Douglas crossed out another thing in his little notebook, staring down the mare from the entrance of the saferoom. Her brood and her slept in a fluff-pile; too content in the world of their inane dreams to even notice him nearby. It’d been a good while since the first lesson, and as a result her brood had grown. Fully weaned off milk and to solid foods, they were all growing fast, and were pretty much due for the barn at this point. He gave them another day at least, and the mare had little under fifteen to be perfect for his brother’s girl…apparently, he was still trying to bang her. The only major developments on that was said girl didn’t have too high of expectations, which meant he didn’t need to put the mare through the entire breaking process.
The big man stole a glance of his notepad again. Unfortunately, all that remained was the thing he dreaded: killing off the baby fever. His descent into research about it yielded few new results. Some mares did lose the urges, but mostly those who were older or, in the case of ferals, those who were smart enough to know food wasn’t an abundance.
His phone buzzed. Douglas turned away from the doorway and answered it. “What is it, Byron?”
“Yo, just checking to see how the fluffy’s doing. Is she…done yet?”
“I estimate another ten or so days.”
“Man c’mon, ten days?! That’s forever!”
“It’s called a delicate process for a fucking reason, Byron.” Douglas growled. “I worked out most of the issues to this mare, but there’s a lot more still in there that need fixing, not to mention she’s dumber than the average fluffy.” Douglas put his brother on speakerphone and set it on the counter in the kitchen. He went to work making himself another cup of tea and filled the coffee maker. “Hence why she needs repeat lessons. I counted several incidents of her foals shitting outside the litter box. Each time, I’ve had to beat the absolute piss out of ‘em and reinforce that she doesn’t love them enough to take the lashes for them.”
“Yesh…seems sorta mean.”
“Not mean. Pragmatic.” Douglas tucked his mug under the coffee machine’s nozzle. “I don’t want her with the baby itch. So, easy solution, that doesn’t inflict too harsh of mental scars, is to turn her own brood against her. Make her assume every brood is gonna do the same. That they’ll all be ‘bad babbehs’. If her time in the mill didn’t kill that desire off, this will.”
“Shit, she’s from a mill? Didn’t you used to work in one?”
Douglas sighed. “I did, yes, and it’s why I’m so apathetic towards these things. When you hear them begging, crying, and pleading for a year, you either start day drinking, numb yourself to it, or get off on it. And I’m not an abuser, nor do I like drinking. Saw things there that’d make abusers basically nut, like how a mare who killed a batch of alicorns got flayed in front of the others. You never think they can scream so loud 'til one’s skin gets ripped from its body.” He set out his tin of sugar. “But, after a year of working there, the place went under.”
“Wait? I thought you quit.”
“Nope. Shut down. Turns out it was illegally run and unsanctioned, and the cops hit it a few days after the owner bailed to Mexico for a ‘business trip’. Staff was deemed innocent, laid off, and most of the fluffies seized from the place ended up in shelters or cycled to legal mills outta state. The unsellable ones, being milkbags, pillowfluffs, and roided up stallions, were taken out back and disposed of.” Douglas did hear about that from a coworker. They just took all the unwanted ones, stuffed them into a bigass garbage truck, and hit the lever. It was that or mass incineration. “Either way, Byron, I’ll keep working. Have you talked your girl into wanting a damn foal, yet?”
“Nyeh…she’s on the fence. Her research into them, which was literally one internet search, told her they have a low life expectancy rate.”
“Not wrong. Why do you think mares have such huge litters? If she’s a feral, at least two-thirds’ve that’s gonna be dead before they’re even weaned off milk. The rest’ll go from various urban predators. Keep talking to her about the idea. I’m gonna get back to the regiment.” Douglas dragged his finger across the screen and ended the call. His tea was done, and now he needed to let it cool just a bit. Plenty of time to check on the mare.
Douglas set the mug somewhere safe and moved back to the saferoom’s entrance. The fluffies were awake, and the three growing fluffies munched on kibble with their mother. The bowl had enough for all of them, though he kept a watchful eye in case one got greedy.
They were almost peaceful. T’was a shame he needed to break that peace.
“Enjoying breakfast?” He asked.
“Tannie wub bwekkies!” The tan one excited claimed. Douglas furrowed his brow, then glanced to the mare.
“He’s got a name?”
“Siwwy daddeh! dey aww hab names!” She proudly pointed a leathery hoof at the green filly. “Dat am gweenie,” And lastly to the blue colt. “An’ dat am bwuie!” She beamed proudly. “Babbehs hab gud names!”
Douglas inhaled. She was attached to them. He expected this and scolded himself for not getting rid of them while there was still time. “You know this is their last day in here, right?” Best give the news fast. Like ripping a band-aid off. “Tomorrow, all three of them go out to the barn.”
The mare gasped. “Buh whewe mummah gu?! Babbehs nee mummah!!”
“You’ll be staying here. Because—”
“Nu! nu wan’ weabe mummah!” The tan one interrupted him, even going so far as to…puff his cheeks. Oh good. “Dummeh hooman nu can take mummah 'way!”
The mare looked absolutely petrified from fear. Douglas just exhaled and flicked his gaze to her. “Seems like he doesn’t remember the rules. You know what that means.” He stepped over the gate and the tan colt’s composure faltered until he was also scared. He shuddered and Douglas saw he shat himself too. “Well, look at that, he made bad poopies as well.” The flyswatter was tugged up and he gave it a testing swat. “That’s twenty lashes.”
“Nu! nu sowwy stick fo’ fwuffy!” The colt tried to flee. Douglas watched him go, counting an extra lash for every step the terrified colt took. He cowered behind his mother who seemed too scared to move, no doubt trying to decide to either defend her grown-up colt or heed him.
He could practically see the gears turning in her head at this point.
“Buh…babbeh nu did mean it…”
“Besides the point. Not only did he forget rule three, but he tried to run too. Sorry box might not be enough for him at this point. And besides, he’s not a baby anymore. He’s grown, and it’s time for him to deal with his mistakes like a grown fluffy.”
The mare’s little mind was going in circles, all while her tan colt panicked and begged for her to save him. For her to grant him clemency.
“Huuhuu…tak babbeh…” She finally whimpered. Douglas snatched the colt up. The bastard was about as large as a small dog, but his struggles were easy to silence with a firm squeeze to the ribs. “Buh…wiww babbeh cum bak gud?” She pleaded.
“If he wants to be good. Otherwise, he’ll have to get forever sleepies.” That sent her into further waterworks as Douglas left with the flailing colt. He ignored the shitrat’s pleading and begging and, curtly, deposited him into a pet carrier he kept in the living room. It wasn’t large but gave the colt enough room to back up in, but not move around.
“Nu wike sowwy bocks…” The tan colt whimpered.
“Oh, it gets worse. See,” Douglas held the carrier by its handle and walked, heading for a specific place. “I normally kill fluffies who talk back to me. Would’ve just splattered you onto the wall, but no, I’m giving you a shot at fixing that shit. A fighting chance to show you don’t wanna die.” He flicked on a light switch and set the colt down in the worst place for a fluffy, the garage.
And sure enough, Gabby already approached to examine what was inside the carrier, flicking her tongue out curiously. The colt screeched and retreated as far back as he could go in the carrier, practically hyperventilating at the sight of a real monster. For them, at least. “So, here’s your punishment.” Douglas fetched a small spray bottle from the wall and gave it a shake. He sprayed it into the pet carrier, dousing the colt in it before returning it. “That’s Essence of Foal, which’ll make you and the carrier smell like a squirming, chirping foal.” Gabby’s curiosity turned to ruthlessness as she bit at the bars of the carrier, sending the colt into hysterical crying and screaming. The monitor was all over the carrier, smashing at it with her bulk and tugging at the bars with her maw. She wasn’t gonna get through it, though. Douglas knew his girl and knew despite her being his lil’ kaiju she wasn’t strong enough to rip off iron bars. Even then, if she did get in, she’d realize the colt wasn’t a foal and head back to her spot. Unless she decided to rip his face off for shits and giggles.
“PWEASE!!! WET TANNIE GU!!! NU WAN!!! NU WAN!!!” The colt wailed. Douglas shook his head.
“Fifteen minutes. You got that long to last before I let you out.” Douglas turned and left the garage, shutting the door and leaving the light on. The muffled shrieks and screeches of the colt followed him as he returned to the kitchen and stirred some sugar into his tea. There was the risk of the bastard regressing, but he was a throwaway. Plus, he wanted to see if this worked, if he could use his monitor lizard as a means of breaking fluffies into obedience. He already used her for the Pit, but he wanted to see if Gabby could help with scaring an adult or sub-adult fluffy into behaving.
Of course, he did feel bad about it. For her, of course. Not them. She thought she was getting a juicy foal to snap into bits, instead she was just scaring a colt into being a complacent little bitch. Maybe later he could go pick up some foals for her to kill. Even better if they were smarties. There were usually always good colored smarties at Fluff-Marts; any with undesirable colors tended to get the incinerator the second they were noticed.
They always made him chuckle a bit; how they demanded and demanded and didn’t realize until, too late, that Gabby was upon them, and their demands turned to pleads as they begged him to save them from his lizard. Douglas didn’t consider himself an abuser, but he could condone the killing of smarties at least.
He always made sure to snap their necks himself at the mill for that very reason.
[So, more background and a new method. Honestly, I was at a loss for this one. Didn’t know what to “teach” next, so I went with this. No dead fluffies yet, but something amusing all the same with some psychological abuse. I also said I’d showcase more into Douglas’ history, for those interested, and here it is; he used to work in a mill. An illegal one, yes, but one all the same.
I will forewarn, next chapter’s to get dark. I had the idea for it a long while ago, and now I wanna utilize it.]