Meeting Will (Turboencabulator)

Meeting Will
Abuse, neutralbox, hugbox

By: Turboencabulator

Sam wandered the aisles at a local pharmacy, absentmindedly picking up a few items here and
there and dropping them in his basket. The assortment of bottles, boxes, and sealed packets
rattled quietly as he set the basket up on the counter, rubbing his eyes.

“That’s quite a load you’ve got there, mister.”

The older gentleman behind the counter was ringing him up, one eyebrow raised.

Sam nodded. “I’m setting up a first aid cabinet in a workshop. Also, would you happen to have
eyedrops in the back room, the shelf was empty of the heavy-duty stuff.”

“I’ll go check.” The teller excused himself, going into the stockroom.

Sam deftly slipped a modified mint tin out of his pocket and, leaning over the counter to the
register, carefully lifted the keyring in the till keyboard. With the tin palmed, he opened the
lid one-handed, revealing it had been filled with soft wax. He took an impression of every key
on the ring, barring the one currently in the register. He finished in a little over twenty
seconds, and was absentmindedly picking out a roll of Necco wafers from the candy display by
the time the teller came back with a bottle of eyedrops.

“Thank you, this should be all for me.” Sam said, putting down the roll with the remainder of
his purchase, tucking the mint tin in his pocket.

Eight hours later, Sam was loading a dark backpack full of controlled medications. This was the
third store tonight, chosen due to a lack of security measures and its location near run-down
or undesirable parts of town. Coincidentally, it was also in an area with a lot of feral
fluffies, and the back of his van was full of shitrats, sleeping off the effects of drugged
ramen-and-tomato-paste binges in tight transport tubes made from segments of PVC pipe.

Sam slipped out the back door, re-locking it with a freshly cut key, and stowed his bag in the
passenger footwell of his new ‘fluffy catcher van’, a modified old Econoline, parked at the
other end of the alley from the pharmacy. He drove quietly through the neighborhood adjacent to
the strip mall, staying away from the main roads, until he reached his final stop, Frankie’s
shelter. He grabbed some paper, and jotted down a few lines. He was going to need to know what
brand of kibble the shelter used, and in a few weeks to start saving every pregnant mare for

Sam went up to the front door and taped the note to the glass, before getting in his van and
driving home.

Sam pulled into the parking space for the van, next to his workshop, and began unloading the
night’s spoils onto a table.

“You making meth or something?”

He jumped, and pulled out a pistol, looking around in the half-lit room. A man, scrawny, pale,
and looking rather ill flicked a lighter. Lighting either a hand-rolled cigarette or a joint,
he took a drag and sighed it out. “Put the gun away. I’m Will, from up on the ridge.”

Sam eyed him, then slowly tucked the pistol back in its holster. “You’re breaking and

Will laughed, a short, tired sound. “Yeah and you’re stealing drugs and torturing fluffies. You
can un-wad your panties, Sam, we’ve got the same perspective on a lot of things.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t immediately trust you.” Sam continued unpacking box after box of
cold medicine. “For the record, methamphetamine is one option. I also plan to synthesize
several opiate derivatives and, providing I can find a source for certain chemicals,

Will just watched for a moment, then said, “Kinda figured you for a nerd. Also I thought you
said you didn’t trust me.”

A sigh. Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yes, a nerd. I have brain make big think, you be
impressed, not give up to nice policeman.”

“Ha, good. You do have some humor.” Will took another drag and offered Sam what was now very
clearly a joint.

After a glance between the joint and Will, he took it and pulled a deep lungful, and handed it
back. “Thanks. So what do you want anyways? It’s three in the morning.”

“I don’t sleep. You probably work too much to sleep well. Besides, I have a proposal to make.”

Sam started sorting his loot into brands and drug types. “What proposal? And what do you mean
you don’t sleep, that’s medically impossible.”

Will chuckled, a sort of dry, creaky sound. “Yeah impossible. Yet here I am.” Another hit on
the joint. “I’m an artist. You’re obviously a scientist. We’re both sick fucks. I use fluffies
as a source of inspiration for my art. You use them for whatever it is you do. You have money,
I have connections. I suggest we team up. I’ll give you a hand with running your fluffy
housing, in exchange for a fluffy now and then. I can get you whatever you need, and you
bankroll it.”

Sam stood upright, thinking. It was an interesting, if unusual, proposal.

“Plus, I saw how much money you were sinking into those greenhouses. I can tell you, from my
vast experience growing my own medicine, you’re going to fuck it up with the shit you
purchased. Let me handle that and you focus on the science.”

The thinking continued, Sam turning things over in his mind. He turned to Will and asked, “Why
are you here? Offering all this, that is. I don’t know you, you just walk on down and propose
something one step short of moving in together. It’s fucking weird, quite frankly.”

Will spread his hands, shrugging. “Look, I can tell you and I are not what the public would
consider standard upright citizens. Even my customers know there’s something off with me, but
that’s why my art sells. We both are running on the edges of our respective knives and
personally I need someone around to keep me from fucking up. You do too, even if you don’t
realize it yet.”

A long sigh. Sam looked up at the ceiling, thinking. Will was right. It’s why he left
Chicago. Why he made sure his family didn’t know where he went. That and the constant

“Alright. But most of the fluffies I take in are for experimentation, not recreation.”

Will raised a finger, with a little grin. “You said most, and I have the feeling for you,
experiments and fun are the same thing.”

“Most.” Sam smiled, a nasty, shark-like expression. “After all. We are sick fucks, aren’t we.”

“Fuckin’ a.”

“Hey Will. Ya like ramen?”

By the morning, both Sam and Will had stuffed themselves on fluffy ramen, and had unloaded the
ferals into the new pens in the large barn. In the light Will looked even more like a stiff
breeze would take him away into the sky.

Sam elbowed Will in the side. “Come on, need to check the mother’s outlook.”

“What do you mean outlook?” Will asked, mildly perplexed. Sam just waved him to follow.

They went into the smaller housing area, Will hanging back as Sam went over to the two pregnant
dams ‘liberated’ from Frankie’s shelter.

“Hello girls, how are we doing today?”

One, a lilac and cream pegasus was busy nuzzling her special friend through a port cut in the
acrylic wall. She looked up at Sam with a big, half-awake smile. “Soon-mummah hab bestest happy
heawty feews, mistew Sam.” She said, making a little squeaky giggle noise as the stallion
started to nibble on her ear lightly.

The other dam, a slate grey earthy, was still blinking herself awake, and smiled, before
yawning widely and breaking wind.

“Girls, we need to talk about your babies. This is very important.”

Both dams turned and watched Sam. Their babies were the most important thing they could think
of right now, and if this nice man that rescued them from the shelter was worried about them,
it must be serious.

“Your babies are going to be with you but you know they’re going to need to find families
themselves, or they might wind up in the shelter. I saw how bad that place was, and I don’t
want them to go there. I could find them daddies and mommies to take them home, but it’s really
hard to find good houses for grown fluffies. It’d be easiest to find them new homes when
they’re seeing-babies.”

The mares immediately protested that this was far too early for babies to be separated from
their mummahs. Sam put up his hands and calmed them down.

“Ok, ok, that’s fine. How about if they’re walky-talky babies?”

The lilac dam thought and nodded. “Can one babbeh stay wit mummah?”

“That seems alright, but which one?”

The lilac dam broke out in a smile. “The bestest babby of cowse, siwwy mistew Sam.”

Sam grinned, and made a note. Then several more.

“Nu wan.”

The grey dam was looking downcast, and shuffled, barely able to move because of her bulk. “Nu
wan gib babbies untiw not babbies. Mummah’s miwkies make babbies gwow big and stwong, but
babbies nu stwong enuff untiw dey eat not-miwkie nummies. Den dey can hab famiwy.”

Sam nodded, and noted down more things. “And if they all go?”

She looked up, somber. “U pwomise good hoomins?”

He nodded again. “I promise.”


Sam took down more notes, then got up, put the chair away, and wandered over to a counter. Will
joined him. “So what did you learn?”

He sighed, and motioned Will to follow. Stepping outside, Sam leaned against the warm metal
siding. “The grey one is an ideal mother. She’ll be fine, go into one of the family pens in the
other building. That purple one though, she’s already showing signs of foal favoritism. And
I’ve heard her refer to herself as ‘bestest mummah’. So she isn’t going to be allowed to raise
her own foals.”

Will looked a little confused by this. “Isn’t that rather drastic?”

Sam shook his head. “Being raised by that kind of mother is why you get poopie babies, smarty
foals, and foal cannibalism. If you read the literature from Alenix it’s because of her
age. The grey one is at least a year old, but purple is probably three months. Breeding them
before around six to seven months stunts their intellectual development. They might be fine
mothers but more often than not it makes them into bitch mares, especially if it’s a large
litter. She’ll be stuck being a shitty mother.”

He and Sam stood a bit, looking out into the distance, over the soybean fields, and thinking.

“Isn’t that going to cause a problem with her next litter?”

Sam sighed a bit. “I have the feeling she’s going to be unuseable for motherhood experiments.”

Then he blinked. He was being short-sighted with the potential for a mare he didn’t need to
give a shit about. There would of course be a next litter. All he had to do was engineer a
division between the mare and the stallion, who didn’t deserve such a poor fate.


Will followed Sam into the larger building, on a tour of the new constructions. Sam
explained. “This is going to be where most fluffies are housed, if they’re not ill, pregnant,
or disabled. There’s a few partition walls we have to put up yet but we’re on city water even
out here, so they’re all plumbed in and easy to clean, and we have the option of putting them
in socialization pens with a common area and sleeping areas, or in single or two-fluffy
pens. There’s also a separate area for smarty housing but that’s not done yet. Waiting on the
soundproofing foam.”

Will had his phone out and was typing a list into a text message. He flashed it to Sam. “On the
topic of getting things. How about these?”

Sam read a list of designer drugs and compounds off the phone that made his head spin
slightly. “Jesus christ you can get all that?”

Will nodded and sent the text. “I’ll let you know how much they want. Also we’ve got three
bitch mares, at least one pregnant one, the smarty’s moronic even by their standards, and three
toughies. They’re probably decent fluffies if we get them to think for themselves. Also there’s
a poopie alicorn that’s somehow survived. It’s still young so if you know any tricks to get
around malnourishment now’s the time. I hid that one just in case the tardbuckets that
ostracized it decided that rescuing a monster was a point of contention.”

Sam grinned internally. He already could tell Will was going to fit in nicely.

“Good. I didn’t really have a chance to examine them. Three bitch mares?”

“And five ones that seem fine. There’s a pair of stallions that seem to be foragers and the
foals all seem moderately healthy. Where did you find 'em anyways?”

Sam groaned. “Behind the hippie vegan grocery store on Kirkland, they were leaving them food
one step short of a damn salad bar.”

“Oh I hate that place. Selling alkaline water for eleven dollars a gallon should be fucking
illegal.” Will griped, before turning and picking up a small covered carrier. “I’m going to
adopt this little fella if you don’t mind. I have a few ideas.”

Sam shrugged. “Go ahead, I can always engineer an alicorn birth if I really need one. I’d start
it off on steamed vegetables and fresh fruits with a side of oats.”

With that, Will lit a joint and headed out into the night. Sam watched him go on his way,

Will gently lay a quivering, bony fluffy on a warm pad. He had taken the time to wash the
malnourished fluffy, dry it, and set a small bowl of steamed vegetables and soft fruits down in
front of it. The alicorn was a streaky chestnut-brown, and according to what Will’s experience
said, probably was a month and a half old at best. Relegated to cleaning the asses of the herd,
it survived mostly due to fluffies having atrociously inefficient digestive systems. The
remainder of its nutrition probably came from whatever it could scrounge up and power through
without being noticed.

Its nostrils flared as the food scent wafted over. Will could see its stomach shift as it tried
to function. He gently ran two fingers down the fluffy’s side.

“Go ahead. This food is for you.”

The alicorn glanced up at Will, then back to the bowl. It wiggled over and nibbled on a floret
of cauliflower, before taking a huge chomp at it and dragging the bowl over, burying its face
in the food.

Will chuckled and offered it a water bottle. “Go slow there, don’t want a tummyache.”

The alicorn nodded, and went back and forth between the food and clean water, until the bowl
was nearly empty. Its stomach was full, and round.

“You’re done being a poopie fluffy.”

At this, the alicorn, which Will could now see was a colt, sat down heavily, and looked up at
Will. “Am poopies though.”

Will sighed, and gently scritched the fluff behind his ears. Pushing up into Will’s hand, the
little colt closed his eyes, making little squeaky sounds.

“No, you’re not. You’re brown, which is a perfectly nice color. It’s just dark orange. You
never need to eat poop again. That herd was mean for thinking that any fluffy should eat poop.”

Will’s tone wasn’t severe, but more like a priest, conveying a message of truth. The colt sat
and thought. “But mummah say am a poopie munstah.”

“Your mother is a bad fluffy. If she was good, she would love all her babies. But she made you
eat poop. Is that love?”

The alicorn sat and thought longer. Will could tell the little one was actually thinking about

“Nu. Dat nu wub.” The colt said, then looked up at will, eyes starting to water. “Nu wan go
back. Hewd mean.”

Will smiled and picked him up gently, pulling him in close. “You’re not going to go back to
your herd. You’re with me and Sam now. I think we’ll call you Hickory.”

Hickory planted himself fully against Will’s chest, crying quietly. He couldn’t muster the
words to thank this human.

Will knew anyways. He took a small square of shiny paper out. “This is a special medicine,
Hickory. It lets humans and fluffies see things in new ways.” Will tucked it under his tongue,
then offered a tiny cut off corner to Hickory.

The colt took it, makin a face. “Taste weiwd.”

An hour later, Will and Hickory were watching a lava lamp and giggling as they talked long into
the night, only interrupted by Sam bringing an excellent roast and a large dish of ratatouille.

Four Hours Previous

Sam trudged down the basement steps with a carrier, whistling a soft tune to himself. The
fluffy in the carrier, a mare from the feral herd, was quietly whimpering to
herself. “Scawwy. Nu wike sowwy-box.”

Sam grinned to himself, but kept his voice full of false concern. “It isn’t a sorry-box dear,
it’s a transport box. I heard you talking about how your special friend went away before he
could give you tummy-babies and I had an idea.”

He set the mare down on a lipped table, leaving the carrier door shut. She peered out, looking
around. “Smewws nummy in hewe.”

With a chuckle Sam busied himself setting up a portable pen. “This is where I test special
foods. But we have a special guest today.”

He transferred the mare into the pen gently, letting her explore it. “Speciaw guest?”

Sam crouched down and scritched behind the mare’s ears. “I have a fluffy stallion here and he’s
very, very sick. Sick enough he needs special things to help him eat and make good poopies, and
he can’t move well. I know he wants to have babies though, and you want to have babies, right?”

“HAB BABIES? FANKYOO MISTEW!” The mare screeched, bouncing around the pen, happily celebrating
her upcoming motherhood.

Sam chuckled and took the immobilized smarty out from his corner, and set him in the pen. The
immobilization board had been replaced with a sling frame, leaving the smarty slightly
suspended, immobile. He snorted, glaring at Sam, half hate, half fear.

The mare giggled and sniffed around the smarty. “Pwetty stawwion. Gun hab BESTEST babbies.”

Sam watched, hiding a grin behind one hand, as the mare practically did a handstand, shoving
her rear up against the smarty’s crotch and wiggling it around, trying to find the right angle.

After a minute, he turned and began cooking, listening to the strangely athletic sounds coming
from the mare as she did all the work. He didn’t even need to take the smarty down or give her
a support.

“GUUD FEEWS!” The mare shouted, shortly followed by a muffled, flabby thud sound as she
collapsed, panting.

Sam picked the stallion up again, putting his frame back in the corner.

“Whewe speciaw fwiend go?” The mare asked, looking around, dragging her groin across the
padding like a dog, leaving a snail-trail of fluids.

Sam facepalmed, feeling slightly nauseous. “He’s over in his corner, for a rest. He’s weak from
being so ill. But don’t worry, if he gets better, I’ll make sure he comes back. I’m going to
put you in the next room where it’s quiet and get you some spaghetti ok?”

“SKETTI TOO?” Screeching, the mare bounded around, celebrating her luck. The high-pitched noise
made the wine glasses vibrate. Sam quickly set down a plate of lukewarm ramen with tomato paste
and ground up mummah-medicine, which the fluffy practically slid face-first into.

After rolling her into the small fluffy room next door, Sam quietly closed the heavy wooden
door and grinned, picking up a second carrier from under the table and opening it, dumping the
occupant out on the counter in front of the smarty.

The eye-searing yellow pillowfluff tumbled out with a few yelps, landing on his back with a
whimper. “Why huwt fwuffy? Fwuffy du nuttin wong.”

Sam gave the fluff a playful thumping pat on the stomach. “Oh I’m sorry there, I’m just a
little clumsy. We’re gunna take care of you just fine.” With that, Sam deposited the fluff in a
shallow wooden bowl. “This is Entree, he’s a very special fluff, but he has to be still and
have those things in him. He’s a great listener.”

Sam turned to Entree. “Entree, this is your new friend for the evening. He’s going to be
joining me, you, and a new human friend of ours for dinner.”

Entree stared at Sam, hate slowly fading to fear as he realized what this meant. He looked at
the pillowfluff, who was obliviously looking around the kitchen at all the food and shiny

He tried to talk, the tube blocking his throat, to warn the unnamed pillow, to tell him to run,
but only weak choking noises came out. Sam put on some music, and began chopping vegetables,
where both fluffies could see.

“Dat smeww weawwy pwetty, mistew Sam.” The pillowfluff said, watching as he peeled oranges, the
scent mixing with ginger, garlic, cloves, cinnamon, red onion, and other herbs and vegetables.

“Here.” Sam offered the pillow a slice of seedless orange, which vanished down the fluff’s
throat in record time.

“Dat su nummy, but make wittle not-owwy feewing in nummie pwace.”

Sam chuckled. “That’s called ‘sour’. It’s one of the flavors of food. Oranges are sweet and

“Dis sketties?”

“No, I’m afraid not. We’re having something more special.”

The pillowfluff started to think. More special than sketties? That’s unpossible.

“You see, spaghetti is just one food of a huge number that humans can make. It comes from
Italy, which is a place very far away that has lots of very nice foods in it. Tonight, I’m
making a meal from here. We all live in a big place called America, which is a lot of different
places mashed together, so you get really interesting food.”

The pillowfluff, drooling slightly from the thoughts of all the things he could eat that were
like-sketties-possibly, was paying rapt attention. Entree was as well, wiggling slightly in his

“We’re going to stuff a roast tonight. I have all the things that go inside the roast prepared

“Wut a woast?”

Sam thought, tapping his finger on his chin, in mock concentration. “Well, a lot of things can
be a roast. You can roast boar, or duck, or goose… but tonight, we’re roasting something

He set the pillowfluff on the counter, ass hanging over a sink, and took out a curved, thick
canvas needle. “We’re roasting fluffy.” Deftly, he clamped the fluffy’s mouth shut with one
hand and began sewing the pillowfluff’s lips shut.

The muffled screaming began immediately, the worthless stumps of the fluffy working to get any
purchase on the countertop. Sam chuckled, and finished his work, before checking to see the
pillowfluff had voided itself. After rinsing the feces out of the sink, he flipped the fluff
over and opened a drawer, taking out several fat iron needles, traditionally used to help thick
potatos bake evenly.

“The best thing about fluffies, is unlike most meat, the longer the suffering before the
slaughter, the sweeter the taste.” Sam said, hooking his fingers around the legless stallion’s
testicles, and slowly pushing the spike through one, then the other.

The pillowfluff screeched, sobbing, violently flailing and wiggling, blood dripping from the
holes in his lips, muffling his begging. Sam continued, pinning the fluff’s genitals to his own
abdomen, before using a paring knife to remove the organs altogether.

He pulled the spikes out, sinking them in the stumps of the pillowfluff, before dropping the
cock and balls in for Entree to have ground into his food.

Sam picked up a severely-spiked meat tenderizer, and began beating the pillowfluff all over,
working methodically from the thickest portions out. The unfortunate fluffy was in agony, each
stroke making him weaker, and hurting more, until he could only wheeze and sob, spasming as his
muscles tried to re-knit themselves.

Whistling to the music, Sam slit the fluffy open, expertly de-caping and skinning it, using the
eyes of the iron spikes to hang the pelt to dry.

The exposed, lidless eyes of the fluff rolled, and little squeaking chirps could be heard
through the sewn lips. Sam quickly gutted the fluff, leaving the heart and lungs in place, then
stuffed the cavity with the prepared fruit and herbs, then sewed the abdomen back up, and
rubbing the still-living fluffy down with salt and black pepper. It screamed in agony as it
burned all over, first from the salt, and then from being placed in a hot oven.

Entree hung limply in his harness, staring ahead, eyes blank, as Sam dumped the offal from the
pillowfluff in the grinder. When it started pumping the remains of the fluffy into Entree’s
stomach he tried to thrash and kick, but he was an inch off the ground.

He started to sob, giving up the fight, and watching Sam, trying to beg with his eyes.

With a grin, Sam uncorked a bottle of wine and leaned on the counter. “Entree. I told you. If
you see a fluffy, it’s going to die, and you’re going to eat it.”

“It’s going to be fun to watch your face when you eat your own children.”

Entree’s eyes widened slowly, and he began to hyperventilate. He had seen that mare. The mare
had his babies growing in her. The monster human was going to make him eat the mare and his
babies. The thoughts spiraled around in his head, alternating between anger, disgust, and a
range of feelings the smarty had never felt before.

After a minute, his eyes rolled up, and Entree passed out.

The stuffed fluffy was already smelling delicious.


Wow. The interaction between Sam and Will was very good. Entree will definitely break after eating his foals


I love this connected universe, and would love a brown alicorn, please continue this I want to see what comes of the bratty best mother


Keep an eye out for a two-parter staring Lilac. It’ll be uploaded once I get the second part a little more polished.


Jesus fucking Christ. I honestly think that was one of the best (Worst?) abuse stories I’ve read and that’s saying something.

1 Like

Meh, I’ve written worse.

Actually, might upload one today.