“…so…I had a feeling.” Douglas stood in the barn, a cross look on his face. It was fairly early in the morning, and he just had his morning tea, ready to begin the day with a smile on his face and a pep in his step. Unfortunately, both were dashed when he heard it; the “mummah song”. From her.
Princess. The mare in question lay on her side, having completely forgotten about her missing leg and was instead singing incessantly to her “tummeh babbehs”, which naturally meant she broke one of the core rules he established. She was so lost in her own world that she didn’t even register him there; she only realized it when he cleared his throat and she visibly flinched. “Wha…wha nice hooman wan’…?”
“Oh, you know,” He played coy, but it was easy to hear the ire in his voice. “why you’re singing to tummeh babbehs. Means you had ‘special huggies’ sometime ago, which is against the rules.”
“Buh…hooman gib foweba sweepies tu aww pwincess’ babbehs, su pwincess shouwd get mowe—” He took a step into the pen. She screamed and ran to the corner, cowering and already soiling herself. “NU! NU HUWT SOON MUMMAH!” He was half tempted to just stomp her to death, set a greater example, but instead he calmed down.
“Who gave you special huggies?”
“Bwue stawwion! dah bwue stawwion!” He knew which one. Good. So, Douglas nodded, walked over to the pen next door, and snatched up the sleeping stallion, ignoring his violent screaming as the big man brought him over for the mare to see.
“This one?” He asked over the stallion’s screams. She hesitantly nodded. Douglas yanked on the stallion’s scruff and turned his face towards his. “Didn’t I say no special huggies?”
“SCREEEE! WET GU! WETGUWETGUWETGU!!!” He cried, ignoring the question. Douglas let go of him, letting the stallion plummet, only to snatch him up again, feeling the skin nearly rip from the force. It naturally sent the stallion into further hysterical screaming, and Douglas ignored it, waiting patiently for him to calm down. Said screaming, naturally, got the attention of the other terrified barn fluffies, but none said a word. They knew better.
The stallion’s sobbing quieted down. “Cos…speshuw wumps had huwties!”
“And? You know the rules; stallions get a turn with an enfie toy once a week. No exceptions.” He hated having the damn thing, but thankfully it was out back. Away from the house.
The stallion sniffled. “Buh…enfie toy bwoken!”
He raised a brow. “Broken? No one thought to…” He wanted to ask why no one said anything, but then he recalled Ruddy was the one who usually informed him of the barn’s stuff. He never appointed anyone else to the task. Not like they could, anyhow. He scowled, pondering it.
“…right, that one’s on me. Means I need to go buy another.” With less force, he set the stallion down. “You’re free to go, for now.”
“Am fwuffy safe?” He asked, voice trembling.
“I’m feeling lenient for the moment. I’ll take your special lumps when I get home.” All the joy in the stallion’s eyes died. Douglas shrugged. “Didja expect me to ignore the fact you broke a rule? Punishment’s gotta be done. Spend some time thinking about it while you still have lumps.” He stepped past the stallion and headed for the door. Was he going to rip the moron’s nuts off? Unlikely, but he thought he was, and that fear was gonna drive home the fear of God in the little bastard.
Besides, he had more important matters, like buying an enfie toy and hoping Jen just helped him ring it up quietly. But with the toy broken, other stallions might get some bright ideas and try helping themselves to the mares while he was gone. Made him wish he bought a barn with stalls over pens but nothing some DIY couldn’t fix.
Until then, someone had to keep an eye on them all. And he knew just who to use.
“Hold it down for me, ‘kay?” Ruddy nodded excitedly. Mistah dougwas trusted him to run the barn while he was gone, so he was gonna do the bestest job ever!
“Wuddy do gud!” He said, watching the big hooman leave. With him gone, Ruddy paced up and down the barn, watching the other fluffies. Some of them were BAD fluffies, so he had to give them the biggest watchies; make sure they didn’t do anything while Mistah Dougwas was gone! Sure, the enfie toy was broken, but if their speshuw wumps had huwties, they had to wait for the enfie toy, like everyone else!
So, he walked up and down the rows. He wasn’t sure how long he was doing it for, but he felt so happy! He was helping Mistah Dougwas, and—
He heard rustling at the door. His happiness turned to fear, and Ruddy approached it.
“Hewwo? who dewe?” He called.
The barn door slid open. A bright purple unicorn waddled in, followed by two earthies. Behind them were a whole mess of fluffies; a herd!
But Ruddy focused on the fluffy in front. He looked mean! And his cheeks were puffed too! “Dis am smawty’s wand!” He shouted. “'ou aww pawt of hewd nao!”
Ruddy couldn’t believe it! The smawty was trying to make them join his herd?!
“Buh, this Mistah Dougwas’ barn.” Ruddy defended. “Nu am smawty lan—OWWIE!” The smarty struck him with a hoof, sending Ruddy to the ground.
“Nu tawk back to smawty!” He shouted at him. “Fwuffies! gib sowwy hoofies, ow 'ou get sowwy poopies!” He shouted to the two fluffies with him, and they trotted over. Ruddy tried to defend himself, but they swung their hoofies at him and it hurt so MUCH! Tears welled in his eyes, and the stallion swung one of his own, catching one of the others across the head and making him stumble away. Ruddy, quickly, got to his feet, giving a cheek puff of his own.
“Dis am mistah dougwas wand!” He cried, fighting back tears. “Not smawty wand! nao go 'way, ow get biggest huwties!” He was going to make Mister Dougwas proud! He was gonna defend the barn! Be the bestest fluffy he could be!
No matter what!
Douglas slowly stepped out his car, grumbling about the day he had. The enfie toy thing was bad enough, but they didn’t have them in stock, so he had to wait until they restocked, which wasn’t for an hour. So, he had to idle about the store, waiting for them to restock. He honestly wished Jen was on the clock, but as far as he knew she had Thursdays off.
What a strange day for a day off, because he knew she worked weekends.
Still, the toy was secure, an…
“…hmm?” Hoofprints were in the ground, towards the barn. The gate was open. He scowled and walked towards it. “Did the bastards escape?” He muttered to himself. Hopefully not, but still, it was a possibility. It didn’t set him back too bad; mostly just meant going to a shelter and picking out several more to use. No biggie.
What caught him off guard was the prints led to the barn…as if fluffies went into it. And as he drew close, he heard utter pandemonium.
The big man reached the door and pushed it aside. His eyes widened.
It was damn near packed with fluffies, which meant a fucking herd got in. They were all over the place, sleeping in pens, nursing their foals, or relentlessly enfing, adding to the mayhem. Shit and piss caked the floors, and the stink was nigh overpowering.
But what occupied the bulk of his attention was Ruddy. The stallion was on his side, bleeding from his legs and side. His fluff was caked in shit, and a toughie was steady hitting him, giving sorry hoofies. Douglas put an end to that with a swift kick, sending the stallion into the wall with a wet splattering noise.
“NU! Speshuw fwend!” A mare shrieked. Douglas ignored her and snatched Ruddy up, sprinting across the yard with the fluffy clutched in his arms. He furiously unlocked the door and ran to the kitchen, setting Ruddy on the table.
“Owwies…” Ruddy whimpered, voice nearly hoarse. “Wuddy…sowwy…” He apologized. His voice, normally cheerful and giddy, was brittle and broken. Just hearing it softened Douglas’ frantic face and gave him pause. “Wuddy… twy to stahp smawty…buh wuddy couwdn’t.” He whimpered.
“Don’t talk, save your strength.” He was already looking for the fluffy med-kit. He kept one in the kitchen always, and once he found it, set himself to work taking care of the fluffy’s wounds. Insta-heal gel here, a splint there. He worked with the fury and grace of more than a surgeon, patching the wounded stallion up as best he could.
“Is…Wuddy…a bad fwuffy…?” Those words damn near broke him. Douglas sighed a low, mournful one, bringing the stallion to the couch and tenderly stroking his head.
“You’re not.” He assured him, feeling his eyes grow misty. “You did what many humans couldn’t. You fought when you couldn’t. And I’ll always be proud of you for that.”
Ruddy smiled a weak one. “F…fank 'ou…mistah dougwas…”
Douglas pondered that for a moment, slowly shaking his head. “You’re allowed to call me it. Just this once.”
“O…otay’…fank 'ou, daddeh.” Douglas let a smile grace his lips. A final, tender pat was given to Ruddy’s head, and he knelt with him by the couch for a good, long while, stroking his mane and patting his head. He was a damn good fluffy, and in one fell swoop proved himself to be the exception to nearly everything he knew. Most stallions fled at the sign of danger. Ruddy stood and fought, even when he couldn’t win. It touched his heart, as it meant Ruddy was more than a simple graduate from his program.
He was a true fluffy…unlike the ones outside.
His elation at saving the stallion turned to malice. Douglas slowly stood, heading for the door. “Stay put, Ruddy.” He calmly said. “I have to deal with the ones outside.”
It took no time at all to reach the barn again. Little changed within; as if they just forgot he turned one of them into paste against the wall. Douglas stepped inside and, slowly, closed the door behind him. “Mistah!” A filthy mare asked, part of the herd. Foals clung to her back fluff, and she stared up at him. “Smawty said 'ou gib sketties nao—” He brought his foot down on her back, snapping it in two. She screeched and screamed loud enough to alert the others and end their antics, now replacing it with utter fear. The foals on her back were either dead from the stomp or on the way out, judging from the dying peeps he heard from her back.
Slowly, he twisted his foot, and her screams rose in pitch. She flailed and flailed to get free, but Douglas didn’t let up in the slightest. He just stared them all down, watching their faces turn from elation at finding a home to near pants-shitting fear as one of their own was practically tortured in front of them all. The mare’s screaming and struggling died down, and with a final, firm stomp her head was smashed apart like an ice cube.
“Who did it?” He coldly asked. “Who hurt that stallion?”
They all looked too terrified to answer. Douglas reached down and snatched up a stallion. Without another word, he grabbed his head and twisted, ripping it clean off his shoulders before flinging the body to the side. “I can, and will, give forever sleepies to each and every single one of you until SOMEONE comes clean!” He shouted, causing many of them to void their bowels and shit themselves.
“It smawty!” A mare cried pathetically. “He did it!” Said smarty was a purple fucker, currently enfing away at a crying mare. Douglas reached over and grabbed him by the scruff, yanking him off her.
“SCREEE!!! WET SMAWTY GU!”
“You’re the one who hurt my friend?” He asked, voice still dripping malice.
The stallion’s pain of being lifted was gone, and he promptly puffed his cheeks. “Dummeh stawwion nu wisten! su smawty make wisten! dis am smawty wand!”
Douglas inhaled. “Good.”
The stallion shrieked bloody murder. Douglas flicked away the snapped off horn and reached for the fucker’s leg, twisting and ripping it free. The herd’s fear only grew as body part after body part fell to the ground, landing in a bloody pile. By the time he was done, the smarty was missing all his limbs, his horns, and his genitals.
“Nu! weabe speshuw fwend awone!!!” A mare shrieked. She was around the same color as him, and judging from how bloated she looked, she was pregnant and due pretty soon. She was next.
“Then why didn’t you stop him?” Douglas asked, dangling the bloody stallion by the scruff. “Why didn’t you stop him from hurting my friend?”
“Cos…hewd nee’ housie…an’ dis am gud housie!” She defended.
“It’s my house.” Technically a barn. “And fine, you all get to stay here. But first…a demonstration.” He snatched her up as well, earning shrieks from her too. The stallion looked absolutely petrified in fear at the sight of his mate being manhandled. Douglas ignored him and brought them both outside.
To the Pit.
The mare was deposited in the middle first. The smarty dropped next to her. He stepped away without so much as another word, walking back to the house and returning moments later with two things, a roll of duct tape and the water hose. Said hose was already spewing water, and Douglas set it down in the Pit. The herd slowly trickled outside, freezing at the sight of the hose, though many surrounded the concrete hole. It was as if they could smell the blood of other fluffies; knew it was a bad place to be. Good for them.
Bad for the mare.
“Your mate did a very bad thing.” Douglas taped her mouth shut. She struggled and flailed to get it off, but she couldn’t, despite her best efforts. “He hurt someone close to me, and he and the rest of you practically knocked up every mare in my barn. I had an intricate system in there…and you all ruined it. Just for a home that was never yours.” He grabbed the end of the hose. The smarty watched her, voice too hoarse to scream at the sight of her flailing. Douglas stooped down and, in one fell swoop, buried the water hose in her ass, wedging it deep and causing her struggles to intensify tenfold. And with how big the hose was, she couldn’t even shit it out. But the most important thing was the water.
It was still flowing. She flailed and flailed as her belly rose and swelled, filling with water. Her skin rapidly grew taut from the flow, and she was stuck on her back, trying in vain to pat her growing belly, to stop the inevitable. But, as the skin began to rip and muscle poked out from between the tears, there was no point.
Because moments later she popped. She exploded in a mix of blood, shit, and gore. The Pit was splattered with it all, with parts of her falling to the ground as well, landing with thuds. But the most important thing were the unborn fetuses that flew about as well. One even landed on the stallion’s head, hammering home that Douglas just made his mate explode. The herd went into hysteria, with some outright fleeing and running away into the empty field to no doubt die from the elements and wilderness, but most stayed, rooted to the ground in blind terror over what he just did.
For a moment, he understood the catharsis abusers felt when they really killed a fluffy. It felt nice, and there was more to come. Because despite the ones dead and fled, he still had at least twenty fluffies, for a barn meant to house eight at best. Honestly, he had the thought to kill them all and start over, but that wasn’t enough. No, they had to suffer. They either let Ruddy get nearly killed or were the ones to do it themselves. Bystander Effect was a thing, and they got to pay for it.
He had more than enough money to cover what he was about to do to them.
Douglas looked up from his spreadsheet with a yawn. Organizing some regiments for the lingering foals was tougher work, especially when his mind was elsewhere at the time. It kept drifting back to what happened with Ruddy; the stallion getting busted up pretty badly in pursuit of protecting the barn. Protecting his best interests. Every single bit of his bio-programming should’ve made him turn tail and run, but he held his ground and paid a dear price for it. In a morose sense, Ruddy was one of his successful fluffies. But it was a shame he couldn’t be sold. Not only did the healing process leave some minor scarring on his body, which was naturally unappealing, but he was too…conditioned to the way Douglas did things. No one wants a fluffy like that.
He stifled a yawn, and a notification on his phone went off. Douglas reached over to pluck it up, read said notification with the flick of a thumb, and wince. It was time to feed the outside fluffies again. The ones who stood by and let Ruddy get hurt. He promised them they’d pay for that, so he made sure of it, through the most demented way possible.
Still, punishment had to be maintained, so Douglas stood and left his desk. The big man tugged his work boots on and grabbed a bag of kibble by the front door before trekking outside. Trekking out the cold rural morning. Dew had frozen along the grass, and with every calm breath that left his mouth he saw a plume of gray mist. Fall was turning to winter, and for the fluffies he left trapped in the barn…well fluff did a poor job at deterring the elements.
The closer he got to the barn, the more the scent of death assaulted his nose. A scent he could endure as the big man reached the barn doors and gently pulled them open, revealing a visceral, horrific scene within. Countless fluffy bodies were strewn about the barn, dead from a myriad of things. Malnutrition, exposure, infighting; all were catalysts to their deaths, and the bodies littered the walkway, almost trapping some of the still-living fluffies into the nesting areas, who wept and pled to be let out. Dying chirps of chirpies rang in his ears, along with the begs and pleads for mares to be given food. Food that was, usually, fought over pretty brutally, owing to some of the death he saw within the walkways.
Of course, it’s what they wanted, after all; a home. So, he granted their wish. By locking them in the over-crowded barn for two weeks. Right before winter.
Douglas trudged through the growing pile of dead ferals, moving with his usual stone-faced grimace.
“Nu wan…nu wan die…”
“Babbehs…babbehs pwease wakies fo mummah…”
All manners of things hit his ears as he trudged through the pile of the dead, filling food bowls within the nesting areas. He saw mixed results each time: sometimes the ones inside summoned what little strength they had left to trudge over and feed, others were far too weak to do so and just lay there waiting to die, and some ran over to the bowls and gorged themselves in desperation. Some even fought over the food, turning fluffy parents against one another, with the foals caught in the desperate crossfire, judging from the messy snaps and crunches of some being crushed by their skirmishing parents.
Douglas reached the final nest and filled the bowl. There was only a single mare in it, with her stallion mate dead in the doorway. Judging from his wedged position, he tried to push through the crowd to find her food, only to either suffocate or get crushed by an errant stallion. The body looked warm, so it had to be the latter. All the same, Douglas refilled the bowl, causing her to weakly lift her head. “Why daddeh hate fwuffies?” She asked, voice filled with fatigued desperation. Like she was barely hanging on. “Why nu can go in dah wawm housie?”
“Because you stood by and let my friend get hurt.” He calmly informed her. “So, all of you are being punished. Besides, isn’t this what your smarty wanted? Land for his herd? Well, he got it. So eat, before someone takes it.” The mare struggled to get to her feet and trudge over to the kibble bowl, gorging herself with slow, unsteady bites. Leaving the hay pile resulted in Douglas sighting a handful of tufts in the hay. Her brood, no doubt. Chirping foals that looked fairly developed, but still had their eyes closed. Considering they also looked healthier than many of the emancipated dead foals in the barn, they had to have been recently born.
The thought made him scowl. Even in doomed conditions, the damned things still tried to make more of themselves. Then again, stupidity like theirs meant they couldn’t help it.
Douglas squinted at the pile, however. He noticed something was off with one of the foals. The big man set the bag down, and leant down so he could rustle his fingers through the hay and gently collect one of the foals. A foal with umbra purple coloration.
…a goddamn alicorn. His eyes widened at the sight of it. It was still developing its wings and horn, but he was looking at a goddamned alicorn! Never in his life did he expect to fucking find one from a feral, yet here he was, holding one born to the worst conditions imaginable!
…second worst. Mills were a thing.
“Daddeh,” The weary mare said. Douglas looked down in time to notice her, staring right up at the captive foal. “pwease gib back babbeh. She tuu wittle fo’ huggies.”
“…” He had to process that for a solid second. “This isn’t a monster, then?” He asked cautiously. She shook her head. Another pause. “…this is a good babbeh, then? An honest good babbeh to you?” She nodded, still weak as could be. Douglas eyed the foal again, lips curled into a scowl. “One moment, then. I promise not to hurt her.” He turned to the another next and presented the foal. “What is this?”
“SCREEE!!! MUNSTA!!!” Even with how emancipated the mare was in the other pen, she still had enough energy to scream at the sight of the alicorn, earning a round of distressed peeps and chirps from it. Douglas repeated the impromptu test, and got the same reaction from them all. All except the alicorn’s original mother. He returned to said mare and found her on her side, nursing and feeding her brood from her crotch teats.
“Why isn’t this one a monster to you?”
“M-Mummah nu see,” She said, voice filled with lingering fear and desperation. “mummah see gud babbeh. Wit wingie an’ horn.”
Douglas stared again, then slowly exhaled. He glanced at the visceral all around him, strewn about the barn that carried countless fluffies for his work. For his business, now turned into something that borderline resembled the reject room at a mill. Where the unworthy, shitty fluffies were tossed and left to die by workers who couldn’t bring themselves to kill them.
Another exhale. He let himself slip, then. He got so worked up from anger, from what they did to Ruddy, that he let himself slip into that utter catharsis abusers felt and ride that high for too long. Two weeks too long, honestly. But, as he held the literal golden egg in a lake of shit, he remembered why he started his business to begin with. What he vowed not to do.
“Gather your foals.” He told the mare. “You’re being moved to the warm house after all.”
She looked up, and he caught a flicker of hope in those depressed eyes. “W-Weawwy?” She asked, already on the verge of waterworks.
“Really. This is still a goddamned business. I need to get it back there.”
“Wat mistah Dougwas doing now?” Ruddy asked, resting on the edge of the Pit, staring into it as Douglas tipped the wheelbarrow. A dozen emancipated, rotting fluffy corpses fell into the concrete pit, tumbling to the ground with either dry thuds or messy splats. He breathed a sigh of relief and stood back, taking a moment to roll his shoulder and work out a growing crick.
“Getting back on track, Ruddy.” He informed the stallion. “After what these bastards did, I kinda lost it for a bit there. Sorta slipped somewhere I ain’t supposed to with this business. And it’s set us back two weeks. That alicorn’s thankfully okay; just some minor malnutrition the milkbag can fix. The mare can also be saved, thankfully; we need to see if her inherent niceness to alicorns can be passed down.”
“Buh,” Ruddy asked, not even bothered by the literal pile of dead fluffies. “wewen’t ‘ou punishin’ bad fwuffies?” He asked.
“I was.” Douglas got the wheelbarrow ready, then hauled it back to the barn. Most of the corpses were cleaned out, so he quickly loaded it with the ones that were left, plus some living fluffies. Living but on the verge of kicking the bucket, judging by their sounds. Chirpies, foals, colts and more; all got transported back to the Pit and dumped into it, with the force of the drop killing some of the dying foals, but the rest landed safely on the “cushion” that was their dead herd. “And then I got carried away,” He finished, looking over to Ruddy. “when I started this business, I told myself I’d use just enough cruelty to get my point across. Get the job done, get some fluffies trained, with the only collateral being educational trauma. This,” He motioned to the pile. “is not educational trauma.”
Ruddy stared at the pile again, gears turning in his small head. “Su, wat nao?”
“Now,” Douglas reached down and scooped up the bottle of lighter fluid he brought. He casually sprayed the pile with the igniting mixture, emptying the entire bottle onto the pile, despite the muffled complaints and protests of the fluffies still alive in the pile. He didn’t check if they were all on the brink of death and he didn’t quite care. They were gonna be dead soon in a moment. He finished emptying the bottle and tossed it aside before he reached down to pluck a single, remaining foal from the wheelbarrow. One still steady peeping and chirping for its mother that was no doubt in the pile. The big man readied a lighter and pressed the black tip to the side of the chirpie’s haunch. “we clean up, and try again.” Flames danced along the chirpie’s fluff, and it squealed in panicked pain. Douglas casually tossed the flaming ball of fluff onto the pile and it ignited within seconds, with the sounds of burning ferals and dying screams filling the early afternoon air. Douglas watched a few survivors try and worm free from the pile, but to no avail, and they were consumed by the flames as well. Dying from shock or dying from the fires consuming them. The stink was going to linger for a while, but that was nothing some bleach and the hose couldn’t fix. Not to mention, he had to sanitize the barn, replace the hay, and clean out the bile, shit, and more that stained the place from the herd’s departure.
Later, though. For now, Douglas watched the fires burn on, and another sigh left him.
Losing ones’ way was never nice, but sometimes it just took a moment of clarity to guide them back onto the correct course. And, for him, that course was business.
It was always supposed just business to him, after all.
[So, here’s this; a fun way for me to come back to the site, so to speak.
Context, when the purge happened months ago, the original chapter 16 was lost among other stories. Even then, prior to that, I saw some voicing their disapproval of the course things were going, what with Douglas going abuser and tormenting them within the barn. So, I wanted to show it as, instead, him losing composure for a moment, only to regain it a while later. Like the regretful clarity one gets after raging at something in life. In this case, it was enough to push him back towards his usual business model, and to maintain his professionalism towards fluffies.
Of course, this isn’t frowning on abusers. Quite the opposite, really. But I hope this deluxe cut of chapter 16 will serve to amend the mishap last time and herald my return to things here.
So, thanks for reading, and I hope you’ll continue to enjoy my stories here!]