John shut his back door behind him, discarding his work bag and jacket and making his way to his bedroom. He sat on the edge of his bed, and took off his work boots and socks. John sighed, enjoying the new freedom and air his feet felt. He reached over to his nightstand, picked up his pipe, and took a deep hit. Breathing out both the smoke and the tension of the day, John continued disrobing as he made his way into the bathroom.
One quick shower later, John emerged clean and relaxed. He grabbed some comfy clothes to slip on [t-shirt, old ripped jeans, light hoodie], and once again sat on his bed, finishing the contents of his pipe before grinding more flower for a follow-up bowl. This, he thought, will be fun to enjoy outside.
The fluffies. John was wondering what he was gonna do with these new arrivals. It was clear they thought they would find “nummies” or a “new daddeh” here; John lived in a secluded area. Grass and forest for a few miles in all directions; the seclusion was what brought John out here. He was sure he could probably find a path of half eaten grass and fluffy excrement leading all the way up to his fence.
John furrowed his brow. They hadn’t been demanding. They hadn’t caused too much damage: the fence was suffering anyways if a fluffy could bring slats down, and they hadn’t been shitting everywhere. He remembered hearing it was good fertilizer, anyway. John didn’t have much in the way of landscaping, either. He had just a few bushes in the backyard; John figured he was living in a forest. Why the hell would he want more foliage to deal with?
“Welp,” John muttered to himself. He slipped on his house shoes, brought his pipe and a lighter, and went out to survey his backyard. He stopped in the kitchen to grab a coke and his portable bluetooth speaker. He opened and shut the door carefully, so as not to startle the fluffies. John set his supplies down on a sidetable, and slowly eased down into his porch chair. He thumbed his Spotify to some user-made lounging playlist, and set the volume down low. He hadn’t heard much from the fluffies since he left and returned.
“Hey. Fluffies,” John croaked, his throat still burning a bit. The green was starting to kick in, and John could feel his body relaxing more. He scanned the yard. The fluffies must still be close to the hole in the fence, which was out of eyeline from the porch. John grumbled, slowly stood, and walked around to the fence. He was immediately hit with the smell he had hoped to at least be prepared for: putrid fluffy shit. “Aw, come on,” John groaned.
He came upon the fluffies, who had managed to maybe move a foot from their previous spot. It was clear the dam was becoming immobile: her tail, backside, hind legs, and a good portion of the ground behind her was coated in slick steaming feces. The stench was overwhelming, and while John was accustomed to all manner of smells in his work and many careers, fluffy shit was something he hadn’t encountered so…intimately. John was doing everything he could to keep from dry heaving.
If being one-fourth covered in her own shit fazed the dam, she was doing a good job of hiding it. Her purple fluff was a disgusting new color from her hips back: a speckled darker purple transitioned to all manners of browns and yellows. She sat with her eyes closed, a stupid smile plastered on her face while she chewed obscenely. She hummed absent-mindedly between chewing and breathing; John remembered hearing about the “mummah songs” these things would sing. She was even bopping her butt back and forth to the hum. It made John laugh, since the movements didn’t match up to the song at all.
John frowned. If she was this immobile, how was she lifting her ass to danc-
“BLECH! HACK! HUUuuu, nu wowwy speciaw fwend. Fwuffy wickie-cweansies speciaw fwend, wan be gud daddeh.”
John realized that the dam’s rotund body nearly blocked the sight of her special friend stallion nose-deep in her backside. He had taken it upon himself to clean up the dam’s bad poopies, out of fear the nice mistah would give them hurties if he found it. Judging by his demeanor…and the remaining amount of shit, John estimated the stallion had been at this for a while.
“Ohhh, JEE ZUS,” John yelled. It was loud enough to startle the dam out of her stupor, and yelp in surprise. Unfortunately, it earned her special friend another quick plop of shit that shot straight into his open mouth. It flew past the stallion’s teeth and rocketed straight down his throat. Caught off-guard, the yellow stallion’s eyes bulged, and he felt immediate and painful tummy hurties that seemed to clamp down on his insides. the hurties traveled up and up, making the fluffy’s throat hurt and eyes water.
The dam, startled from John’s outburst, looked up at John annoyed. That expression quickly dropped the second her special friend had stopped licking. Her head turned, as much as it could, to try and face the yellow stallion. She cried. “Why am speciaw fwend nu wickie-cweansies? Soon-mummah nu smeww pwetty! Wickie-cweansie nao!” She wriggled her body as much as she could to emphasize her point.
The stallion’s body began heaving, reminding John of his childhood pets after eating something stupid. “Nuuu,” the stallion panted. “Huuu, fw-fwuff ha-hav huwties. Gon make s-s-sicky wa-waaAAAUGHS!”
The stallion’s whole body seemed to have a shockwave spread from its stomach. John could only watch as the stallion erupted. A foamy mess of greyish brown puke burst out from the depths of the fluffy, spraying all over the dam’s lifted tail, legs, and privates. The stallion sobbed, and hiccuped in between throat-rolling spews of vomit. His eyes stung from the tears, as well as the heat and smell of shit and puke. The fluffy’s throat and mouth burned, and the pain and discomfort only made him sob more.
John watched the dam’s eyes widen, and then squeeze shut as she began to scream. John winced; that was way too loud for him. It wasn’t a concern of neighbors; John’s were trees. He just hated loud noises; his job was just noise, all day. He came home for peace, quiet, relaxation. This screeching creature was harshing a perfectly good mellow evening. “Hey, come on,” he shouted over the dam. “Stop screaming, ok? It’s not that bad.” Like it could have gotten worse, John finished in his head.
The dam locked eyes with him, finished her remaining breath on a scream, took a deep inhale, and screamed even louder.
“Ooo hoo hoo,” John chuckled, shaking his head. Attitude. That’s another thing John has a problem with.
“Nuuu, spec-hack!-speciaw fwend! Nu mean! Nu mean!” The stallion had finally stopped retching, and was randomly floating between hugging the dam’s ass and trying to clean it again. John, not wanting to take another shower, took a few steps back, before turning and walking over to the garage. He reached down, twisted the water valve, and grabbed the garden hose. It was the easiest solution, in his mind. Also the laziest, he mused.
John pulled the hose across the yard, and positioned himself to the side of the fluffies. Luckily enough for John, the dam could barely move and the stallion was deadset on apologizing via analingus. He raised his arm, took aim, and squeezed the handle.
