Note: read “Man, I Feel Like A Woman!” first.
Hey there, it’s Ash.
Remember me? I trapped a feral stallion who had been raping mares in my town, tricked him into drinking a sex change potion, and then watched with some of my friends as our stallions ran a train on the stallion-turned-mare.
Naturally, she became pregnant because of that, and we’re not really sure who the father was. For all I know about fluffy biology, all of those stallions could be the father.
There’s gotta be paternity tests for fluffies, right?
Anyway, since then, we’ve been keeping the stallion-turned-mare in our custody, taking her to a local fluffy vet who doesn’t ask too many questions frequently, keeping her alive and healthy.
Not happy, though. We’re not keeping her alive for her sake. Those foals are innocent of her misdeeds, we’re not gonna go “sins of the father” on them.
Er, “sins of the mother”, I mean.
We ended up calling the stallion-turned-mare Limp Biscuit after all. And if you think that’s a crappy name, you should hear some of the rejects.
It’s been a while since we captured Limp Biscuit, long enough for the foals to be born and weaned.
Naturally, we snatched them away from her after she gave birth, and hand-raised the litter on formula. Flufftopia brand formula, specifically.
Again, even though their mother was a rapist bastard of a stallion, and even though they’re the result of her… comeuppance, doesn’t mean they should be punished for her crimes.
We’re not doing this for sadism’s sake. We’re not the Abuse Syndicate.
Once we had found loving owners for all of the foals, we dumped Limp Biscuit back in the pen for another round with the stallions.
As of this point in time, she’s still pregnant with her second litter.
Oh yeah, we’re not done with Limp Biscuit! We want her to fully understand what she inflicted on the mares around here, back when she was a he.
Don’t forget that I have a mare of my own! Dear little Emily almost became one of Limp Biscuit’s victims, and I wasn’t gonna let any two-bit serial rapist piece of shit stallion violate her.
We’ll probably end Limp Biscuit’s suffering sooner or later. When we feel like we’ve hammered the point in enough, we’ll take a hammer to her.
Maybe we’ll give her another dose of that potion and let her go free. If we’re feeling merciful, and she’s feeling repentant.
I dunno if that magic shop we bought it from would sell us another dose. If the staff know what we did with the first one, probably not.
But it’s not like what we did was that bad, right?
All we’re really doing is giving Limp Biscuit a taste of her own medicine.
Some of the guys are worried that Calvin Korkea might come knocking. Guy’s got eyes and ears everywhere, apparently.
You know how he feels about fluffy abuse.
Even if me and all of my friends gang up on him, he’ll win. He won’t even break a sweat.
If he uses that Mindless Mind thing, we’ll be lucky if we land one blow.
And he’s got all kinds of other power-ups. Even one would be overkill for us.
But if he knows about Limp Biscuit, he’ll understand if we explain the whole situation, won’t he? He’s a reasonable guy. He’s got a lot of patience. And he’s got fluffies of his own. Not all of them have powers.
He won’t butcher us all, like he did to the ringleaders of Project Zero Freaks, will he?
We’re not important enough for him to kill, are we?
I really hope he’ll understand.
I really, really hope he’ll understand.
Right now, it’s lunch time, and since Limp Biscuit is currently in my custody, I’ve got to feed her and Emily.
Me and the guys have all been taking turns taking “care” of Limp Biscuit. This week is my turn.
None of the stallions who raped and possibly impregnated Limp Biscuit live in my house. It’s just me and Emily here. So yeah, this week is an easy one for Limp Biscuit.
Emily’s in her thoroughly soundproofed saferoom, eating a bowl of Flufftopia ÜberFluff kibble, completely unaware of the guest in our basement.
But Limp Biscuit is gonna get the cheapest fluffy kibble I could find.
It’s not made of fluffies, that’s been banned in a lot of places.
And the Abuse Syndicate used to have kibble smugglers, but who else would deliberately smuggle fluffy-based kibble into places that have banned it?
From what I’ve heard, the Syndicate was founded purely to spite hugboxers, especially the ChaotiX.
Limp Biscuit’s staying down until the basement, because I’m keeping her away from Emily.
She might not be able to impregnate Emily anymore, but I wouldn’t put it past the little bitch to try killing Emily to get payback.
Yeah, rest assured that Limp Biscuit hates every minute of this ordeal. She knows she’s powerless, and she hates it.
As I enter the basement and turn the light on, I see Limp Biscuit in her cage, glaring sullenly at me.
She doesn’t say anything, but her body language says everything. She’s come to despise me a lot.
And I’m basking in it.
She’s still in the mobile stage of her pregnancy, but she’s currently curled up, because she doesn’t have a lot of room in that cage. It’s just big enough to not risk harming the unborn foals once she’s immobile.
Near the cage, there’s a half-empty bag of that cheap kibble, and a scoop.
After opening a small door on the top of the cage, the kibble bowl strategically placed right below it, I scoop up some kibble from the bag and drop it in.
clatter
A few pieces of kibble land on Limp Biscuit’s head, but she just shakes them off, still not saying anything.
I close the little door. It’s not big enough for her to fit through.
“Bon appetit, bitch.”
There’s also a water bottle, a big version of the kind you’d find in a hamster cage, because we didn’t trust her not to drown herself in a bowl in order to deny us any further satisfaction.
As I’m refilling the water bottle, I notice that Limp Biscuit isn’t touching her kibble.
“Are we doing this again? You know the rules, Limp Biscuit. Eat, or I’ll make you eat.”
She keeps glaring at me.
“Yu nu can keep fwuffy hewe foweba.”
She’s been refusing to use the name we gave her. I don’t think she even knows what the name means, but she’s a spiteful, stubborn little shit, and wants to deny us any victory she can.
I grab a sorry stick from a rack on the wall and stick it between the bars to poke her face, grinning in amusement as she struggles to not dignify me with a reaction.
“Riiiight, like you’re gonna escape.”
It’s a homemade sorry stick. Those are banned in a lot of places too, and Flufftopia stopped selling sorry sticks ages ago.
I use my free hand to point at the big, heavy padlock on the cage’s front door. The key is nowhere near the padlock, for the sake of security.
“You can’t even get out of the cage without our say-so. Give it a week or two, and you won’t even be able to walk.”
She grits her teeth.
“Onwy un-tiw fwuffy haf had da fukkin babbehs.”
Yeah, she has no love for the foals she’s been forced to give birth to. Which is another reason we didn’t let her keep the first litter: we didn’t trust her not to kill them.
I poke her nose with the sorry stick.
“You can’t complain, Limpy. You knocked up a lot of mares around town when you still had a dick, they had to go through what you’re going through. Honestly, you should consider yourself lucky that we didn’t pillow you. Our plans for you don’t really require you to have legs.”
Then I kneel down, lowering my voice.
“Between you and me, the main reason you still have your legs is because Bruno loves it when mares try to run. It’s like injecting Viagra directly into his bloodstream. Makes him hard enough to penetrate concrete. You’ll be seeing him and all the other stallions again, after the second litter is off the milk and out the door. Bruno has been looking forward to it. He wanted me to say hi, by the way. I’ll tell him you send him your love.”
Finally, I gesture at the bowl of kibble, still untouched.
“So eat your damn kibble before I shove a feeding tube down your throat. You play by our rules now.”
Limp Biscuit reluctantly starts eating the dry, flavorless kibble, keeping her eyes on me as she slowly chews.
“Um… num… num… num…”
I watch, to make sure she actually eats it, because I fully expect her to spit it out the second my back is turned.
And once the bowl is empty, I wait a bit longer, to make sure she doesn’t try to make herself puke it all up after I leave.
Once I’m satisfied, I stand up straight, hanging the sorry stick on a rack.
“I’ll be back to see how you’re doing around dinner time. Remember, Chuck’s gonna be picking you up on Sunday. So you’ll be seeing Bruno again soon.”
She just silently glowers at me, hate in her eyes.
I laugh as I turn the light off and exit the basement.
As I close the basement door behind me, I’m grinning again.
“Man, I’ve never seen a fluffy look so pissed off.”
I make my way from the hallway to Emily’s saferoom, passing the open living room door.
“Alright, let’s see how Emily is doing before I get started on my own lu–”
Then I stop walking, and take a few steps backwards to the doorway, because I could have sworn that I saw someone sitting on my couch.
As I look through the doorway, I see that there is someone sitting on my couch.
A man with a messy brown ponytail, a battle suit and an audacious smirk, a rasta fluffy in his lap.
“Ash McArthur. Let’s have a little chat about the pregnant mare in your basement.”
Aaaahhhh, fuck.
It’s Korkea.
And he brought Marley.
I step into the living room, holding my hands up.
“I can explain everything. But first, uh, how did you get in here? And how do you even know about Limp Biscuit?”
Korkea shrugs.
“The answer to both questions is that I have my ways. This usually isn’t my style, but I didn’t think you’d answer if I rang the doorbell. And I need to talk to you about you and your friends’… activities. I understand that you are the ringmaster of this little circus, Mr. McArthur.”
He glares at me.
“You mind telling us what the fuck is going on here? Why are you keeping a pregnant mare locked in a dark basement? Are you another basement breeder? Because I’ve put a lot of them behind bars, and I’ll do the same to you if I have to.”
Marley glares too, just like Korkea.
“Su sit down, mistah Ash. Yu shudda seen dis come-in fwom a miwe away. Ow wun-point-siss kiwwoh-mettuhs.”
I sit down on my favorite armchair.
“It’s kind of a long story, but I can assure you that me and my friends have a good reason. Please let me explain that reason before you do anything rash.”
Marley huffs in annoyance.
“Yu bettah stawt duin tawkies, den.”
“Gladly, if it means I don’t get my ass kicked today.”
So I take a deep breath, and I recount the story from the very beginning, when Limp Biscuit rolled into town as a nameless stallion.
It takes about an hour to finish, and I still haven’t had lunch yet.
“…So yeah. That’s the story so far. Do you see, Mr. Korkea? We’re not doing this for abuse’s sake. We wouldn’t do this to just any fluffy. Limp Biscuit brought it on herself.”
Korkea scratches his chin in thought.
“I’m not going to say that… that the mare downstairs is innocent in all of this. I do understand your reasons for doing what you did. But I can’t say that I approve of how you’ve chosen to handle this, Ash. You guys aren’t just another pack of spiteful abusers, but what you’re doing basically falls under mob justice.”
“And what you do falls under vigilante justice, so…”
Korkea laughs.
“Ha! The balls on this one, Mar.”
“He gutta wotta shut-spah.”
“It’s pronounced chutzpah, buddy. But yeah, Ash, that is a good point you just made. Legally speaking, we’re both in a grey area. But here’s the deal I’m gonna give you, and the non-negotiable terms.”
“Non-negotiable–”
“You play by our rules now, or you don’t play at all. So listen up!”
Korkea points at the floor.
“This litter is the last one you’re making the mare in the basement have. After the foals are out the door, I’ll be back to take that mare off your hands, and I’ll be bringing her to Facility A-40, where trained, professional fluffy psychologists will be taking care of her henceforth. What you and your friends get out of this deal is that I won’t beat the shit out of all of you and hand you over to the local authorities, with the caveat that you guys never do anything like this to fluffies again. But if you do…”
For a moment, his eyes glow a burning red.
“…it’s clobberin’ time for all of you. Break the terms of the deal, and you’ll be sorry.”
Marley nods.
“An dis am a pwetty gud deaw yu am gittin.”
“Again, I understand your reasons for doing what you did, but you still crossed a line. If you had let her go after the first litter, I might have looked the other way entirely. But she’s on her second litter. How many times were you guys planning to do this, Ash?”
I shrug.
“As many times as it takes for her to get the point. We weren’t necessarily planning to kill her when we’re through with her, Korkea. If she actually learns her lesson, we’d give her another dose of that potion and let her walk free as a changed stallion.”
“Even so, you should be aware that most mages don’t like it when magic is used to torment the magicless. Frankly, you’re lucky to get us instead of Des, 'cause otherwise, you’d be spending the rest of your life eating flies in a pond in the Sanctum’s gardens. And you’d have company there. As I’ve already said twice, I see that you didn’t do this just for shits and giggles, but you took the punishment too far.”
“At least we weren’t feeding her fluffy-based kibble.”
“And on that note, I’ve taken the liberty of supplying you with a free bag of ÜberFluff Bestest Babbehs kibble. For the foals’ sake. It’s in the cupboard under the sink. Keep in mind that I could just take the dam right now, and you couldn’t stop me. But I feel like I’ve been too heavy-handed lately, so I’m gonna be lenient about this. She stays in this house until the foals are weaned, and then she goes off to Facility A-40. Until then, try to treat her a bit more decently. Don’t use that sorry stick you made again, just bin the damn thing. She’ll only be your problem for a few more weeks, tops. And she’ll never be a threat to mares around here again, I can promise you that.”
“And… what’s gonna happen to her at that facility?”
Korkea smirks again.
“Well, we’ll have to administer another dose of the Potion of Femininity/Masculinity first. Facility A-40 is basically a place where mentally unwell fluffies are treated, and if their afflictions can’t be cured, they can at least be kept away from other fluffies.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just… y’know…”
I pantomime the act of choking someone to death with a piano wire, Agent 47 style.
“Put them… out of their misery?”
Korkea rolls his eyes.
“Hey, why not do the same to insane humans? If that’s how you wanna do it…”
“Yeah, okay, fair enough.”
“Besides, I can tell you that trying to kill an insane fluffy could backfire on you. It has backfired in the past.”
Marley shrugs.
“Umbwa haf magic, most in-sane fwuffies nu haf dat. Wun Umbwa wuz bad enuff.”
“Well, yeah. Still, if there’s a chance that someone’s insanity can be treated, you shouldn’t just kill them. But if they’re beyond any help… if they’re a clear and present danger to everyone around them… and if there’s no way to contain them… if there’s no other choice… then yeah, you might just have to put them down like Old Yeller, I know that. I’ve had to do that a good few times. Of course, death doesn’t always stick anymore. Anyway, like I was saying, the people at Facility A-40 can probably rehabilitate… urgh, Limp Biscuit. Seriously, what is up with that name?”
“It was the best one we could think of.”
“I don’t wanna hear the rest. She’s not keeping that name. But yeah, hopefully, we can prevent her-- or him– from raping any mares in the future. Our methods are more effective than yours, Ash.”
I look in the direction of the saferoom.
“I’ve got a fluffy of my own, you know. I did this to protect Emily. And I really should see how she’s doing.”
“She’s fine, we’ve had a drone watching the house this whole time. In case any funny business occured. Not really any different from a bodycam. Honestly, I was expecting you to take a swing.”
I grin at Korkea.
“I’m not stupid. I know I’d just break my hand on your face, and that’s assuming you’d let me hit you. I was expecting you to have kicked my ass by now.”
“Like I said, I feel like I’ve been going a bit overboard lately. I can be lenient, dude.”
Marley hops off Korkea’s lap, and Korkea gets up.
“So treat Limp Biscuit better while she’s under your care. I’ll be back for her when the foals are weaned, as promised, and I will be very disappointed if I don’t leave with a whole mare, if you catch my drift. No pillowing. Yes, we can just regrow her legs, but prevention is the best cure, as they say. Don’t waste the chance you’ve been given, Ash McArthur. Tell your friends what happened here today. I’ll give any of them the footage from the drone if they want proof, and I’ll be giving that footage to the local authorities as well.”
I get up too, seeing the point he’s making without him having to spell it out.
I don’t think that drone was there to watch me, I think it was there to watch him.
To make sure that he’s watching himself.
“I won’t forget. This was just a one time thing, Korkea.”
“I damn well hope so–”
gurgle
I blush as Korkea and Marley stare at me.
“I haven’t had lunch yet, okay?”
After quickly introducing themselves to Emily, Korkea and Marley leave.
She was pretty excited to meet them, but they’re very busy, so they couldn’t stick around all day.
Once they’re gone, I have a quick lunch, and then I go into the basement again, turning the light on and walking over to Limp Biscuit’s cage.
She stares daggers at me, angrily breathing through her nose like Hector Salamanca.
“Wut am it dis time?”
I smile at her.
“Oh, I simply thought you might like to know that Calvin Korkea was just here.”
That catches her interest.
“Da Bestest Hoomin? Weawwy?”
Damn near every fluffy knows about him by now. He’s a fluffy folk hero.
“Wut wuz he hewe fow?”
“He wanted to talk about you, Limp Biscuit. He knows what’s been happening.”
Limp Biscuit raises an eyebrow in disbelief.
“…An fwuffy stiww am hewe? Da Bestest Hoomin nu wike wut yu am duin!”
“Oh, I know. But he knows why we’re doing it. He knows what you did to deserve it. And… well… let’s just say he promised that you’ll never be a threat to mares around here again. He’s gonna make sure of that.”
I’m leaving some of the finer details of the conversation out. Hey, she’ll learn the whole truth eventually, when Korkea comes back for her.
Limp Biscuit’s eyes widen.
“Yu… yu am wie-in! Da Bestest Hoomin nu gib fwuffies owwies!”
I can tell that she doesn’t want to believe it.
“Oh no, I’m telling the truth. Don’t you know that he killed Umbra thrice? That means three times, before you ask. And Umbra had it coming, just like you had this coming. Korkea pretty much said that he’d kill you himself if there’s no other options. So, y’know, you’ve got something to think about while you’re down here. Be good, Limp Biscuit.”
I walk back over to the stairs leading out of the basement, and smile at Limp Biscuit in her cage.
“You’re only gonna be my problem for a little while longer. See you at dinner time, bitch.”
And I exit the basement, leaving the light on this time.
I make my way into Emily’s saferoom, watching her having a tea party with her stuffy friends.
“Mowe tee, missus Ness-bit?”
I can’t help but smile warmly at the sight.
Once Limp Biscuit is outta here, Emily will be safe, and she won’t have to spend so much time cooped up in the saferoom.
I wasn’t lying to Korkea.
I did it for her.
Meanwhile, in the city so many of the ChaotiX call home, at Dr. Pierre Faucheuse’s School for Gifted Individuals, Calvin sits at the desk in his office, Marley curled up on the desk.
Calvin’s got his phone out, and he and Marley are watching the drone footage of their conversation with Ash.
“But I feel like I’ve been too heavy-handed lately, so I’m gonna be lenient about this.”
Ash is a redhead, by the way. His hair is rather sleek and shiny, with bangs, not as messy as Miles or Quin’s respective mops of red hair.
“You think we handled that the right way, Mar?”
Marley nods.
“Dewe am wowse ways we cudda hand-uwd it.”
“I know. And there’s better ways they coulda handled it. But as long as it doesn’t happen again, I’ll let them all off easy.”
Calvin closes the video, and makes a call.
“I’d better tell Des how it went. He might have a new patient in the near future.”