Continued from Honest Mistakes I: By Stwumpo
Early series of mine, yet to be finished. Got some terrific fanart of it I’ll need to hunt down.
It’s been about 3 days since the foals popped out. Meanie is already struggling to see to all the babbehs, especially since the green one is just so needy! She’s continued to call him “Wittwe Sensitibe Babbeh” and she seems to think he’s just afraid. Since his eyes opened (well, re-opened for one of them) she seems to have noticed his bum eye. Heheheh. Can’t wait for the little bastards to start walking so his fun can really begin. Hell they should start talking any day now.
You’ve been sitting in your chair over by Meanie’s nesty pretending to read a book. You’re mostly just watching carefully, waiting for an opportunity. She’s been feeding the peeping fucks all morning, when will-
You hear a soft “pbbft” as one of the babbehs makes his first poopy. Good. You were hoping it would be a boy. The dark blue Earthie lets out a pained “cheep cheep” as if to announce it. Meanie springs into action. “Nuuuu! Babbeh, nu make bad poopies! Mummah gunna hewp babbeh weawn goodest poopies nu wowwy babbeh mummah hewe.”
Good. She saw it and knew it’s bad, but also knew he’s a baby and can’t be held totally responsible.
Too bad Daddy doesn’t know that.
“Oh no! Bad poopies? Already?” Meanie sorta jumps. She’d clearly forgotten I was here. Good. I get to double dip on guilt since she knows I only came because she said something. “I’m so sorry Meanie, I know how much you hate bad poopies. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the little Poopy Baby, you keep giving the bestest milkies.”
Her face twists. “Poopy babbeh? Nu daddeh, nu am poopy babbeh, onwy bad mummahs beweeve in poopy babbeh, dey nu weaw! Aww babbehs am gud babbehs!” Oh, perfect. Knew I’d picked the right stray. “No, I’m not saying he is a poopy babbeh, he’s just a babbeh that poopied! Although…” You stroke your chin in thought. “It’s a pretty good name.” You bend down and snatch him up. “How about it kiddo? Awe yoo daddeh’s wittle poopy baby?” Meanie starts to whimper. And hey, there’s that pathetic fucking tapping. “Bu…bu daddeh, Poopy nu am pwetty namesie, am poopy namesie! Pwease nu gib gud babbeh poopy namesie!” Christ, she doesn’t even seem aware she’s doing it. It’s like her brain is afraid and telling her to run while also acknowledging that running would make the stress and danger WORSE since it’s all emotional anyway. Time for the ol’ “Half Listener” routine.
“Hmm? Oh, yeah. That’s right Meanie, his name is Poopy! I’m glad you were able to learn it so quickly. You’re such a smart girl! Now daddy’s gonna go clean him up and help him make better poopies.” She tries to stammer interruptions the whole time but you’ve always found that if you just keep talking they’ll listen to you rather than try to further assert themselves. It’s the only way they can understand what’s going on, talking and listening are both hard. “Nu daddeh, nu unnawstan Meanie! Pwease, mummah s’pose tu gib wicky cweanies! Mummah s’pose tu teach make gud poopies! Nu take babbeh way!” Again, time to teach her to pick words more carefully. “No silly, I’m not taking Poopy, I’m just bringing him to the kitchen for a bath! I’ll bring him right back, don’t worry.” You’re already crossing the room before she can get up off her built in seatcushion made of fluff, fat, and crotchtit. You’re out the door by the time she realizes she can’t just leave her 5 chirpy babbehs. Not worth the risk, especially Sensitive Babbeh! No, when daddy gets like this, he can’t be stopped. She loves you so so so much but she wishes you weren’t such a dummeh. It makes her sad because she doesn’t want you to get hurties.
It hasn’t made her afraid until today.
You enter the kitchen with Lil’ Poopy in your hand. You stroke his swollen tummy softly, eliciting a contented series of “coo” noises. Looking closer at him you see he’s got some poopies left in his peachfluff around his poopy place. Great. You hate cleaning shit. You’re lucky you went mostly noseblind over the summer. Guess COVID was good for more than just giving you an excuse to avoid humanity.
You’d been preparing for this part.
Over at the kitchen sink you’ve got a straight razor, shaving powder, some off brand hair removal shampoo that you picked because it was called “Follicide” and you can’t help loving a good pun, a box of q tips, and some glass sounding rods you bought online.
<AUTHOR’S NOTE: IF Y’ALL AIN’T SUPER INTO COCK TORTURE DON’T MAKE MY MISTAKE AND GOOGLE SOUNDING RODS BECAUSE YOU “REMEMBER THAT’S LIKE A GLASS DOWEL OR SOME SHIT” BECAUSE IT’LL FUCK UP YOUR WHOLE AFTERNOON OH AND ALSO THEY’RE RODS YOU SHOVE IN YOUR DICKHOLE AND LEAVE THERE LIKE YOU’RE SOME SHITHEAD 21ST CENTURY ALBERT FISH>
You hold Poopy over the sink. He’s one of two babbehs whose see places haven’t opened yet. As you turn on the cold water, you dare to hope that’ll change momentarily. Placing him under the faucet, your prayers are answered. His eyes shoot open. The first thing he sees is your face, but unlike his brother, his eyes will not be harmed by your brilliance.
He’s screeching and peeping so hard. Writhing his stubby little legs around trying to gain traction in the open air. After a couple seconds, you pull him back and turn the water to a nice comfortable lukewarm. Don’t want him passing out or getting hypothermia.
While the water heated up, you grasped him under his armpits with your left thumb and forefinger, exposing his belly. You take your right hand and gently but firmly squeeze him. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to squish the remaining poopies out of him. You see him tense and pucker trying to hold it in. Last time he made poopies things got really scary so he has to hold it in now. You squeeze a bit harder a bit quicker and it does the trick. He gasps for air (and probably a little bit in pain) as his sphincter releases and he purges into the sink.
This will be the last time in his life he ever has anywhere near that level of control over when and where he makes poopies.
“Cheep! Poopy! Cheep! Peep! Babbeh poopy!”
Oh that is too rich. You’d say “Meanie isn’t gonna believe this” but frankly Meanie would believe you if you said his first words were “fetch me my cloak and summon my horse.” She’s not so much smart as she is well intentioned and clever.
“That’s right! You did make poopies! But you made bad poopies on daddy’s floor!”
“Babbeh…ba’…poopies?”
“That’s right. And that makes you a bad baby.”
Poopy recoiled in horror. “NUUUU! Peep! Cheep! Nu wan! Cheep cheep peep! Babbeh gu’ babbeh! Peep!”
“Oh don’t worry Poopy, I’m gonna help you. I’m your daddy, and that means I have to make sure you only make good poopies!” He calms down a bit at this and starts nuzzling my hand. Feels like one of those teddy bear ornaments that are supposed to look soft but are in fact glass with a thin layer of fuzz on them has come to life. I gently place him on a soap dish I rigged up to act as a leg immobilizer.
“Peep! Daddeh! Peep peep!” He has no idea what’s coming. I powder his backside a bit to prep for the razor. Not wanting to harm the poor thing, I gently swept it over his poopy place four or five times. Very very careful so as not to harm his special lumps. He’s not the one who suffers that indignity.
He’s noticed what little insulation he had feels gone. “Peep! Cowd! Babbeh cowd!” Good. You fucked up my carpet. I get a squirt of the Follicide and slowly apply it to his whole backside, rubbing it in for total coverage. In doing so, my thumb crosses his lumps and nono stick. They’re tiny and delicate. You think that’s why you prefer tormenting colts and stallions. For all their bravado, the ol’ balls and chain are awful vulnerable. Some fluffies basically have them just sticking out when they’re walking. On more than one occasion you’ve hucked a small rock at a fluffies sack just to see if the shit spray helps him accelerate.
Not here for that. Quit being weird about his balls. His balls aren’t special, they’re just a part you’ll flick if he ever seems to be too happy. Bring him down a peg. No, the important balls are on one of his brothers. “Important” in that you’re gonna take them away, not insofar as they’re remarkable. They aren’t. He’s a fluffy. They’re all fluffies. They’re Furbies that shit.
His cooing stops as you quit rubbing him. You grab a small rag and sorta buff his hindquarters to dry them a bit. He’s staying in the leg thing, though.
“Okay Poopy, now since you made bad poopies and became a bad baby, daddy has to fix your poopy place now. That way it’ll always work right. You’ll only make poopies when you choose to, so after today no more bad poopies. Okay?”
“Peep! Daddeh! Peep cheep! Poopy!”
Fuck it, not like he has a say in it. You grab one of the q tips and collect some Vaseline. You spread it around his poopy place a bit before pressing it towards the hole. The peeping grows frantic and shrill as you press in and the q tip is swallowed up. You leave it there and walk across to get your cup of coffee. “Peep! Owies! Peep cheep! Poopie huwties!”
Heh.
You head back over and wordlessly remove the q tip. Poopy squawks a bit but is visibly relieved when it comes out. “Good boy, Poopy. You’re being very brave. Now just six more to go!” Before he can process what you’ve said, the smallest rod goes in and he shrieks again. He’s stopped making words at this point and is sticking to the chirpies and the peeps that he’s used to. You leave the rod in for about ten minutes, then remove it and immediately replace it with the next one up. Each transfer is trivial and quick for you but traumatic for Poopy. Still no words as you reach the last rod. As you insert it, you go around in front of Poopy to speak to his sobbing pathetic face for the first time putting him down.
“Now Poopy, daddy needs to go get something that will really help you! I’ll be right back!”
He weeps harder. It’s all huhuhu this and screeee that and peep cheep whatever. Fucking little fuck. You were so excited he’d started talking and the second you get into it he stops? Fuck him. He deserves this. You reenter the room with a small butt plug. Small for you, decent size for a fluffy, but far too big for a babbeh.
Hence the sounding rods.
By now his asshole should be loose enough to insert the plug without risking damage. You can leave it there for a day or so before sink-purging him again. What’s great is that by the end of the week you can remove the plug and let him figure it out. It’s worth the cleaning to see what is sure to be the worst parenting nightmare of a fluffy’s life.
“Buddy? Can you hear me? Poopy? Ya there?” He snaps out of his pathetic whimpering thousand yard stare. “Huuuhuuuuhuuuuuu babbeh…poopy…huwties…s…see daddeh…nee mummah…” Perfect. He’s in hell. “Alright poopy I’m gonna take the hurties out of your poopy place and replace them with something more comfortable.” It wasn’t entirely false. I’m loosening his shitter so it doesn’t tear as the plug goes in, but the thick part will be inside where there’s actually some room. His asshole will be dealing with less than a third the diameter he’s got now. It’ll suck, but he’ll feel better.
You indelicately remove the rod and quickly replace it with the tip of the plug. “Remember to tell daddeh if you have hurties so daddeh can help you.” Not waiting for a response, you push it in. It goes way easier than you’d anticipated. Looks like your idea worked exactly how you’d hoped. He yelps a bit as it enters, but once it’s over the hump he sighs in relief.
“Fankyu daddeh! Nu huwties! Peep! Wub!”
Christ, this is gonna be almost too easy.