On gaslighting a new mummah (by Throwaway043249)

“Bigges’ poopies!”

I reached down to dab at Mellon’s face with a damp towel as she squirmed and grunted. At this point we could safely dismiss Hasbio’s claims of “Enchanting, miraculous introductions to the marvel of childbirth!” but I didn’t doubt that they’d buried enough bullshit in the fine print to avoid any legal ramifications. The rest of the pregnancy had gone smoothly enough though – Mellon’s cheeks had reddened to denote her ovulation, and after just one playdate with a suitably amorous stallion, the early signs of pregnancy – thickening hooves and a curlier tail – had shown up right on schedule. Shitrat behaviour may be as bad as everyone knows, but at least the biological processes worked as advertised.

Mellon relaxed, limbs falling limp as she panted. “Wai babbehs nu come out daddeh?” I gently stroked her back, speaking softly and with care.

“They’re almost out baby, you’re doing so well. Next time you just need to push as hard as you can. Can you do that for me baby?”

Mellon nuzzled into my hand, getting her breath back. “Wiw twy daddeh. Mewwon wan’ be gud mummah.”

I rubbed gently at her back, smiling down at her. I’d adopted Mellon as a foal from a shelter, and for all the stories of hellgremlins and feral monsters, she’d been as good as gold. She was conscientious about using the litterbox, sulked but would very rarely throw full tantrums for missing sketti or FluffTV, and I could count the number of times she’d wilfully disobeyed me on the fingers of one hand, and even then there had been mitigating circumstances. I liked to think that my own behaviour had contributed to that – I always made time for at least twenty minutes of play, mornings and evenings, and she was frequently able to meet and play with other fluffies. On top of that, maybe I’d just gotten lucky, beyond her warm blue fluff and pinkish-purplish mane and tail.

Her request for babies had started a few months back, and she’d been remarkably insistent about it. Usually when I denied her something (a new toy, a new type of Hasbio branded Sketties™) she would acquiesce, give or take some sulking, but she’d stuck to her guns on this one. From following a few forums, it sounded like no-one was sure if this was the natural biological imperative to reproduce, or something baked in by Hasbio to ensure an ongoing revenue source. Either way, given my means I knew I’d be unable to provide a good life for any more foals, so had to gently refuse Mellon. But as she stuck to her pleas, it set me wondering about testing an idea I’d had for some time.

“Daddeh! Daddeh!” My reverie was interrupted by another round of squeaks from Mellon, once again flailing the hooves that – for the last few days – had been unable to even touch the floor. She was well into second stage labour, with internal fluids ruining the towels I’d put her on, and over the past hour I’d started to see fetuses just beginning to push out. This was the best glimpse I’d had so far, with almost a full view of an absolutely miniscule foal, gently starting to kick its legs.

“Come on baby.” I rubbed harder at Mellon’s back, dabbing at her face with the towel. “One big push. Can you do one big push for daddy?” Mellon screwed up her little face, grunting with the strain, and with a wet tearing sound, the dam broke. Four tiny little shapes and a rush of fluid cascaded out of her, as she gave one last shout and went limp, gasping for breath.

I quickly moved to inspect the foals, checking if any were in distress, but at least as far as this process was concerned, the Hasbio product designers had done their jobs well. Four healthy foals were kicking their way out of their amniotic sacs, and in moments a chorus of cheeps started up as they wiggled their tiny legs helplessly.

The cheeps immediately revived Mellon, and she started to wiggle round to see her babies, chirping happily, “Mummah hewe babbehs! Mummah am hewe!”

I didn’t know how much more difficult it would make what I was about to try if she got a clear look at the foals, but in this case I wanted to keep the process as smooth as possible. As Mellon started to turn on her now sagging belly, I caught her by the torso, holding her in place.

“Daddeh? Wai mummah nu can go to babbehs? Babbehs nee’ wickie cweanies daddeh!”

I gently held her in place while reaching for a water bottle. “I know that baby, but you just need to rest for a minute. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.”

“Buh babbehs need mummah!” Mellon was trying to squirm out of my grip, but obviously with no success.

“It’s okay baby, daddy’s going to take care of everything.” I spoke a little more firmly, and years of acknowledging that voice as the single source of authority in her life started to take its effect on Mellon. She stopped struggling, and I lifted the water bottle to her lips. “Drink that baby. Then you rest here a bit and I’ll take care of everything.”

Mellon drank obediently – why wouldn’t she, when her beloved daddy was being so insistent? The water was mostly just water, but with a little bit of sedative added. Just enough to help her off to sleep, and to scramble the events of the last day or so in her already feeble mind.

“Wub ou’ daddeh. Wub ou’ babbehs…” Her voice trailed off as sleep took her, and I rolled her onto her side to ensure she wouldn’t suffocate in her sleep.

The babies were still chirping at this point, obviously distressed and their sudden arrival in a cold hard world. I quickly wrapped each in an old washcloth, being as gentle as I could with such fragile creatures. One tried to nurse at my fingers, but they submitted docilely to the swaddling. Taking all four in one hand, I brought them to the sink in the next room, with a bowl of warm water already waiting next to it. Mothers dying in childbirth was common enough among fluffies that Hasbio sold various products for cleaning and caring for newborn foals – and fortunately for me, other companies sold knock-off versions without the Hasbio name or price tag.

I washed the foals one at a time, rinsing the amniotic gunk down the drain, and cleaning them with trace amounts of suitable shampoo. Their chirps were growing louder at this point, presumably thinking that maybe their mummah couldn’t hear them, which I took as a good sign – I didn’t want them dying too quickly. I dried and swaddled the foals again, carefully rubbing at them to help stimulate blood flow without damaging oh-so-fragile bones, and set them down in a plastic box in a warm sunbeam. I took five minutes to scrub myself quickly but thoroughly, and changed into clean clothes before returning to Mellon.

She was just starting to wake as I sat down next to her, and where she would normally snuggle into me for huggies, now she was shifting around, blearily looking and calling for her babbehs. As she did, I gently petted her, making soft shushing noises.

“It’s okay baby, just relax, I’m here. Daddy’s here.”

“Daddeh? Whewe am babbehs? Babbehs nee’ mummah daddeh!”

“Babies?” I’ll be the first to admit that acting was never my calling, but I hoped it would be enough to fool a just-given-birth fluffy. How hard could that be? “What babies, sweetheart?”

Mellon looked up at me with bewildered, but trusting eyes. “Mewwon had babbehs daddeh! Nee’ tu gib huggies an’ wub!”

“Oh baby,” I spoke with nothing but care and love. “You didn’t have any babies, Mellon. You’ve been sick, don’t you remember?”

Mellon froze, looking up at me, and I watched with fascination as two realities competed for dominance in her head. She knew she’d had babies. She’d been so delighted for the past month, practising singing the mummah song, and sure she couldn’t feel them now, but that must mean she’d birthed them, right? But daddy was saying she hadn’t had babies! Daddy was a hoomin, and all hoomins are smarter than fluffies, so daddy must be right! But she’d had babies! But daddy wouldn’t lie! And she couldn’t smell her babies!

I stepped in to help resolve her mental quandary. “The doctor said you might be confused baby. They said you might have some memory problems.”

“Nu wen’ tu doctuh, daddeh…” But her voice wasn’t nearly as sure as it had been.

“Well that’s the thing baby. The doctor said you’d forget things, so you must have forgotten them saying that.”

Now that one was a conundrum for a fluffy sized mind. She’d been told she’d forget things, but she’d forgotten being told that. But her daddy said it was true, so how could it not be?

Mellon gave a pitiful whine, and let her head fall against my leg. “Mewwon head huwtie daddeh!”

I smiled and petted her again. “You’ve been very sick Mellon, but you’re feeling better now, right?”


“Tell you what. You’ve been such a good girl, I’ll get you some sketties. Does that sound good?”

At the word ‘sketties’, she perked up instantly. “Yay! Wub sketties daddeh!”

I kept petting her as I stood, as she started singing the sketties song. “You just stay there baby, daddy will be right back.”

I closed the door behind me, heading to the kitchen, quickly warming up the noodles, sauce, and a generous dose of sugar. I could still faintly here the chirping from the other room – maybe it was getting a little weaker, or maybe I was just imagining it. Either way, best not to linger too long.

I left Mellon slurping down her sketties, closing the door behind her, before returning a few minutes later with my “surprise”.

“Mellon, come here! I found some abandoned babies!”

Mellon, now much more active after her meal, scrambled round and waddled over on a still sagging belly. “Wha? Whewe babbehs?”

“Someone must have left them outside baby! They’re so tiny and helpless!”

“No daddeh! Babbehs mus’ no be outsie’! Babbehs am too wittwe!”

“Well I brought them inside, but they’re still chirping and sad baby!”

“Bwing babbehs hewe daddeh! Mewwon wiw gib huggies and wub!”

“Oh Mellon you’re such a clever fluffy! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Daddeh am cwever too! Mewwon hewp daddeh, an’ Mewwon hewp babbehs!” Mellon was near bouncing at her own brilliance. To be fair, I had wondered if I would need to do more to lead her to that idea, but she’d been quick on the uptake.

“Alright baby, but you know you need to not feed them right?”

Mellon looked up at me as if I’d told her to chop one of her legs off. “Buh, buh, buh…”

“Mellon it’s dangerous to feed foals that aren’t yours, you know that.”

I could see the mention of ‘ foals’ was starting to tickle something in Mellon’s mind. Maybe I could have done something, but at that point, I was just going to wait and see how the dice fell. What could only have been seconds seemed to stretch as I watched Mellon’s eyes. They flickered as she tried to process a puzzle beyond anything she’d ever encountered.

“Babbehs nee’ huggies an’ wub.” She spoke those words as if they were the foundations upon which all truth was built. “Mewwon wiw’ gib huggies an’ wub, an’ babbehs wiw be gud.” She looked up at me with nothing but love and trust, committed to her ideals.

I leant down and pressed my forehead to hers. “You’re such a good girl Mellon. You stay there, and I’ll go get the babies.”

As I returned with the box of now unwrapped foals, Mellon stood as soon as she heard the chirping. No doubt about it, it was definitely quieter – the smallest foal of the litter was already entirely silent, suckling on its own hoof. As I lifted the foals out Mellon reached up to start nuzzling at them, giving them gentle licks, flinching slightly at the taste of shampoo.

“Nu hab saddehs babbehs! Mewwon am hewe! Babbehs nu hab saddehs!”

Mellon scooped the foals – her own foals – into a fluffpile, nuzzling and kissing them as she did. One started moving towards her still-swollen breasts, her biology still expecting to start nursing foals, but in a staggering display of loyalty to me over all else, she gently pushed it away and back into the fluffpile. I must admit, I was shocked. I’d expected her to let the foal try and nurse, and I would have to pull it away, but no. Her love for her daddy overwhelmed even her need to nurse these starving foals.

As the foals curled into one another, still chirping desperately, Mellon looked up at me with all the agony of the world. “Daddeh?” she near whispered. “Nu can gib babbehs nummies?”

I reached down to cup her face. “I’m so sorry baby, but we don’t have any food that’s safe for babies, and if I go and get some and their mummah shows up, I won’t know and won’t be able to help her.”

Tears filled Mellon’s eyes as she gazed up at me, and she began to move as if she herself were trying to nurse from my hand in sympathy with her foals. “All we can do is wait baby, and hope their mummah shows up. Can you be strong for me baby? Can you be strong for them?”

Mellon’s voice was quivering, but resolute. “Wiw’ be good fwuffeh daddeh. Wiw be gud fo’ babbehs.”

The next few hours were rough for Mellon. I played at checking my phone and occasionally going to the door to look for the foals’ mummah, and even when I wasn’t looking, she stayed obedient. She hugged and kissed her foals, but wouldn’t let them anywhere near her breasts, even as she too wept silently.

After a few hours, the foals had gone silent, and were drawing ragged breaths. I leant down to speak softly in her ear. “I’m so sorry baby. There was nothing we could do. Do you want me to take them away before they go sleepies?”

Mellon’s voice was broken from crying. “Nu. Mewwon wiw’ stay wif babbehs.” I gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead, and stepped away as she curled around her own foals, not even recognising them, as they took their last breaths.

Overcome by grief, still exhausted from giving birth, Mellon fell into slumber soon afterward. I gently placed the foals back in the plastic box, each shrouded in tissue paper. I’d drop the box off at a vets office the next day for incineration.

I didn’t know what I’d learned from this. I’d been impressed at Mellon’s obedience, and surprised that she could so quickly go from delighted mother to not even recognising her own foals. I hoped this wouldn’t hurt her long term, but based on how today had gone, it might then be possible to convince her that this had never even happened at all. Either way, I made a note to stock up so she could have sketties every day for the next few days, and went to turn in myself.

I can’t help but wonder if I could do it again though.


Wow, this man has a really good fluffy pony.


I see some messed up things on this website, but This is one of those stories that takes the cake


That is the stupidest fluffy I’ve ever come across. Nice work!


Mellon is the type that is fun to abuse. I wonder how far daddy can go in messing her up?

I hope a camera was secretly recording this from Daddy, so if he plans on abusing or offing her, he can rub in the fact how easily she let her shitpigs die.


What gorgeously polished writing! That’s some real talent