This story was impossible to tag. Please read at your own risk. Author not responsible for any insanity caused by viewing this story.
New laws, old friends, and new frontiers.
The milkbag in the garage makes gargled noises through the rough plastic tube shoved down its throat. It looks onwards at you in terror. About a week ago, you forcefully impregnated it. It glares balefully at you.
“Almost ready to give daddeh Byron some pretty babbehs ehhhh?” Byron said joking to the milkbag. He swayed in place, affected partially by a particularly good pint of beer, and also from a recent spot of insomnia. Byron leans over and rubs the milkbags fluff. He can feel it shiver under his touch. This did not escape Byron, even in his intoxicated state. He knew when people tried to fuck with him. He knew that bitch Brenda at the shelter would try to turn him in. And for what? The media have already christened him a local hero. The cop who took him in hadn’t even bothered to handcuff him. He walked away fifteen minutes later. The cop apologized. Was just doing his job and all. Have to make a show for the Karen’s out there, dontcha know?
Byron yanked a good portion of belly-fluff from the milkbag. This elicited more and more screams, muffled significantly by the cheap feeding tube. Byron shoves the fluff, stained with blood, down the feeding tube and proceeds to unzip his pants. He shakily climbs on top of the stool in his workbench, and, steadying himself from the steel I-beams in the garage, takes his cock out, and begins to piss mostly into the milkbags feeding tube. Of course, some had to miss. Fuck. Have to clean that up, thought Byron. He tucks his dick back into his sweatpants and jumps down from the stool, awakening the fluffies trapped in the breeding pens with a start. The air begins to smell like shit. Of course those little cunts had to shit when they are scared. Byron could feel that ham sandwich he had earlier crawling back up his throat. He quickly grabs some more tummy fluff from the milkbag and uses it to wipe his misses. He leans forwards and vomits into the milkbags feeding tube. Byron could hear the damn thing try not to swallow. He grabbed its throat in his left hand, his right being used to hold himself upright, and forcefully opened its throat. Most of the contents of the bile and ham sandwich went down into its stomach, but Byron took a swig of water, and spit it into the milkbags feeding tube anyways. Then, he pours a few more bottles down into the mare, washing the feeding tube of the scent of bile. Byron smirked when he saw the pool of scaredy poopies the milkbag made. That would be its breakfast tomorrow.
Byron walks, swaggering left to right, into his house. He closes and locks the door and immediately passes out once he lays down on the couch.
Byron awoke with a severe case of brain fog and hangover. He vaugely remembered torturing the milkbag and then eating, no, throwing up a ham sandwich, but not much else. Byron begrudgingly got up and went to take a shower. He was stopped by quite a sight that he never thought he’d see. An orange fluffies asshole. Tangerine’s asshole. She was going to give him sorry poopies. Byron stood there and let it happen. He felt in a way he deserved it. He was quite mean to her, and made the red smarty rape her to give her babbies to sell. Oh well, he was headed to the shower anyways. As he can see the butt muscles in Tangerine start to contract, Byron lifts her up, ass first, and throws her callously into the bathroom. Tangerine lands with a wet smack on the side of the bathtub.
“Huuhuuhuu weggies wowk pwease. Nee wun way. nee fin new daddeh who gib wuv an huggies huuhuu.”
Tangerine’s legs were bent at odd angles. It looked like none of them worked anymore. Tangerine continued crying up a storm, which awakened her kids. Of course, Tangerine’s foals were shitting on the safe room floor and demanding skettis. Byron scooped them up in his right hand and carried them to the bathroom.
“TANGERINE” Byron boomed
He turned her so that she would look at him. She still tried to look away.
“LOOK AT ME. LOOK AT YOUR KIDS. THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT.”
Byron used his left hand to force tangerine to watch. She began to close her eyes in defiance. Fine then, thats how you want to go, so be it. Byron took his pocket knife out, and gently dumped the babbehs into the sink. He hoisted Tangerine up to the counter and held her left eyelid open. He carefully cuts it off, ignoring her pleas and begging. By the time he starts the right eye lid, she is reverting to peeps and chirps. Byron spits in her eyes, bringing her back into reality, eliciting cries of huuhuuhuu and insults of “meanie daddeh tangewine nu wub. NU WUB MUNSTA DADDEH huuhuuhuu”.
“owwies. put babbeh dowsies.” The red foal demanded. Byron, held tangerine’s head in place. Without eye-lids, she was forced to watch what happened next. In his left hand, Byron began to squeze. A torrent of shit escapes the foal first. Then scaredy peepees. Then a loan fart. Then nothing. The foal hacks and hacks. Its breathing becomes laboured. Byron applies more pressure. Tangerine keeps trying to persuade you not to hurt her babbehs. You continue onwards anways. Eventually, the foal shits out its guts. You hear the distinctive death rattle, and the foal soon expires. You drop it into the trash. Tangerine is completely mindbroken now. She looks onwards, but her feeble mind won’t allow her to witness the traumas. For all intents and purposes, she has entered a coma. Byron executes the remaining foals in a similar fashion. He drops Tangerine into the trash. She doesn’t even say owwies. Oh well, trash day is tomorrow. Should probably end her suffering here, but why? You tie up the trash and take it to the curb.
After a refreshing shower, you make some popcorn on the stove…your microwave broke last week when you tried to microwave jiffypop in it…and you settle down to watch a movie. You eventually doze off, and awake the next morning still feeling like shit. Was it the betrayal? was it because it was a woman who turned you in? Was it the humiliation of being escorted into the cop car? The injustice of it burns in your heart. You dust yourself off and take a trip to the nearby fluffmart. You go up to the counter and ask some kid named Jordan if the manager is in. You see an old man hobble over to you, leaning heavily on his cane.
“What seems to be the problem sir?” responds Phil, as his nametag reads, with a hint of dignity.
“Can I talk to you in the back? Its about a business proposal?”
“This will be good. Sure son, why not?”
“Look, i know that the state is imposing the new ‘humane kill’ rules. Are you a hugboxer?” Byron asks with a raised eye.
“Do I fucking look like i want to be around these obnoxious little shits all day?” replied Phil, a hint of anger in his voice. A grin escaped Byron’s face.
“What’s so damn funny boy? You think this shit is funny, We’ll be glad to finish the year off with those bullshit rules and punks like you…”
Byron interrupted. “You see, I can dispose of your unwanted goods. Did you see the special on the news a few days ago?”
Phil quit his tirade and then took of his spectacles and examined the young whippersnapper in front of him. He put his glasses back on. He carefully studdied his face before tentatively answering.
“Was that you? The feral fluffy kidnapper?” mused Phil. “And even if it is you, what the hell does it matter to me? Sure, I’m glad you got those ferals off the street, but how the fuck does that help me now?”
“Simple. I’ll make a weekly trip to the store to buy something. Probably a cheap bag of kibble or some shit. You give me whatever unsellables that remain at the end of the week. Free fluffies are exempt from the microchipping rule, and inside the bag of kibble include a couple of bucks to pay for my service. In fact, don’t throw out the expired kibble. I’ll buy it for half price so the store can record a loss on the item, and I can assume that my payment will be discretely included inside?” Byron rambled.
Phil’s jaw dropped. He knew the Lord out there would help him. He knew there had to be a better way. He spoke up. “How much will this cost?”
“Depends. How much does it usually cost you to dispose of them yourself?” Byron replied.
Phil was going to lie, but he saw no reason to. Byron didn’t seem to be the kind of guy who was greedy. His car looked nice, but it was only a Chevy after all. And he didn’t wear flashy gold chains or otherwise flaunt his wealth. What the hell. Whatever he charges must surely be cheaper than the new humane kill method.
“It will cost us five grand for the chamber, and another fifty dollars a week for the nitrogen gas. The worst of it is we would loose half of our stock space in order to make room for it.” Phil explained. “Let’s say five dollars per foal and ten dollars per adult?” Phil asked.
“Depends, how many do you expect to burn through in a week?”
“Alright, that was a little to low. how about twenty bucks a head, foal or adult?”
Byron had to manually return his jaw to mouth. “Absolutely, twenty a head, and how many a week, so I know how many boxes i need to bring.”
“I’ll check the catalouge, we have quite a few now that we need to get rid of today. If you give me a second,” Phil motions to the safe. Byron takes his cue and leaves the office, not venturing far. Phil returns with two hundred dollars, all in loose twentys. He fans them out and shows Byron, who accepts the money, and asks where the unlucky souls are.
“One last thing.” Phil spoke up. “Make sure they suffer, till their last breath.”
Byron nodded, and a devious smile grew on his face. It was contagious. Phil began to smile too, and chuckled to himself.
“I’ll be right out with the garbage fluffies.” Phil replied.
Phil walked over to Jordan. Byron couldn’t hear what he said, and he was ready to bolt. Phil was frantically talking occasionally gesturing towards Byron. Phil hobbles back towards Byron at record speed.
“Jordan is a bit of a hugboxer. He’s a good kid and all but…” Phil shrugs his shoulders “good help is hard to find. I told him you are running a fluffy sanctuary and want to adopt fluffies before they hit the incinerator. So, just don’t torture them in front of Jordan and all will work out. He always works Fridays and Saturdays too, so if you come on those days it will be fine. Now for those first ten ‘rescues’…” Phil paused to take a breath. Drive around to the back of the store. I’ll load you up."
Byron went back out the front door of the fluffmart, past rows of screeching fluffies begging for new daddehs and upsies. He ignored them and walked out to his car. He started it and drove around back of the store. Phil was waiting with a double tied garbage bag which was thrashing about. Phil walked over to Byron’s car, and threw the trash into his trunk. It began to stink, a lot. Ten adult fluffies shit themselves in fear.
“Don’t worry, its double bagged, and these are contractor grade bags, all the shit will stay inside.” Phil replied, knowing the quesiton Byron was about to ask. He closed the trunk, and the complaints of owwies and nu wike dawkies were silenced by the sweet hum of Byron’s fine tuned engine. Byron shook the old man’s hand. “Same time next week?” Phil replied in the affirmative, nodding his head up and down.
Byron took a drive up to Bill’s deli. He was about to head inside, when he noticed two officers shouting at Bill, and one of them already had his hand preemptively on his pistol. Byron backed away, and sped back home. He got a call from Bill a few hours later. He was arrested for selling fluffy meat within the city limits. He didn’t blame you, but you sure did. He said bail was set at five hundred dollars, and told him to raid the cash drawer and whatever else he could get. Byron said he would be there. He hung up the phone. He counted the loose bills in his wallet. Five Hundred and three dollars exact. Byron drove very cautiously to the bail bondsman, where he paid Bill’s bail, and drove him back to the store so he could lock up. Byron spoke up.
“Bill, I know this is a bad time, but, if you want to take some rage out. I have ten adult fluffies in the trunk. You don’t need to pay me, just clean up after yourself and its all good.”
Bill flashed him an evil smile. “Follow me to my place. I’m sure you could use some stress relief too.”
TO BE CONTINUED