Just Business 14 (by TheHauntedTypewriter)

The gym was always a respite for Douglas.

The big man stepped outside the commercial place, popping open his bottle of water and taking a slow swig, coming down from his workout and relaxing. Some would call it idiotic to drive an hour into town just to use the gym, and honestly, they would be right. He didn’t enjoy the drive but something had to be done to get gains like his, and he sure as hell didn’t get them crushing fluffies. He did want a home gym but, with how his house was, all he could reliably get was an exercise bike and maybe a treadmill. Both good, but not perfect.

A sigh of relief left him, and he popped the top back onto the bottle. Things were still normal this side of town, and there were barely any ferals about. Guess animal control finally stepped up and started dealing with them a lot more. That or those hugboxers couldn’t protect them. No matter.

“Oh hey, Doug, is that you?” His mind stopped swimming and he looked over. Jen stepped onto the curb, dressed in typical workout garb and with a gym bag tucked under her arm. “You come to this gym too?”

“Yep. Ain’t got one at home yet, so…” He gestured to the place. “next best thing. Think I even got a discount cause of my brother.”

“Sounds helpful! I’m just here for my usual set; it’s not much but something’s gotta be done to keep all this going.” She gestured to herself playfully. “Oh! Right, while I gotcha here, I need some help with something…something…fluffy related.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Well, it’s almost time for my boyfriend and I’s anniversary, and I was thinking of getting him one. Like…a trained one by you; none of the usual issues to get over and all that. Is that okay?”

Douglas shrugged. “Sure. Have him give me a call and I can show him the saferoom. I got a batch of foals almost ready to ship out and a few don’t have owners yet, so it’d be a good time for him to come have a look. Hell, I’ll even swing a discount; I do live pretty damn far.”

“Really?! That’d be great! I-I’ll text you his number as soon as I get done, and thanks again for this!” Jen practically bounced into the gym from excitement. Douglas was happy for her; happy relationships were always something hard to get these days. It’s why he stopped dating; hard to juggle that and his business…also it was very hard to look a woman in the eye and tell her what he did. Least for him.

Still, with the plans made, he set off for his car. He wanted to get on the road back home fast so he could try out that new game that just launched. Something about a ring?


“And here we are, the saferoom.” Douglas stood in the doorway with Jen’s boyfriend, Todd, watching the busy saferoom. A grand total of twenty foals roamed it much like a Fluff-Mart one, playing with toys, gorging themselves on kibble, napping in little beds and much more. The time-out basket was still in its usual spot but, thankfully, there weren’t any foals in it. Lord knows it’d be a risky selling point to explain what happened to those ones. “The ones spoken for I already relocated, so all’ve these foals are up for grabs.”

“Huh, there’s…so many to chose from.” Todd looked like a coder; pale skinned, scrawny, and with a big set of glasses. His black hair was a mess on his head and he wore a wrinkled hoodie and jeans. Douglas, naturally, didn’t judge him for his look; man had a look and wore it proud. “Which ones do you recommend? T-The discount still applies, right?”

“Of course, but for simplicity’s sake, I’d say grab two or three. Fluffies are pretty social; get one by itself, it’s gonna start crying for a friend and you’d have to come all the way back here or grab one from Fluff-Mart. And Jen’s told you horror stories about the fluffies there, right?”

Todd rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t even get me started. Like…s-she told me a story about how a smarty basically broke another’s leg cause she wouldn’t share the ball. Then she told me another about a weirdo fluffy who was a little too interested in fillies…just…why don’t they get this stuff out before sending them to Fluff-Marts?”

“Well, most Fluff-Marts source from specific mills known for producing copious amounts of foals for selling. Mills, as you know, don’t really put a lotta effort in training and teaching fluffies they don’t plan on keeping, and Fluff-Mart doesn’t cause ‘it’s a bonding experience for the owner and fluffy’,” He repeated the slogan with an eye roll himself. “honestly, just them being lazy. But them being lazy means my business is still booming. Cause otherwise, I’d have to reinvent it.”

“I getcha. Still, I dunno what I’m looking for in specific. Like…I want a fluffy I can have as a friend, if you get what I mean. One I can chat with and do the usual stuff without having to clean up shit every twelve minutes.”

“Ah, well unicorns are pretty good for that, and alicorns are perfect for that, but given my business’ methods, haven’t got the latter yet. Jen told you where I source from, right?”

“She mentioned it, but I don’t think I remember.”

“Ferals and shelter fluffies, mainly. I go to Fluff-Mart for kibble and other things. You know how fluffies treat alicorns, right? Chances of finding one out there are slim to none, and most, if not all, get born in captivity…and depending on where it’s born, also don’t live long.”

“Right, yeah…fluffies have this weird…issue towards them, right?” Todd asked. “They just hate them on sight?”

“Pretty much. Some sort of weird programming in their weird little minds. I’d train that out too but that requires me finding an alicorn someone’s willing to lend for this, and I sure as hell don’t plan on buying one myself—” He heard commotion. Douglas glanced and spotted a much chunkier foal pushing and shoving others away from the auto-feeders, even going so far as to bop another on the head when she tried to get the milk.

“Nu! fwuffy’s miwkies!” The fat foal cried, greedily suckling on the artificial teat.

Douglas just grumbled. “Sorry, Todd, gotta sort an issue out real quick.” He stepped over the fence and snatched the fat foal up, earning panicked chirps from the purple fuck. “You know the rules.”

“Nu cawe about wuwes! wan’ miwkies! wan’ mummah!” The foal cried, writhing in the air as Douglas held him by the scruff. The big man turned the foal to the side as he released a spurt of milky shit, no doubt caused by drinking nothing but the stuff.

“This happens from time to time, Todd,” Douglas apologized before, curtly, dropping the foal into the basket, earing gasps from the others. They were here long enough to know what it meant for anyone condemned to it. “it ain’t a perfect business, and there’s always gonna be foals who don’t stick to the regiment.”

“Nah, it’s alright. Why’s he like that anyhow?”

“Eh, little issue from time to time. Auto feeders have a lil’ patch of mare fur attached to them to soothe foals. Sometimes, for those taken from their mother a little too early, they imprint on it and constantly drink the milk to soothe themselves. So, they get a bit greedy about it and,” He pointed to the foal. “get a lil’ selfish.”

“Can he be disciplined, though? Get it outta his system?”

“I can, but it ain’t pretty, and honestly ain’t always worth the trouble. I’ll deal with him when we’re done here. But, til then, take your pick.” Douglas lingered in the saferoom, ignoring the foals for the moment. The fat, purple one tried desperately to escape the basket, but failed each time and fell back in, earning a tantrum from the little bastard.

“NU WAN! WAN MUMMAH! WAN MUMMAH!” He wailed at the top of his little lungs, trying his best to escape, but to no avail. Douglas made sure to get a basket steep enough to keep them from escaping, but he did consider upgrading to a small sorry box. Or even making one himself; all it took was a box or something similar with no holes for light. Seemed like a smart idea.

“I think that one’ll do.” Todd pointed to a brightly colored, lilac filly. “She looks pretty well-behaved. So, do I send the money through something?”

“Yep.” Douglas reached to pluck up said filly. Unlike the many others he dealt with, she instead stayed quiet, giving only a quiet chirp when she was deposited in Todd’s waiting hand. “Twenty-five. Send it when you’re out the door. I feel like I need to deal with this purple one real quick.”

“Gotcha. And thanks again for this.”

“Thank Jen; she gets me discounts for handling this whole business.” Douglas left the saferoom and politely walked Todd out, giving him a few final helpful hints and tips on raising the filly and, more importantly, steps to take on ensuring she didn’t get the baby itch. Once he was out the house, Douglas calmly locked the door and walked back to the saferoom. The fat foal was a no go. Even if he managed to wipe away his issue, which would be very hard, the foal’s obesity meant he’d need to put the little bastard on a diet, which meant special attention. Was basically a waste of time and resources, and so there was really only one way the foal could end.

Douglas returned to the saferoom. The fat foal was still in the basket, sniveling pathetically. He reached in and plucked the foal out by the scruff, earning another round of shrieking as the fat purple bastard dangled helplessly, trying in vain to escape.

“This foal,” He announced to the onlooking foals. “is a bad fluffy.” They gasped in horror. He made sure to imprint the severity of bad fluffies; not only would it discourage them from being bad themselves, but encourage them to turn on and rat out fluffies who misbehave.

“Nu! am not bad fwuffy!” He wailed, still struggling. “Babbeh just wan’ miwkies! wan’ mummah! wan’ nyu daddeh!”

“Well, you lost out on those. Say bye to your friends. It’s time for your punishment.” The foal screamed and screamed as Douglas took him away from the saferoom. He took no pleasure in what was coming next. With how fat the foal was, and how milky he was, feeding him to Gabby was out of the question. So, that left dispatching him by hand.

A devious idea popped into mind. Why kill him by hand when he could use him as an example?

Douglas turned and headed for the kitchen, tossing the bloated foal into the sink and heading for the pantry. He quickly plucked up the Mad Dog hot sauce, giving a smile at the sight of the small, dangerous bottle.

“You wanted milk, right?” He asked the foal. “I’ll give you some special milk, then, straight from your mother.” The bottle was set on the counter. Douglas grabbed the bag of powdered formula, dumped a spoonful into a bottle, mixing it with water. He let the bottle get two-thirds of the way before he callously dumped in a helping of the hot sauce, bottling and shaking the brew up until the hot sauce was practically gone. He knew, normally, milk canceled out most hot sauces.

Mad Dog? Mad Dog canceled out milk.

A faux nipple was screwed onto the end of the bottle and he offered it to the fat, sobbing foal. He greedily latched onto it and began suckling away, gorging himself again and slurping down the tainted milk. Douglas watched, lips curled into a frown, as the foal, on his own, drained a solid third of the bottle before he tugged it away…and the foal’s eyes practically bulged out of his little head. “SCREEEEEE!!! WOWST HUWTIES!!!” He flailed his little limbs and shook himself about, trying to rid himself of the agonizing burn. Douglas, after setting the bottle aside, plucked the fluffy up and quickly returned to the saferoom, depositing the fat, agonized foal back inside, giving the others a front-row seat to his agony. They were confused and terrified, watching the fat purple foal roll around, screaming and crying from the hot sauce’s inferno.

The foal squirmed a bit more before a torrent of liquid shit fired from his ass; red tainted shit. Either the hot sauce had melted the foal’s innards on the way out or his body had a foul reaction, but either way, he convulsed and screamed a bit more before, finally, going still, giving a few, final gurgles before dying.

“That’s what happens if you get greedy for milkies. Remember that.” He’d leave the body for an hour. The mess would be annoying to clean up, sure, but it served to illustrate the point. He was just glad Todd didn’t have to see him do that; it’d be very bad for business if clients watched him give a foal tainted, burning milk and let them shit out their insides.

…then again, he knew a few who would probably be into that. He didn’t judge.


[Quick story, more like a callback to something done before. I’ve been really busy this November, working on a writing project elsewhere. As a result, I’ve lacked the time to post here as often as I used to, so here’s a quick piece to remind peeps I’m still around. I hope you enjoy this quick one, and hopefully check out the rest of the collection. I still plan to branch into other stories but, honestly, it’s easy to work with Douglas. Seems like a concept I don’t see all that often here these days.]

52 Likes

Loving it and he got a good buyer. And giving him tips, this why I like Douglas its all business.:moneybag:

And that fat shit, lovely way to end its fucking rant, hot sauce to kill and set an example way to go :+1:

4 Likes

Fluffies do seem to respond pretty well to examples like this, depending on headcanon.

3 Likes

Oh hey! Excellent surprise. Welcome back

THE RETURN OF MY FAVORITE STORY

AHHH IM SO HAPPY

1 Like

Glad to see you back my friend. Take your time, your stories are always worth the wait.

Man, I love this series. But I am a little worried if Douglas starts going down the abuser route. He’s business that’s all. As long as he gets paid then it’s all good.
Traumatizing them may lower their sell value you know, they may over react when they get punished by their new owner for minor things. Don’t get me wrong I love abuse stories but this series was always a palette cleanser for me. Gotta love a working man. Thank you.

True, I’ll have to be mindful, then. The whole abuse route I go for here is “pragmatic abuse”: abuse meant to educate or serve a purpose outside gratification. And, with how fluffies work, I figured negative stimuli would be the firmest way to dissuade them from doing problematic things, and positive stimuli would reinforce those beliefs.

2 Likes

So many people go for hot sauce to kill a foal. Wonder who started that trend

I think it was grim or however is name is spelled.

1 Like