Another email sent and another buyer was inbound.
Douglas breathed a sigh of relief and sat back in his office chair. All but one of the latest batch of trained foals were purchased and their buyers would be by in the following week to collect them. He expressively warned them of the dangers of shipping as, with how inept fluffies were, there was no telling if they’d even survive the trip. So, they had to come out to his property to get them. A small price to pay for a fluffy that won’t demand shit, won’t beg for “sketties”, and would know restraint.
Still, with that done, another mare needed to get knocked up and another batch of foals needed to be introduced into the program. Few of the males outside had appealing colors, and the smarty he broke a few days ago was…well taking a dirt nap. Shockingly, it wasn’t because of him. Bastard tried to lead an “uprising” while he was grocery shopping and escaped the barn, only to wander around the field out back until he died of heatstroke. The others were, remarkably, smart enough not to follow his example and instead stayed put. He wondered if that was because of intelligence or fear. Probably the lat—
His phone rang. Douglas dragged along the screen and set it to speaker. He already knew who it was. “What happened, Byron?”
“Why do you assume somethin’ happened when I call?”
“Because something usually did.” Douglas sighed. “But, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. What’s up?”
“…well yeah somethin’ happened. You still run that…business of yours, right? I need a favor.”
“A girl I’m tryin’ to hook up with likes fluffies, and…well I sorta said I could get her one in her favorite color that’s well behaved…”
Douglas sighed. “And because you have zero knowledge on rearing a fluffy, you came to me. Augh…color. Better be something simple.”
“Oh, cotton white. She didn’t specify about the mane. B-But can you do it?”
“I can, but it’s not gonna be an easy, nor fast, process. And are we talking a foal, or…?”
“…she…wants an adult. She said they’re messy and annoying as foals, and wants to skip right to the best part of owning a fluffy.”
Douglas made no effort to hide his scowl. He was sure his brother could feel it. “Byron, I’m gonna be honest, that fucks the plan right up.”
“Man, come on! You got this! How hard can it be—”
“Very. A foal’s easy to work with as they’re running damn near on pre-programmed nonsense I can just get rid of through the training I put each and every single one through. For an adult, that fucks things up as most already know what ‘sketti’ and other things are and depending on the adult will openly beg and demand it. Might even get aggressive if they’re not given what they want. That means I need to get crueler with my tactics, but since this is for a girl you’re trying to bed, I can’t do the usual methods, so I need to go for something discrete. Something that won’t leave physical or mental scars."
“AND let’s not forget that, if it’s a mare, I need to kill off her ‘baby fever’ they all get before she starts demanding babies. You remember what happened to Reggie’s fluffy, that cotton candy pink one he bought from me. I sat there and told him not to let her watch FluffTV because some of the programs feature foals and talk about babies, but he didn’t listen, and sure enough she got the urge. She then proceeded to trash her saferoom and his living room before she escaped after he colorfully told her no, got knocked up by a random stray, and came waddling back, expecting him to feed, play with, and take care of nine fluffies. That was not a fun phone call. Reggie’s pretty fucking bad with foresight and blaming others for his problems.”
“But it worked out in the end, right?”
“Byron, he killed every single foal. Just took a baseball bat and smashed them into giblets in the driveway. Big shocker, she hit the ‘wan die’ loop not too long after and had to be euthanized. So, yeah, this isn’t some simple little project. I do this, I expect compensation and I’m gonna need time to make it work right.”
“Right just…I’ll pay whatever it costs. I’m sorry for assuming it’s an easy thing.”
“Augh…you’re alright. You’ll cover the cost for the fluffy, and minor expenses. While I look, try and talk this girl into taking a foal. Much easier to work into the program. I’ll call you when I have something, and we best hope it ain’t a mare. Not in the mood to get vindictive.” Douglas ended the call and breathed an irritated sigh. He loved his brother, but the fucker was impulsive as shit and rarely thought things through. But, at the same time, his brother’s impulsiveness helped him get ahead in life. At times.
Still, Douglas needed to find a cotton white fluffy. So, best place to look was the Fluff-mart. He wasn’t looking forward to the trip, but…well it needed to be done.
Douglas tucked his phone away once he got in the Fluff-mart. This wasn’t the time to browse and shop around; he needed to find the needed fluffy and hope he could turn it into something grand.
“Oh, Doug? What’s going on?” He glanced over. The new girl, Jen, was working the register, trying her best to stealthily slide her phone into her pocket and look like she was working. He didn’t judge.
“Lotta things, Jen, but I’m looking for a specific kind of fluffy; cotton white. My brother got himself in a mess with a girl and now he’s trying to get her a fluffy in her favorite color but wants me to train it the way I do.”
“Oooo, sounds tough. Well, the bins are always open. Have a look, and lemme know if you need something, ‘kay?” He smiled warmly at her and walked about.
Unfortunately, he didn’t find the sort of fluffy he was looking for, and soon he found himself standing over the last chance bin, filled with fluffies that were either rescued from the streets or were, as the name said, on their last chance before they were deemed worthless and sent off to be euthanized. A few defective foals roamed it, and a few bad colored colts and fillies as well, but he saw a mare or two in there as well, lounging with their brood and shooting pleading looks about, hoping someone bought her and her brood.
“Alright, here we are, Angie,” Douglas glanced to his right. A balding man stood near the bin with a young girl, arms crossed and waiting as she eagerly browsed the bin. She had to be his kid, and given where they were, the man was probably getting his kid her very first fluffy. “now, pick which one you want.”
“Ooo! What about that one?” She pointed at one of the shit-colored foals. “He looks so sad; it’s breaking my heart, daddy!”
“Ehh…I dunno…” Her dad complained. “Don’tcha want one with prettier colors? Like that lil’ yellow one next to it.” Said yellow one hung close to a mare with the same color. Douglas guessed that one was the mare’s foal, and probably the ‘bestest babbeh’ as well. Said mare was roused from her lounging and stared up at the man’s daughter, almost expectantly.
“Nyu mummah?” She asked.
The kid tilted her head. “Huh? You want me to be your mommy?”
“Yus! be nyu mummah fo’ bestest mummah an’ bestes’ babbeh!” She wrapped her forelimbs around the yellow filly and presented her, beaming.
The little girl looked downright ecstatic. “Ooooo!! Why don’t we get her, daddy? She already looks trained and everything!”
“Ehh…maybe we can make her work…”
“Excuse me,” Douglas cleared his throat. “I hope you don’t mind me cutting in but…that mare’s a terrible idea.” The mare’s face quickly turned to a frightened, heartbroken frown. Douglas looked to the father. “You know a lot about fluffies, right?”
“Not…really, no.” He admitted. “Why?”
“Well, for starters, she gave off a red flag.” He jabbed his thumb at the filly. “Any mare who has a ‘bestest babbeh’ is a bad choice. Means she’s prone to favoritism, and, if you did adopt her and let her have more foals, she’ll probably neglect and mistreat any that aren’t her favorite.”
“That’s horrible!” The little girl gasped in shock. “Why would they do that?!”
“Dunno.” Douglas shrugged. “But it gets worse. Watch,” He turned towards the fluffy. “Hey there, I’ll adopt you and give you a nice home, but only if you tell me how you got here.”
The mare completely forgot what he said and smiled giddily. “Dummeh owd mummah say fwuffie nu can hab babbehs! su fwuffy wan ‘way an’ had babbehs anyways! dey dah bestes’ thin’ in dah whowe wowwd!”
Douglas scowled and turned back to the father. “There’s your second red flag. She was told no to kids, so she ran off and got them anyways. For one, that means she doesn’t respect your rules, and it also means she’s likely to just go behind your back for other things, like sneaking food.”
“Well, you sure know a lot about these things.” The man huffed. “Can’t even understand them half the time myself…glad we know not to get her.”
“NUUUU!!!” The mare wailed. She thrashed around and practically flung her foal across the bin. “Pwease take mummah an’ bestes’ babbeh! mummah desewbe gud house, wiff toys, an’ sketti!”
“Well, that just seals it.” The father affirmed. “Angie, you want that brown one? He seems pretty well behaved.”
“NUU! Dat poopie babbeh! bad babbeh! Mummah gib foweba sweepies to bad babbeh, den nyu mummah take fwuffie an’ bestes’ babbeh!” The mare trudged over to the foal and swung her hoof at it, knocking it to the ground and earning panicked, pained chirps from it.
The little girl gasped. “How could she be so mean! Why would she try to hurt it!?” She thrust her hand in and grabbed the brown foal, yanking it away from the mare and cradling it against her chest, quieting the foal’s frantic peeping. “There there…I’ll take good care of you. Think I’ll call you…Brownie!” She wandered away from the bin, leaving her dad to sigh.
“Well, that takes care of that. Thanks for the help, bud. Here’s hoping she makes it last.” The man walked off, and Douglas glanced down at the sobbing mare. Her sobs intensified and she beat her hooves on the ground, going into a tantrum and wailing uncontrollably. Her chance at getting a good life slipped through her hooves, though she didn’t really do much to hang onto it.
Douglas winced when she brought her hoof down on her foal’s back, killing her in a messy splatter. He wasn’t gonna tell her about that. Best let her find out herself. He walked away from the bargain bin and back to the front counter, ignoring the mare’s tantrum and heading out the door.
Was it a bit cruel to shoot down that mare’s chances at a good life? Not really. Given the red flags he picked up she’d have done that herself in record time or ended up back on the streets after getting that baby itch again and running away to get knocked up again. So, really, he just sped the process up a bit.
It was funny; were he not looking for something, he might’ve taken her for the farm. Wouldn’t be a happy ending for her, no, but better than the date with the incinerator she had.
The damn shelter didn’t have what he was looking for either.
Douglas stepped out the rancid building with a scowl on his face. The one time he’s looking for a specific fluffy, it’s nowhere to be found. Not even a foal! It was almost baffling, but that’s how life was. Still, he wanted to help his brother, and so he had to look elsewhere. Maybe he could call some friends and business clients to see if they had a mare that, recently, dropped a white foal. Considering white was generally an appealing color, he doubted they’d be willing to part with it without generous compensation, something Douglas wasn’t looking forward to.
He passed by an alley and quickly picked up the sounds of a mummah song. Normally, such a thing he’d wantonly discard, but he was curious. Maybe this could be the break he needed. He made no effort to hide his footsteps as he delved in; with how loud and gaudy the singing mare’s voice was she’d probably only hear him when he was right above her, and by then it would be too late to actually do something.
Douglas reached the center of the alley and found a cardboard box on its side. A few foals played around outside of it, but within the box was…well the very thing he sought; a cotton white fluffy! She had all the signs of being a long-time feral: dirty fluff, shit-caked ass, and she smelled like trash, but like it or not, she was what he needed. One thing that stood out was that she had an emerald, green mane, something that made Douglas wonder why she hadn’t been found sooner. White fluff and green mane? Those were appealing colors. He shelved those questions and took a step closer.
Her foals were…well they were worthless. She had four of them, with the fourth being a runt. The two playing outside the box were tan and light blue and the one clamped to her crotchtit being a puke green color. The runt, fast asleep nearby her, looked to be an orange unicorn with a warped, defective leg. The foal could probably use it, but they wouldn’t be able to run like their siblings.
One of said siblings saw him and shrieked. “Wun bwuddah! hooman munsta!” So, their mother taught them humans were bad. Another major sign of a long-time feral. The two foals scrambled away as best they could, alerting their mother who freaked and tried to do the same.
“Pwease nu gib fwuffy owwies! take owange babbeh! nu gud!” She wailed. Like most ferals, she was also willing to offer up her brood to survive. Douglas frowned. If this was the one he was gonna rehabilitate, then he had his work cut out for him.
“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to give you a nice home.”
The mare, without missing a beat, stopped running and turned to look up at him. “‘ou gib fwuffy gud housie? Wiff toys? an’ sketti?”
Douglas’ eyebrow twitched. “Sure, all that, but first, I wanna know how you got here.”
“Fwuffy nu can wemembah. Fwuffy wemembah bein’ in big housie wiff othah fwuffies, in bad metaw housies. Mawes make babbehs ebewy day, buh nu can see dem. Huuhuu… Buh den othah humans came in an’ wet us aww go, su fwuffy wan, an’ met speshuw fwend in pawk. Fwuffy’s gone nao; metaw munsta gib foweba sweepies tu him. Nao mummah aww awone…”
Douglas scowled again and put the pieces together in his head. She sounded like a mill survivor, and probably escaped when cops raided the mill. Sure, they weren’t hard to put together and run, but they required a license; the city’s attempt at a deterrent so random yahoos didn’t make mills out their garage and release unwanted fluffies back out into the city, worsening the already terrible population issue. He knew they got it under control recently, but all it took was one too many dams roaming about for that to skyrocket again and for herds to form.
That’s when things got bad, because herds would lay claim to anywhere they saw fit and prove to be a headache wherever they went.
For the time, Douglas pulled himself from his thoughts and stared down at the mare. “Sounds bad. Let’s get a move on, then. When we get home, I’ll explain the rules. Fail to meet them, and you end up right back on the street, in an even shittier box.” That put the fear of God in the mare, and she hurried to collect her babies in her fluff so she could follow. Douglas saw a long road ahead of rehabilitating the damn thing, but this was for his brother, and it’d serve as a good test of the tricks he picked up in his trade. Really, if it worked, he could officially turn a profit by finding strays, training the badness out of them, and selling them for a higher price.
And, if it didn’t, the shovel was close by.
“So, here’s the saferoom.” Douglas set the gate back in place once the mare was inside. Mary was absent for the moment; best to introduce the two of them once she had acclimated to the place. Prevent any issues from arising.
The stray mare darted her head about, oooing and ahhing in surprise and amazement at her temporary home. “Wook, babbehs! bestes’ safewoom!” Her foals did the same, as Douglas estimated they were still needing milk, so they must’ve recently got the use of their eyes. Would work for the program, but probably not.
“Well, glad you’re enjoying the view. Time for rules.” Douglas put a finger up. “Rule one, good poopies go in the litterbox, for you and your babies. If any of you break this rule, it’s the sorry stick.”
The mare’s reverie died in a flash and was replaced with worry. “Buh…babbehs am too wittwe fo’ sowwy stick.”
“Then you best make sure they make good poopies then, hmm?” He had no claims against beating her foals. He knew the right force to use to just leave injuries but not accidentally pulp them. Douglas raised another finger. “Rule two, ‘sketti’ is only to be given once a week, and only if you behave.”
Once again, the mare’s face fell. “Buh…Fwuffy nee’ sketties tu make bestes’ miwkies.”
“You’ll get kibble. Refuse to eat it, and guess who starves?” She bowed her head in sadness, silently ‘huuhuu’ing. Douglas had no intent to let her starve, but with how dumb fluffies were she believed him. He put another finger up. “Rule three, you always listen to me. If I tell you to do something, you do it. Talk back and try not to, sorry box.” The mare cringed at the mention of that. Seemed the mill used that on fluffies who misbehaved. Smart choice. A fourth finger went up. “Rule four, and this one’s pretty personal, no more babies. Those four babies you got there, they’re all you get. If anything happens to them, you get no more.” His fifth finger went up. “And rule five, you and your babies stay in the saferoom at all times. If any of you leave, even for a second, I put you out the house for good.” The mare wanted to scream in fright at such a threat but bit her tongue. Good. She remembered rule three. With that, Douglas tugged his phone from his pocket and stepped out the room.
“Byron, I got one.”
“Shit, for real?”
“Mhm. Unfortunately, street fluffy. Seems to be a mill survivor.”
“Oh, shit…is that bad?”
“Means she’ll be a bit dumber than average. Mill fluffies aren’t taught much for a number of reasons, which means I’ll need a while with her to make sure she comes out this improvised program spotless.”
“Well, how long?”
“Probably a month. By then, she’ll either be ready for your lady friend or buried out back. I’ll get to work dealing with her. So, talk to you soon.” He ended the call and headed for his office. He needed to get a spreadsheet ready on this mare; he wasn’t gonna bother naming her until he found out what Byron’s lady friend wanted her name to be. While it was easy to make a fluffy learn a different name, he only liked naming ones he planned to keep around. He never understood why.
Still, he already knew the mare and her brood were gonna fuck up down the road. He could at least use the time he had to devise specific punishments. Would save him a headache when the time came.
The morning sun trickled through his bathroom window as Douglas carefully brushed his teeth. He made a note to call his dentist and schedule a cleaning…seemed like a good time for it. He finished the daily chore up and stepped out the bathroom, heading for his kitchen to—
He wrinkled his nose. The smell of shit was in the air. Silently, the big man moved to the saferoom to confirm his suspicions. The mare was messing with some blocks and her foals were running around and playing, but the tan one walked away from a small pile of shit; a pile the fucker just dropped. He knew it’d happen. So, time to get to work.
“What did I just tell you?” The mare jumped in fright and darted her gaze towards him. Douglas pointed towards the small pile of shit in the middle of the floor. “What’s that?”
“B-bad poopies…” She whimpered. “Buh daddeh, it nu fwuffy’s fauwt! dat bwown babbeh’s fauwt!”
“Oh good. Means I can punish him alone.” Her eyes went wide. Douglas stepped into the saferoom and plucked the sorry stick from the wall. It wasn’t a Fluff-mart approved one; just an old flyswatter he kept mostly as a “just in case”. A metaphoric loaded gun. The sight of it made the whole family of fluffies terrified, and the tan foal waddled away, already panicking.
“Nu! nu sowwy stick! mummah! hewp babbeh!” Douglas snatched the foal up and enclosed his hand around his torso, holding his shit-covered ass to the side to make it an easy target.
“Nu! nu gib babbeh owwies!” The mare waddled over to him as fast as her stubby legs could take them.
“What was rule three?” He sternly asked. She flinched and stopped her futile approach. “You always listen to me. And it seems like you aren’t doing a very good job, are you?”
“Buh…he jus’ wittwe babbeh…too wittwe fo’ sowwy stick…” She pleaded with a choked whimper. Douglas already knew this would happen, and so he had a contingency.
“Fine, I won’t swat him.” He glanced down at the mare. “If you take his place and get double the hits.”
“Buh mummah nu did anythin’—”
“I know, but that’s the deal. Either you let me punish your bad baby with five swats, or you take his place and get ten hits instead. What’ll it be?” The first of the many tests was issued at last; would she put herself first and let her foal be beaten or take his place and take the hit for him. Despite their devotion to one another, fluffies generally had an ‘all for one’ mentality; they were loyal to one another until something happened, and then they put saving themselves over saving others. Some were exceptions to this, but with the herds he saw in the city, as small as they were, the second a dog or any other urban predator made itself known, they scattered and abandoned one another instead of sticking together. He doubted the mare would need it, unless Byron’s lady friend got another, but it didn’t hurt to instill it.
The mare’s waterworks went on. “S-Sowwy babbeh! Mummah too scawedy!” She covered her eyes with her hooves and hid her vision, not wanting to see what came next. The foal, all the while, squirmed in his grip, and Douglas brought down the swatter with dismal force. But, all the same, it earned a shriek of pain from the foal who released another torrent of shit.
“Well, he made more bad poopies,” Douglas spoke with fake disappointment. “That’s three extra hits.” He brought the swatter down again and again. The foal sobbed and sobbed, rousing his siblings to do the same, and the mother cried away, forelimbs covering her eyes so she didn’t have to see her baby get hurt. Douglas delivered all seven swats and set the trembling, crying foal down.
“Always remember,” He made sure the punished foal could hear him. “Your mother could’ve stopped that, but she didn’t love you enough.” With that, he got up, put the sorry stick back, and cleaned up the shit with a disposable rag he kept in the room, tossing the brown-stained rag into the trashcan outside the saferoom. The last part of the punishment felt a little cruel, but it was for the mare mostly. To stab her right in the heart, metaphorically, and rouse her into action the next time her foals made a mistake. Would she take their place, or leave them to suffer? Hard to say. They were destined for the barn anyhow, so teaching them felt largely useless, so every lesson had to be meant for her, to condition her into the best fluffy his brother could get.
No matter how much she came to resent him, Douglas was gonna make her perfect. As daunting of a task it was, it was simpler than the last time Byron tried to woo a girl.
…mostly because the last girl was into anime. Way into it…
[And the first multi-part chapter. I was originally gonna just make this all one giant document, but this lets people see the fun and not be forced to wait for it. Plus it’s easier on my mind as it lets me move to other projects. So, hope you enjoy Douglas’ efforts to rehabilitate a street fluffy into a suitable domestic, all because of being a good brother.
Also, fun fact, the inspiration for Douglas came from Benjamin King from Saints Row. Mostly in temperament and deposition. I dunno where this fact fits in, so I wanted to say it here. I hope you enjoyed the first part all the same!]