babbeh mouthie hurties! Huuhuu!” wailed the horrified purple foal, his first experience with a human consisting of terror.
The purple fluffy lost control of his bowels, and an adrenalin surge of shit erupted out of his rear end, splattering against the wall behind him.
“Scarey poopsies!” gasped the purple foal, squirming in his plastic restraints, catching the attention of the man.
“Ooooo… You just earned yourself special treatment for that!” stated the man, returning his gaze to the quivering pink foal in his hand.
The pink foal choked and gurgled on her blood, a ruby-red fountain filling her throat. She hadn’t even opened her eyes yet, the only life experiences she had were the musty box and cruel pain.
The man was far from finished with her, proceeding to jab the tweezer into one of her eye sockets. The pink foal screeched as a horrible stabbing sensation ripped through her eyelid.
Meticulously, the eyeball was pulled out, its short cord stretching and snapping. With a smirk, the man plucked out the other eyeball, eliciting another blood-curdling cry.
“Huuuhuuu! Why mistah so meanie!” whined the purple foal, tears moistening his cheek fluff, his legs bruising from their confines.
He didn’t understand! Everything in his gut feeling told him that humans were supposed to provide love and care to fluffies! To see the man be so cruel and heartless to a fluffy felt wrong in every way possible!
“Oh I’m just getting started!” laughed the man, who dropped the permanently blind and dying pink foal into a nearby trashcan.
The man grabbed an orange earth pony colt, his raggedy fluff stained with shit. He was crying nonstop, begging his absent mother to comfort him.
“Mummah! Wan mummah! Haf so many heart owies! Huuuhuuu!” sobbed the orange foal, his pudgy torso in the tight grip of the man.
Taking out a sheet of sandpaper, the man taped the abrasive surface to the tabletop. Gripping the back of the foal, he pressed its abdomen against the gritty cloth.
“Owies! Nu wike meanie floor! Gib babbeh hurties!” complained the orange foal, his soft plump belly chafing against the rough sandpaper.
In a slow glacial motion, the man slid the foal over the sandpaper, rubbing the sensitive abdomen into the scratchy material, as if using a cheese grater.
“Eeek! Nu wike! Nu wike!” screamed the foal as friction easily tore off his belly fluff.
The man gradually sped up, wiping the fluffy back and forth. The orange foal screamed some more, each painful wail louder than the last.
First, the foal’s stomach fluff was yanked out; then, layers of skin were scraped off. The sandpaper reddened, as the foal’s flesh was eaten away. It was a sluggish agonizing process.
What were minutes felt like hours for the tortured foal, his screaming simmering down to a gurgle as his innards popped open and puddled onto the sandpaper.
Noticing the foal’s silence, the man held the fluffy closer to his face, taking a good look. The foal’s ribcage was exposed, intestines hung like vines, and his chin scraped to the jawbone.
“Nuuu! Why mistah huwt babbehs! Fwuffies s’pose tu pway en be happi! Huuuhuu!” rasped the purple foal, his throat sore and heart in shambles, drowning in empathetic horror towards the tortured screams of his fellow fluffies.
Satisfied with his handiwork, the man disposed of the corpse and moved on to a new foal. This time, he grabbed an emaciated green foal, its faded fluff revealing a sunken belly. Unlike the rest, this foal hasn’t adequately received enough of the store’s daily soy formula supplement.
“Chirp! Chirp! Babbeh nee milkies! Su hungwy en thiwsty, huuhuu!” whined the malnourished foal, his stubby front hooves wiggling blindly at the air.
Thinking of fitting fate for this green foal, the man came to a conclusion when he spotted a bottle of disinfectant bleach. Snatching a plastic syringe from the menagerie of tabletop tools, he withdrew a crayon-sized amount of the potent chemical, filling up the syringe.
Still gripping the green foal, he gently positioned the blunt nozzle of the syringe into the fluffy’s gaping maw. Blindly, the foal wrapped his lips around the plastic tip, erroneously thinking he was going to be fed nourishing milk.
The syringe was pushed down, and the entirety of its contents surged throughout the foal’s digestive tract. Initially, it was an intense bitterness that violated the fluffy’s tastebuds, causing the critter to convulse in disgust, unable to vomit out the bleach against the pressure flow of the syringe.
Shortly after, it was an excruciating burn that jumped across the soft innards of the foal, the caustic chemical drying up his weak tissues, melting his nervous system apart.
The green foal was in unbearable pain, his lack of substance combined with ingesting the toxic fluid wreaked havoc on his fragile physiology. With one final twitch, the foal succumbed to the potency of the bleach, dying with a harsh bitter taste in his mouth.
At this point, the purple foal, frozen in his inescapable restraints, was psychologically traumatized beyond repair. The most sensitive period of his childhood was permanently tainted by the wicked machinations of this human. He was designed to play, hug, and receive tender-loving care, only to be betrayed by the gruesome reality set in front of him.
“Well, that’s enough for today! I have business with my special guest!” praised the man, facing his attention toward the near-comatose purple foal.
Unlocking the plastic stocks confining the foal’s limbs, the man squeezed the fluffy and used his free hand to pick up a scalpel. As if to test whether or not the foal was still responsive, he held the critter against the table top and pressed the scalpel blade against one of its chubby legs.
“Eeeek! Wowstest owies!” yelped the purple foal, snapping out of his stupor, a sharp pinching pain creeping over his right thigh.
Smiling, the man pushed the scalpel back and forth, easily slicing through weak flesh and bone. Sobbing cries of pain filled the chamber, and the foal inwardly pleaded with all his heart for the agony to stop, for someone to save him from the torment and shower him with loving care.
One by one, each of the foal’s legs was sliced clean off, leaving useless bloody stumps. Never having experienced so much both mental and physical pain in his short life, the foal fainted and dropped his head down into the cold smooth table.
When the foal woke up from his dreamless sleep, he found himself in the darkness, tasting a rancid sludge pouring down his gullet. He was unable to vomit or at least spit out the vile slurry, and he saw why. There was a flexible plastic tube lodged into his throat, connected to a can-sized machine that pumped the disgusting gunk into his stomach.
The foal tried to lift himself, thinking he could run away from the rotten concoction, only to find no movement whatsoever. He came to a horrible realization when he saw twitching fleshy bumps replacing his legs. He was unable to move or talk, only able to languish in the darkness whilst constantly tasting a putrid smoothie.
In a flash, light filled the room, blinding the amputated foal, still lying on top of the shelf from the day before. Clambering down the stairs was the same man who tortured his fellow fluffies. He wore a sinister smile, no doubt ready to continue his streak of cruelty.
“This will be your new life shit-rat! You will be kept fed and alive, just to spectate my magnificent acts! Consider yourself lucky, you will be my permanent audience, a witness!” exclaimed the man, removing the lid off the box of foals.
In the middle of the box was a pile of the man’s excrement, the only source of nourishment that the squirming chirping foals were provided. A few of the foals were dead, having died from starvation or bacterial infection. Those were the fortunate ones, leaving behind the foals who would undoubtedly suffer unspeakable tortures.
“Nu wan num poopies anymowe, huuhuuu!” cried one of the poop-smeared foals.
And so, for the rest of the purple foal’s life, he will watch the man inflict gruesome fates onto his fellow fluffies. Years would pass, and the foal would become bloated from the nauseating liquid that kept him alive, his mind broken by the countless acts of cruelty he witnessed.
Now and then, the man would nonlethally stab a needle into the purple foal, just to bring back some of its consciousness. The foal had to scream, he had to! But he couldn’t, not anymore.
With no way to escape, the foal slowly but surely accepted his utter despair. What was once a creature meant to thrive in human love and care, has been reduced to a pin cushion, wallowing in hopelessness.