In The House Of God, Ch.1 [by ChungusMyBungus]

Father Mason was not necessarily a cruel man. He was certainly a strict man, but he did not believe that made him cruel.
Of course, others said he was cruel, but they were all fools, every one of them. After all, Mason was only doing what people had done for hundreds, even thousands of years already, preaching words that had been recited millions of times before.
Why should they suddenly be an issue now?
Some called him a bigot. Others claimed his church was nothing but a breeding-ground for hatred. He cared not. All that mattered was his faith in God.
And so, every Sunday, Mason would walk into his church and provide a sermon for the loyal followers of his town. He would tell them about the evils of homosexuality, the terror of the non-white invaders, and the importance of never letting women have a say in anything.

…he just couldn’t understand why attendance kept dwindling.

But despite everything, Mason’s faith was unwavering and steadfast.
Even if he had nothing else… he still had God.

Mason was going about his usual Monday morning routines when it happened.
His town was small, small enough that he didn’t bother going to church unless it was to provide a sermon. If anyone needed him, they simply came to his home and knocked on his door directly.
Of course, that had happened less and less over time. As Mason’s hair had gone white and his skin had begun to sag, his congregation became smaller and smaller.
In fact, nobody had knocked on his door at all for six months… until that Monday morning.

Mason stopped in the middle of washing his dishes and opened the door, fully ready to greet whoever was awaiting him… but there was nobody there.
At least, there was no person there.
What there was, however, was a herd of fluffy ponies that had trampled their way onto his lawn, stomped their way across his path and pounding their tiny, grubby hooves on his door. At the very front of the group was a fat one, a unicorn with bright red fur and a permanent scowl on it’s flabby face.
“Hooman! Dis Smawty wand nao! Gib homesy an’ nummies!” The fluffy barked at him. Evidently it was ‘Smarty’.
“No, it is the land of God.” Mason replied calmly, determined not to let this wretched abomination of science annoy him.
“Nu, stoopid! Dis SMAWTY wand, STOOPID!” The Smarty replied, stomping it’s hooves on the ground.
“No.” Mason repeated, his calmness starting to fade. “This is the land of God. He created it, He formed it, He grew it and loved it, He-”

A nerve in Mason’s forehead twitched. Maybe getting angry at it wasn’t so bad after all.

He had heard all about the things, of course. Everyone had. Twisted freaks of nature made in laboratories (probably by Democrats too), birthed not by God’s divine hand but by man’s rusty scalpel.
Mason had never liked them. They were an affront to God with their very existence. Purely by living, they were spiting Him, and Mason would not stand for that.
He looked at the ragtag herd. Pregnant mothers with no concept of marriage, others like the Smarty who dared to defy the magnificence and glory of God… and yet they had been brought to him, the noblest, purest, most devout Christian there had ever been.
Clearly this was God’s plan, not only for him, but for the herd.

And therefore, whatever happened to the herd while they were in his care was exactly what God had intended to happen to them.

“Very well.” Mason said. “You will live on this land with me. You will eat with me, and pray with me, but you will only do so as long as you prove yourself worthy of God’s mercy.”
“Wan sketties!” Smarty snorted, not listening to anything Mason said.
“Come along.” Mason replied, also not listening to anything the Smarty said. He led the herd into his garage and, once they were all inside, lowered the door, closing them in.
“Otay dummeh hooman, whewe sketties?” Smarty huffed, already impatient.
“This is where you will sleep.” Mason said, gesturing around the hard concrete floor and the bare brick walls. He had never owned a car, he had no need for one, so the garage was mostly used for storage… but even then, Mason had little property he needed to store anyway.
The garage was essentially empty, except for it’s floor which was now teeming with multicolored balls of fuzz of various sizes, all glumly looking around at the cold, hard environment they would now have to live in.

Mason opened the side door of the garage which led out to the back yard. He walked out, and beckoned for the herd to follow him, which they did. Once by one the fluffies waddled out again, finding themselves now in a sparse patch of grass. No trees, no flowers, no ornaments… just a plain square of ground surrounded on all sides by a strong wooden fence.
Mason had always intended to do something with the land, but had simply never gotten around to it. Now he wouldn’t need to… because the fluffies would do it for him.

“This is where you are going to work.” He told the fluffies.
“Wowk?” One asked.
“Wha ‘wowk’?” Another asked, tilting it’s head to one side.
Of course, Mason thought to himself, Never done a day’s work in their lives, just like those damn Jews up in Washington.
“Work is what you have to do if you want to remain here. I’ll go to the store later and get what we need, then you’ll start working. You’ll plant vegetables and tend to them over time. When they’re grown, they’ll be harvested and eaten. Every Sunday, you’ll attend a sermon in the garage.”
“Wha’ ‘sewmon’?” Another fluffy asked. Mason bristled slightly at it’s lack of knowledge, but continued.
“A sermon is when I will bestow upon you the glory of God’s majesty.” The fluffies didn’t know what any of that meant, but it sounded impressive, and some let out quiet 'ooh’s.
Some, but not the Smarty, who continued to glare at Mason.

“Some people consider Sunday a day of rest… but I am not one of them. You will work on Sunday the same way you work any day. If you do not work, you will be punished. After all, idle hands are the devil’s playthings.” Mason said, using a phrase which he had always taken to mean ‘laziness is a sin’.
The fluffies looked around, slowly becoming less certain with their new home.
Fortunately for them, their Smarty was there, and he stepped out of the herd to tell Mason exactly what he thought about the entire situation.
“DUMMEH HOOMAN!” Smarty bellowed at him. “Nu wan do 'wowk’s owe ‘swemon’s! Hewd wan’ SKETTIES!”
The herd murmured in agreement. Spaghetti did sound a lot better than working.
Mason simply glared back at them all, feeling himself starting to itch at their insubordination.
“For now, you will return to the garage and wait for me. I’m going out to buy your food and everything we need for the garden. Then when I get back, the work will begin.”

An hour later, Mason returned. The fluffies had been locked in the garage and left to their own devices, which meant milling around complaining about being hungry, cold and bored with nothing to play with.
He opened the side-door, having taken the long way through his home and yard to enter the garage to ensure none of the fluffies would escape through the front way… but as soon as the door opened, a foul smell wafted out.
The smell of shit.

Mason stepped into the garage and looked around. All the fluffies were quietly wandering, nobody talking, nobody doing anything in particular… but they were all avoiding a patch of ground in the center of the garage floor, where a large coiled turd had been dumped.
“Shut up.” Mason replied, cutting him off as he closed the door behind himself with a slam. “Who did that?”
“DO WHA’?!” One of the fluffies suddenly squeaked, staring fixedly up at the ceiling. “FWUFFEH NU DU NUFFIN! FWUFFEH A GUD FWUFFEH! AWWAYS MAKE GUD POOPIES!”
Mason walked across the room, the sea of fluffies parting to avoid his footsteps as he approached the fluffy and it’s guilty conscience. The rest of the formerly feral herd backed away, leaving the guilty fluffy alone, sitting in the darkness as Mason’s shadow fell over it.

Mason reached to his hips and unbuckled his belt, sliding it off with a sound not unlike the slithering of a snake, gripping the metal buckle in his hand as the long strip of leather hung by his side.
With one quick swipe of his free hand he snatched up the fluffy, which let out an ‘eep!’ and a quick spurt of frightened piss.
“Did you shit on the floor?” Mason asked it.
“NU! DAT NU FWUFFEH!” The fluffy replied, it’s eyes darting around frantically for any way of escaping.
“Then where did it come from?” Mason asked.
“UH… UM… UH… UM… UH…” The fluffy babbled incoherently, it’s eyes snapping around in all directions as it desperately looked for salvation. “UH… A MUNSTAH!!!” It finally said.
“A monster?” Mason asked. “And where did it go?”
“Uh… dunno…?” The fluffy replied.
It’s lies were so pathetic, it almost made Mason wince.

“You not only made a mess of your own home, but you lied about it too.” He said, gripping the belt tighter in his hand. “Don’t you know that lies are an affront to God?”
“Buh… buh nu knu wha’ ‘gohd’ is…” The fluffy mewled.
“Because you couldn’t even wait for me to explain anything to you before you decided to shit on the floor.” Mason replied, turning and holding the fluffy aloft for the rest of the herd to see. Sure enough, it’s rear was caked in brown stains and lumps, some of which were still glistening and wet.
Case closed.

Mason walked over to the side door and kicked it open, striding out into the midday sunlight.
“Follow me.” He snapped at the herd, who quietly filed out of the garage behind him.
Before heading to the garage, Mason had setup everything he’d needed for his project. There were several large, rectangular patches of land marked out by wooden pegs and a low barrier of string tied around them, which he had designated as the ‘garden’. There were two long, low troughs, one he had filled with water, the other he had left empty, to be filled with food later. A couple of children’s watering-cans sat next to the troughs, already filled and waiting to be used, and leaning up against the garage wall, some large sacks of vegetable seeds.
And, in the middle of the garden, standing atop a heavy box, was a plastic leg-locking restraint device for punishing fluffies. Mason carried the guilty fluffy over to it and shoved his legs into it one by one, ignoring his ‘NU TAKE WEGGIES!’ cries as he did so.
He had no intention of taking his legs. He was going to do something else.

“This is your punishment”. He said loudly, ensuring the rest of the herd were listening as the guilty fluffy wailed and cried inside the restraint. “Your punishment for being filthy, vile, disgusting creatures… and your punishment for daring to lie.”
Mason reeled back with his arm before suddenly scything it down, the black leather belt hissing as it shot through the air before landing hard against the fluffy’s back with a muffled ‘SNAP’. The fluffy yowled in pain, while the rest of the herd cowered away from the whip-like belt.
Mason reeled back again and once more the belt lashed down against the fluffy’s soft, fuzzy body, the impact slightly muted by the dense fur of their namesake, but their infamous sensitivity to pain making up for it anyway. Once again, Mason sliced the belt through the air, cracking it against the fluffy’s back. It’s eyes were full of tears, it was openly pissing where it stood, and the only sound it produced was a constant wail of agony.
There was probably something in the bible about someone being whipped. Mason didn’t really know for certain, he’d only read some parts of it after all, but it was the thought that counted.

Finally, after five lashes, he stopped.
The guilty fluffy was sobbing and babbling incoherently, it’s rear caked in more shit and piss stains than it had started with, as the rest of the herd watched in terror. Even the Smarty was silent after witnessing the brutality of the whipping.
Mason turned and looked at them.
“This is what happens when you disobey.” Mason stated, pointing at the wheezing, wailing fluffy. “When you disobey me, you also disobey God, and neither of us are merciful. If you want to get into Heaven, you will do as I tell you, and never question me. Is that understood?”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the fluffies, until one voice peeped up.
“Wha’ ‘heaben’?”

Mason pinched the bridge of his nose.
This was going to be harder than he thought.



Finally got around to writing the first chapter of this. Hope you enjoy some religious-fuelled persecution of fluffies.


I hate waiting for good stuff


Funny enough, some of the most cruelest punishments are based on religion which could be used hypothetically in this story series. Such as the methods used in the Spanish Inquisition, procedures of the Inquisition were inhumane, and barbaric which probably fits Mason’s motif on purifying the the heathen creatures and he kibda reminds me of that priest character from Berserk.

Some examples he could use in the garage or garden iff the top of my head could include:

A. The Rack. We all know the rack that stretches the victim until the limbs pop from their sockets from dislocation and just ripped off entirely. One such way to make it “fluffy-sized” is probably either using a bench vice. A normal sized one for foals and a more heavy duty one for adult fluffies.

B. The Breaking Wheel. One of the most horrible wheel-related tortures the Spanish Inquisition used and it was akin to crucifixion. The victim would have the bones in all four limbs broken in two places by strikes from an iron bar. Then, the shattered limbs were threaded through the spokes of a large wheel. Finally, the wheel would be attached to the top of a tall wooden pole and left out in the sun for days. The victim might be alive for hours, enduring the agony of his or her mangled arms and legs and the relentless sun, not to mention the attentions of crows. It can be easy to make this fitting for a fluffy by using a stake or broomstick handle snd a bicycle wheel or an old-fashioned wooden wheelbarrow wheel.

C. The Pear of Anguish. This was a pear-shaped device, with the body of the pear made up of four metal “leaves” joined by a hinge at its top, and a key or crank on one end and it was a particularly nasty form of religious punishment. The pear was inserted into the vagina, anus or throat, depending on the nature of the crime committed: The oral device was reserved for heretics, while the anal and vaginal pears were used on sodomites and witches, respectively. Turning the key opened the leaves, causing massive internal damage. The device was rarely fatal but left some permanent damage in the areas used. You can already imagine this used on either a BMS mare, a stallion that doesnt care as long as they get their stones off or simply a fluffy that is very demanding and insulting to the priest and this device can be still bought online as replicas which may still do considerable damage to a Fluffy.

D. The Iron Spider. This was a female-focused torture method which involved a metal claw-like tongs or prongs that pierced the flesh of the breast. The victim was tied to a wall, and then the claw pulled forcibly away, shredding the breast to pieces. This can be simply translated to a fluffy using metal tong-like calipers. This could theoretically be used to punish a mare that could be covetous and stingy with her milk by neglecting one or more foals over one or several others which would condemn her to watch as now none of her foals will feed and then starve cuz of her selfishness.

I could go on listing other religious punishment or torture methods in Fluffy form like burning at the Stake, the Iron Maiden, the Stocks, the Brazen Bull, etc etc but my point is there are alot of different ways this man of the cloth van dispense holy punishment onto these creatures and i admit i went into a bit of a geek-out moment in tegards to gruesome hostirical facts and idk if these fit into the story or not but i thought I’d mention them anyway.

1 Like

Spare the rod, spoil the biotoy. Mason 4:13


I might work a few of these in if I can find a good place for them


I dunno, these all sound a bit Catholic for the type of preacher this guy comes off as - fundies hate Catholics. Still, he might not know enough about the Inquisition to know they were Catholic.


don’t give em a place to shit
torture them for shitting on the floor

yeah, sounds about right for this character


Can’t wait for a religious extremist herd to hunt and kill other fluffies for not believing in what they believe in.

Can confirm. I’ve read the Chick Tracts about it.

Half the fundie megapreachers I’ve heard of would think Malleus Maleficarum is a Harry Potter spell.


Bit of a tired strawman but hard to fault you when I’m liable to do it too.
Off the top of my head jesus made a whip to beat the shit out of the jews for perverting a sanctified proccess. (They used a place of worship as a place of commerce)

Finally, a new story.