MY BELOVED SWEETPEA - CH. 5 by Nosies
You are Dearie, and you are the unluckiest fluffy in the whole world. Having been abandoned so young, you know little of life outside of the basement in which you reside. Alongside your twin brothers, you have grown considerably and the wire kennel you share feels crowded. Despite their size, they squirm and peep like new babies, seeking comfort by pressing together. You can hear them in the dark, nursing wetly at each other’s tiny cocks. It is all they do, anymore.
The basement door creaks as it opens, and you can’t help but shudder at the sound. You bury your face in your ragged blanket as the lights come on.
Daddy whistles brightly as he descends the staircase. One of your brothers, undisturbed, grunts and quivers as he releases into the other’s latched mouth. Bile rises in your throat.
“Boys! We’ve talked about this.” Daddy sighs and you can sense his closeness. You carefully press yourself further into the safety of your blankie. He unlatches the kennel, and his hand brushes against your docked tail as he grabs the entangled twins. They squabble in protest as he pulls them from the enclosure, and you wait until he shuts the cage door before you dare to peer at the events unfolding.
One of your brothers is still sporting an angry, red erection. He pumps his hips against daddy’s hand in vain, tears welling in his desperate eyes.
Daddy frowns.
The other twin suckles his hoof drowsily and lets slip a contented fart.
Daddy shakes his head in disgust. “This just isn’t working.”
Daddy rises from his crouched position in front of your kennel and carries your brothers to the utility sink on the opposite wall. He unceremoniously drops them in, and you tinkle a tiny bit at the threat of water, even from your shelter. Ignoring their frightened pleas, daddy opens a cabinet door, bows behind it, and emerges with a couple cardboard boxes. He sets them on the stainless-steel table beside the sink and empties them of their contents: shiny, metal tools, which he cleans and arranges methodically. He pauses to consider your pathetic siblings. Then, his unreadable gaze meets yours.
“It’s time for your brothers to keep up their end of our bargain, Dearie. Tell me, do you have a favorite?”
You quiver as a cold sweat seeps into the fluff of your brow. “F-f-favo…wite?”
He smiles mirthlessly. “Ah, nevermind.”
He plucks the unsatisfied twin from the sink. As it rises, screeching, into the air, thick blobs of shit tumble from its asshole (and onto the other twin, judging by the shrieking in the sink). Daddy clucks his tongue as he sets the fat, weeping stallion on the table in front of him.
“Now, now, don’t you worry. I’m not one of those sick people that enjoys the unnecessary suffering of fluffies,” Daddy croons, “But fair is fair. I told you, didn’t I? You’re going to be working fluffies.”
Your brother twists and kicks in daddy’s grasp, too distraught to listen. What little piss is left in his bladder dribbles out of his now-flaccid penis. Daddy sighs again, then sets his jaw. He flips your brother onto his belly and holds him firmly in place with one hand. The other hand lifts a small blade. Daddy takes a deep breath, steadying himself. The knife dips into your brother’s back and he gasps, then goes limp. For a moment, the room is deafeningly silent. Then your brother begins to scream.
“WEGGIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES! W-W-W-WEGGIES NU WOWK! HEWP!”
The action of shrinking into your blankie manages only to squeeze a tidy dollop of poop out of your backside.
“I think you’re being a bit dramatic.” Daddy releases your brother and wipes the knife down with disinfectant, then sets it back in its place on the table. He pats the wound with the same disinfectant and applies a bandage. He swaddles the sobbing stallion in a thickly padded diaper. “Besides, the really unpleasant part hasn’t even begun.”
This time, when daddy lifts your distressed brother, he dangles limply in his hand. Daddy arranges him gently in a cardboard box, makes some marks on it, and cuts a hole in the front, permitting you a view of the stallion’s lolling head and wild gaze.
“WHY WEGGIES NU WOWK?!”
Daddy shrugs helplessly. “Well, buddy, it’s part of the job. You should consider yourselves lucky, honestly. Most litterpals have their legs cut off entirely. I figured this was the more merciful route.”
Your brother’s face crumples pitifully against the bottom of the cardboard box.
After cleansing the remaining twin of excrement, daddy repeats the horrifying process once more. This time, you do not watch. You press your hooves over your flattened ears to muffle their combined screams until all at once, it is quiet again.
Morbidly curious, you open your eyes to see fresh, white bandages on your brother’s chubby, dark throats. Their mouths open and close soundlessly.
“You guys really left me no choice,” daddy speaks soothingly, looking between the trembling boxes, “I really can’t have you wasting that sperm on each other.”
Daddy resumes whistling as he meticulously cleans his tools and returns them to their proper places. He leaves your brothers’ boxes on the stainless-steel table and wipes up around them. He washes inside the utility sink, dries his hands on his pants, and starts up the stairs.
When the light is off and the door creaks closed, you finally relax. In the darkness, as your mind replays what you have just witnessed, piss leaks from you and soaks into your blanket.
…
TO BE CONTINUED
