The day drew near.
Douglas sat on the couch, reading a book on his phone. It’d been quite some time since he involved Ruddy in the question and, of course, got the mare knocked up and ready to deliver more foals. So far, there weren’t many buyers for said foals, but then again, he hadn’t been looking. No sense in throwing out a lure when he wasn’t sure what the bait would be. So, he waited. Soon, he’d hear the fabled words, and then the dam would bust. The last month had been same old for him; he replaced some of the fluffies who died in the barn with shelter ones, checked in with family, and bought some more stuff for Gabby, who earned a respite after what she went through.
The mare, however, was utterly terrified the entire month. He saw it in her eyes every time he came into the saferoom to refill the kibble and change the water. She watched him in a fluffy’s attempt of being subtle, which basically meant she made little to no effort to hide it. And he saw it in those eyes too; she dreaded being pregnant, for with the terms he set, it was either have good foals or die a gruesome death.
He did wish she’d hurry up. The longer he dragged this out, the less time he had to get another mare knocked up and another batch of foals ready for the program. Almost made him want to buy some mill equipment and convert the barn into a pseudo one, but then he had to get a license, and those were costly. Had to be; city needed a way to discourage whackos with no idea what they were doing from attempting.
Or worse, incompetent morons who let fluffies escape, because then they added to the rampant feral population and just made things worse.
Still, for now, Douglas relaxed and read on his phone, alternating between his interesting read and abuse forums; he needed to learn how to convert a mare into a milkbag.
…never hurt to learn the knowledge as a ‘just in case’. Like a loaded gun on the nightstand.
“BIGGEST POOPIES!” He faintly heard. A sigh left him, and he tucked the phone away. A while earlier than expected. Thank God; he had to run to the store later and he couldn’t afford her bursting while he was gone. He left the living room and reached the saferoom’s doorway, lingering as he always did and watched the “miracle” of life unfold. The mare passed yet another foal and it landed on the floor. Mary was present, overseeing the scene unfold, as Ruddy watched on as well, clearly worried about his special friend. He didn’t feel like getting closer, both because he knew it would disturb the mare, and because…well despite what he did, fluffy birth grossed him out.
The miracle of birth wasn’t a bad thing, no. Just…it sure as hell felt unnatural with fluffies. Which, considering their origins, it was, but details.
The labor continued for another fifteen or so minutes, and by the time it ended, he loosely counted a litter of ten foals. The mare delivered quite the haul, and already worked to lick each of them clean, moving each to rest near her engorged teats to feed. And, with the “miracle” done, she rested on her side, feeding her new brood and, of course, singing her “mummah song”. He didn’t bother sticking around after that. The deed was done, and the foals were born. Now he had to go get his notepad and jot down their colors. And, also, to sternly remind her of the terms.
He did plan to cut her some slack, though. If most of them were good colors, he’d let her stick around and just live in the barn. If not, the article had a good step by step guide for removing a fluffy’s limbs. Even said it could be done with something like a pocket knife, though it would be easy for him, and agonizing for her.
Ruddy was so happy! His special friend had so many babbehs! He was finally a daddeh! The stallion eagerly wagged his tail as Whitie fed her foals, sleeping with her babbehs after singing her bestest mummah song. He wanted to make a daddeh song, but soon. “Speshuw fwend had su many babbehs! Wuddy am pwoud!” He wondered what to name all of them, and—ooo! What if mister Douglas let them all live in the saferoom! Then he wouldn’t have to go back to the cold smelly barn! It made him even more excited.
He heard footsteps. Ruddy turned and saw Mister Douglas in the doorway to the saferoom. He had something in his hand, and stepped over the gate, walking over to the sleeping mare. “Hewwo mistah dougwas! wook! su many babbehs!” Ruddy excitedly said.
“Mhm, I see,” He nudged one with his funny writing stick. The chirpy babbeh wiggled a bit, giving a peep of confusion. “well, they’re all healthy, but four of them are bad colors…hmm.” He stood up and looked down at Ruddy. “Watch her for me, bud. You too, Mary. I need to go call some friends.”
“Wuddy wiww watch speshuw fwend!” The stallion declared, and Mister Douglas was gone. He looked over and saw his special friend wake up, lazily blinking her see-places. “Speshuw fwend! mistah dougwas came by, said 'ou hab gud babbehs!”
She looked horrified! Whitie looked over her babbehs, nudging them with her hoofies, before she started to…cry? “HUU HUUU!!! Mummah gon’ go fowebah sweepies!” She sobbed.
Ruddy was confused and scared. What did she mean?! Why?! “Speshuw fwend cawm down—”
“NU!” She shot bad and jerked away from her babbehs. It roused them from their sleep and many began peeping in distress, wiggling their little hoofies around, trying to find their mummah. “Wook! bad babbehs! poopie babbehs hab bad cowows!” She pointed a hoof at the pile of foals. Ruddy looked closer and saw three of them had poopie brown fluff, and one had peepee yellow fluff.
“Babbehs nu nee’ gud cowows to be gud babbehs!” Ruddy defended them. “Dey am gud babbehs!”
“NU!” She shot back. “Mistah dougwas said if mummah hab poopie babbehs, dey nummies fo’ wizawd munsta! an’ den mummah take fowebah sweepies too!”
Ruddy was appalled. Why would her babbehs get fed to the wizawd munstah?! He knew Mister Douglas had one, but why would he let her babbehs get eaten by them?! It didn’t make any sense!!!
Or wait…what if she was lying?! Mister Douglas did say she lied; she had to be lying now! “Babbehs am safe, speshuw fwend!” He assured her. “Mistah dougwas am gud, an’ wiww wub aww babbehs! eben if dey poopie babbehs!” With that, Ruddy walked off to keep playing with the blocks. His special friend was just lying. There was no way Mister Douglas would lie to him! Sure, Ruddy watched him hurt a few fluffies, but they were all bad fluffies! Only bad fluffies had to get owwies!
So, he kept playing. His special friend would calm down soon, maybe after she had a nice nap. And then he could ask Mister Douglas about what she said, too!
Whitie was terrified. She was so terrified she was wide awake in the middle of the darkie times. She thought being a mummah again would be the happiest day of her life, especially after the munsta daddy gave her big babbehs forever sleepies, but now she was even more scared and had even bigger heawt huwties!
She stared down at her sleeping babbehs with fear; the same fear she felt when she was in the dark and scary place, where the mares were in mean cages and their babbehs were always taken away, never to be seen again! Except it was WORSE! Because munsta daddeh was going to give her babbehs forever sleepies, but then HER too! Why?! She protected her babbeh, like a good mummah! Yet he was giving her the worstest heawt hurties ever!
But wait! Maybe she could fix it. He said he would give her forever sleepies if she had poopie babbehs! What if she got rid of them? But how?! Where?! Whitie looked around, bewildered and afraid, before she had an idea. An idea a mare did in the scary place before they could take her babbehs.
She felt tears budding in her eyes as she made sure the coast was clear. Her dummeh special friend was asleep, as was the other mare. So, she grabbed one of the poopie babbehs by the scruff and dragged him away, ignoring his tiny peeps of pain and distress.
“Mummah su sowwy, babbeh,” She silently sobbed. “buh if mummah nu do dis, den she gets foweba sweepies…huu huu…” She raised her hoof and pressed it to her babbeh’s chest. She pressed down, hearing her foal peep in even more pain, before the peeping stopped, and her babbeh was no more. Boo-boo juice covered her hoof, and she dipped her head down to scarf down the body. It tasted horrible and gave her the worstest heart hurties ever! But she had to do it! If she didn’t, then munsta daddeh would do it anyways.
With one down, Whitie moved to grab the next and repeat the process. This time, the foal released a bit of bad poopies, but she ignored it and ate her as well. Every time she swallowed down the carcass of one of her babbehs, she felt ready to just sob and sob, but it had to be done! If munsta daddeh didn’t see any poopie babbehs, then she wouldn’t get forever sleepies, and then she could escape with her babbehs! There had to be somewhere they could run! Somewhere they could hide! And then they could find a herd and live happily ever after!
Another foal was devoured. She felt sick, but persevered, and the last one was gone. She sobbed and sobbed as silent as she could but curled back up with her remaining babbehs. They stirred, and began to peep, wanting milk. Whitie flopped onto her side and let them nurse, feeling them press their hooves against her milkie places to get the milk out…the milk that was their brothers and sisters.
She cried all night.
Douglas smiled to himself as he brewed his morning tea. His mom recommended a new tea, and he was curious to see how it went with his breakfast. She said it was some sort of root tea; sounded exotic, and it was tea. Any tea was good tea to him.
Still, before he got to work on breakfast, he needed to go check on the fluffies. He needed to head off for most of the day to run some errands, and as such needed to make sure they had food and water before departing. He already had a few potential buyers for the foals, so now he needed most of them to do well.
Hell, someone even wanted the shit-colored ones. Said they would be useful for their farm they had going. Of course, considering what he named his own business, a farm wasn’t too far off from a mill, depending on the owner.
Regardless, with the spoon in his tea and a gentle sip of the hot brew taken, Douglas marched to the saferoom. A glance in told him everything was where it needed to be: Ruddy was asleep by the blocks, Mary was asleep by the mare, and the mare was in a little fluff-pile with her six foals—
Douglas scowled. Six. He marked down ten.
He darted back to the kitchen to set his mug down somewhere safe before returning to the saferoom to investigate. He didn’t need to look far; he found bloody splotches on the ground by the mare, and blood was caked around her mouth. It was abundantly clear what she did, and…well for lack of a better word, it was unexpected. She ate her own foals out of fear of him giving her forever sleepies. In a roundabout way, it was smart. But still, he had buyers for those foals.
“WAKE UP.” He shouted. The mare shot awake, as did her foals. Their peeping and chirping turned into a chorus of confusion as the mare looked around in a panic before her gaze settled on him. Then the panic turned into fear. “Where are the other foals?”
“W-whitie nu know…” She whimpered.
“I think you do,” He pressed, then tapped his chin. “Some of their ‘boo-boo juice’ is around your face.”
Her fear turned into terror.
“Mummah nummed babbehs?!” Ruddy shrieked. Douglas glanced over and the stallion looked almost livid with anger and sadness. “Babbehs am not fo’ nummies! dey fo’ wub an’ huggies an’ miwkies! 'ou munsta mummah! 'ou bad fwuffy!” He went into a tirade. Honestly, it was interesting to hear, and made Douglas indeed feel a bit of sorrow over involving the stallion. He seemed to really care about those foals.
“Buh…buh…” The mare stammered, trying to find the words to defend herself. She had none, and Ruddy waddled towards her. “It nu am fwuffy’s fauwt! it munsta daddeh’s fauwt!”
“Nu cawe!” And with a firm shove he sent her onto her side, turning her teary act into full on waterworks of sobbing. “Mistah dougwas was wite about 'ou! ‘ou am bad mummah, an’ nu desewbe babbehs!” Well, now he fully felt bad about involving Ruddy. Some vindication could help.
“Well,” Douglas reached down to snatch the mare up by her scruff. She screeched the entire time he lifted her. “I best get deal with this one, then. I bought something interesting while I was out yesterday, and I had a feeling it would come in handy for this. Ruddy,” He turned his attention to the furious stallion. “You get to live in here full-time and will teach those foals alongside Mary. Congratulations. As for you…” Douglas carried her away from the safety of the saferoom and to the kitchen. He slammed the flailing mare down onto the table and, while holding her in place, yanked up the kit he bought from the Fluff-Mart while restocking some fluffies for the barn.
A “Do it Yourself” Milkbag kit. The cheapest he could find.
“So, funny story,” Douglas took his hand off the mare. “I still actually need you alive, but I don’t need you happy. So…we get to take this gem for a spin. Honestly, I wanted to do the process myself, but the article I read said it’s smart to use a kit, and I did have a coupon. Just wish I had a better surface to do this on, but kitchen’s the most well-lit, and the table’s got the most space, I guess.” He unboxed the kit, taking out the harness, a few complimentary razors, and an assortment of other goods. Just looking at the stuff made him feel like an abuser, but…well he needed a milkbag. With that many foals auto-feeders weren’t gonna be enough. Besides, she did earn it.
The mare hadn’t moved at all and was silently sobbing. Douglas planted his hand on her back again, pinning her down, and plucked up one of the razors. With the same deftness he used to shave his own face, he brought it to her fluffy legs and shaved them, earning cries of protest and disapproval the entire time he worked.
“NU! NU TAKE PWETTY FWUFF!!!” She screamed, though it fell on deaf ears. With the fluff removed, Douglas set the razor aside and…well quickly googled a quick, safe way to remove a fluffy’s legs. The search told him, plain and simple, a butcher’s cleaver would do the trick. Seemed a bit barbaric, but…eh, he wasn’t using his for much else.
“Move from this spot and I shave you bald.” He warned the mare. She sniffled, but remained where she was as he moved to the countertops, rummaging through their drawers before pulling out the cleaver in question. After quickly rinsing it under some hot water, he walked back over to the mare. She immediately saw the cleaver and screamed again, trying to flee the table. A hand on her back stopped her, and with one swing Douglas brought the knife down.
The resulting scream was almost deafening. The mare thrashed about, trying to free himself from his iron grip, as he brought the cleaver up, resulting in her severed leg falling to the table with a sick thump…and also he noticed a pool of urine was forming underneath her.
“Damnit…knew I should’ve put a tarp down…oh well. Need an excuse to pick up that table from mom’s anyhow…” He raised the cleaver again and brought it down. Again and again. In no time at all, the mare’s limbs were all severed, and she was reduced to a sobbing, quivering mess from the sheer agony. Sadly, most articles said no sedatives; with the literal chimera most fluffies were, even a low-yield pain-killer could do more harm than good and thin their blood too much. “See? Wasn’t so bad? Now, a slather of this,” He slapped on some of the provided insta-heal gel and her bloody stumps were…just stumps. But she wasn’t bleeding anymore, and she passed out from pain. “So, part one done. Now I need to…give her a colonoscopy…?” Douglas frowned at what he read on his phone, then sighed.
“Better grab the fillet knife, I guess…”
Douglas wiped his sweat covered brow and stepped back to admire his gristly handiwork. After two hours of blood, sweat, and tears, with none of the blood being his, he finished the process. The mare was a limbless fluffy, bound in the brightly colored harness, with a clear tube inserted into her side with a bag taped to her back. The colonoscopy was a bit…shoddy, but he got it done. A feeding tube was shoved down the mare’s gullet and straight to her stomach, and the tube was connected to funnel he could just fill with wet kibble; the only food she would ever get from now on.
All that was left was to remove her eyes. Or just blind her. Douglas pondered it for a second and walked off, returning with a jug of bleach. “Yeah, sorry,” He muttered to the delirious, agonized mare. “can’t risk nicking myself with the fillet knife again. So…” He dumped a cap full of bleach into both her eyes. She didn’t even scream this time, producing only a hoarse whimper of a noise. Her voice was all gone, and with the bleach in her eyes, sight wasn’t a thing she had anymore.
And, with that, the job was complete. He washed his hands in the sink real quick and scooped up the mutilated mare, returning her to the saferoom and setting her against the wall. The feeding funnel came with easy installment to the wall via suction cups, and with it set up, he got to work mixing some kibble into wet kibble in the food bowl before emptying it into the funnel.
“Well, with that fun lil’ adventure done,” He glanced down at Ruddy and Mary. “Guide the foals and make sure they feed from her. I need to run and handle some business. Oh, and don’t worry about her. She won’t eat any more foals, alright?” The two remaining fluffies nodded and Douglas stepped over the gate. He never knew converting a fluffy into a milkbag was so much work. He made several mistakes throughout the process, but in the end, it got done, and now he had an amusing way to keep the foals fed until…well she died. From what the articles said, milkbags rarely lasted longer than a few months. No matter how much food they’re fed, they inevitably die off from their body just…giving up. Bleak, but it was the milkbagging or straight up killing her.
As he passed by the kitchen, Douglas simply inhaled and didn’t bother looking at the scene of the work. He pulled his phone out and dialed up his mother, hearing her pick up just as he took a seat in his office.
“Hey, mom, you still got that table you don’t want? Mine broke.”
[And I hope this chapter makes up for the previous one being subpar in my opinion. Someone recommended this a while back, and I thought it’d be fun to have Douglas take a crack at it. Before someone asks, the reason he’s so…inept at milkbagging a mare is because he never needed to or had to do it before, and mostly followed a guide from both the box and an article online. No one does something perfect the first time, especially not…well milkbagging a bad mummah.
So, with that, the mare’s fate is sealed, and we can resume our regularly scheduled business. Thanks for reading, and don’t hesitate to leave a comment; I always like reading them and interacting with those who found my stories entertaining!
Also, first time I tried writing something from a fluffy’s perspective. It’s tricky, given my writing style is already oblong as it is. Feel free to tell me how I did, so I can correct it for future stories down the line.]