Pip giggled to himself from his hiding place beneath the bed, watching his mummah run around the bedroom looking for him, her feet sinking slightly with each step on the plush carpeting of the floor. He nestled further into the pile of stuffy friends, his dandelion yellow coat blending in with the rainbow of fabric. The young colt held his breath as his mummah’s face appeared, her eyes scanning the pile of stuffed toys, lighting up as she made eye contact with him. “Found you!”
Pip smiled as he broke from the pile, rushing forwards and wrapped his tiny legs around his mummah’s face, her breath tickling his tummy as she laughed. She detached him from her face, wrapping him in her arms as she fell backwards onto the pile of stuffed toys on the bed. The room was both of theirs, a child and fluffy proofed room with pink as the predominant color and theme. Pink walls, pink floor, pink bed, pink pillows, even Pip had a hot pink mane and tail. But Pip didn’t care. His mummah loved pink, therefore HE loved pink. Because he loved his mummah. He curled up on his mummah’s chest, cooing happily and nuzzling her chin. “Wub mummah. Wub!”
Pip’s Mummah, a young girl named Elizabeth, smiled. Her hands softly stroked his soft, silky mane as she hummed. Pip loved this, feeling the deep vibrations through his body as he cooed and nuzzled further into her. Pip was his mummah’s best friend. Quite possibly her only friend. Pip knew the other girls at ‘skewl’ hated his mummah. She had told him as much, during one of her many episodes spent sobbing into his fluff with the worst heart hurties imaginable. He tried to provide as much comfort as possible, cooing, hugging, and giving her cheeks lickie cleanies to chase the sad wawas away. He hated those mean mummahs at the ‘skewl’, he promised her to give them the worstest sorry hoofsies ever if he got a chance.
The two played for a bit longer, stopping so that Pip could make good poopies in the self cleaning litter box in the corner, the two giggling as it sang the ‘Good Poopies’ song as a reward for a job well done. The sun outside crept lower, taking on an orange haze as it began to set, shining through the large bay window. Pip lay on his mummah’s tummy, her faint heartbeat like a song to his ears. A drum that was quickly drowned out as a set of heavy, clunking footsteps swiftly climbed the stairs, angrily thudding towards the pairs room. Mummah’s Daddeh came into the room, a bundle of papers tightly clutched in his fast. “ELIZABETH AGATHA LEBLANC!”
Both Pip and his mummah knew something was wrong. He never called her by her full name, he never even called her by her first name. Honey, sweetheart, dear, or Liz. But her full name? And being shouted at? Even despite the rules about being loud he had made himself? The young duo tried to shrink into themselves, trying to avoid the searing gaze of Liz Mummahs father. Pip nuzzled at his Mummah for comfort, but her gaze was firmly fixed on the crumpled report card gripped in her father’s fist. She began to hyperventilate, Pip listening as her heart rate spiked. “Dad it’s not what it looks like!”
“Go on then. What is it? Because it really looks like you are FAILING THREE CLASSES!” He unraveled the paper, looking at it with rage. “An F in math, English, and PE? How are you failing PE?” Tears welled in Liz’s eyes as Pip desperately tried to lick them away, the pony turning to look at Alain with anger. “NU YEWW!”
The tall Franco-American businessman looked at Pip with a withering gaze, the colt shrinking into the lap of his mummah at the first pushback. Alain scoffed, deciding the pony wasn’t even worth the effort of a reprimand. He would have to set up a meeting with his daughters teacher, discuss the situation, find a solu-
What was that?
Alain looked at the bottom of the paper to see that it already had a parental acknowledgement signature. His signature. He felt his blood run cold, then boil. He looked at his daughter. His voice trembled. “Elizabeth… did you forge my signature?”
“Dad I can explai-“
“You forged my signature.”
“DAD PLEASE I-“
“DON’T ‘DAD PLEASE’ ME ELIZABETH!”
Pip sobbed, the loud verbal altercation prompting him to void his bladder into his mummah’s shirt, a dark yellow stain that blossomed on her neatly pressed uniform shirt. His ears rang from the loud shouting, so loud he could hear it even as he sobbed into the piss soaked shirt. “DAD STOP YOU’RE SCARING PIP!” Mummah shrieked, gripping the colt tight to her chest, tears streaming down the duo’s face.
Alain daddeh stopped shouting, looking at the pony with pure rage, before returning a softer, sadder gaze to Liz.
“You are going to stay with your mother.”
Pip felt his heart sink as Liz gripped him tighter. “Dad please I can’t, Moms apartment is biotoy free!” Pip didn’t understand the concepts that Mummah and Alain Daddeh were yelling about. Divorce, primary custody, biotoy free apartments, no toys… no toys? He understood that one! But how were you supposed to live without toys? PiP was trying to comprehend this sheer impossibility when he felt a firm grasp on the back of his neck. Alain lifted the squealing pony by the mane as the fluffy squealed and released a stream of scaredy poopies that splattered against the hot pink polyester carpet. “BAD UPSIES!”
The colt flailed and struggled as Liz beat her arms against Alain’s back, her small hands powerless against her father. “DAD PLEASE DON’T TAKE PIP, HES MY ONLY FRIEND!” Alain held the pony high, watching in disgust as the pony strained its outstretched arm to reach his Mummah. He had always hated the pony, finding its cutesy mannerisms creepy and its physical features grotesque. Its snout was curled into an exaggerated face of despair, its tiny, stubby legs waggling toward its owner as large tears streamed down its snotty face. It pissed again, a rain of yellow droplets arcing to the floor. “I said no toys, Liz. And Pip is part of that ban.”
Holding the colt a foot away from his body he walked to the door as Liz curled up into a ball on the bed and cried. “Liz, you better pack your clothes to stay with your mother. It’ll be good for the two of you to spend time together.”
“NU! PIP NEE’ MUMMAH! MUMMAH NEE’ PIP!” The colt struggled to free himself from Alain’s grasp, the man’s hand firmly entrenched in the fluffies neon pink mane. “You made bad poopies Pip. That means the sorry box.” Pip looked up at Alain with horror, his eyes wide from pain and terror.
The pair walked through the door in the hallway to the laundry room.
“NU WAN SOWWY BAWKS! NU WAN! NU WAN!”
Alain lifted the small black box from the wire shelf mounted to the wall.
“WAI DADDEH HUWT FWUFFY, PIP AM GUD FWUFFY, FWUFFY AM FO’ HUGGIES AN’ WUB!”
The sorry box had grown dusty from disuse. Pip genuinely was a great fluffy, well behaved and incredibly polite, and absolutely attached at the hip to Liz. Alain was forced to evict an irate spider and its cobweb from the crate, watching as both disappeared down the crack between the washer and dryer.
“WAI DADDEH HUWT PIP? WHY DADDEH GIB MUMMAH BIGGEST HEAWT HUWTIES? DADDEH AM DUMMEH MEANIE MUNSTAH!”
Alain mumbled to himself as he set the box up. Luckily it was a simple matter of flipping a lever and lifting the carrying handle at the top. It was a well designed and even better engineered product, made so that you wouldn’t need to set down the misbehaving creature intended as a prisoner to set up. It telescoped up, forming a black rectangle with sloped slides, like a pyramid with the point cut off. It locked into place with a click loud enough to be heard over the screaming colt.
“PIP HATECHU MEANIE DADDEH! HATECHU HATECHU! WEAB’ MUMMAH AWONE, NU GIB’ HEAWT HUWTIES NU MOWE!”
Alain felt his temper flare as the pony flailed its arms at him, trying to give ‘da wowstest sowwy hoofsies’. This little shit rat had no clue how hard it was being a parent. All the sacrifices he had made. No, it was always just fucking huggies and love for Pip. He had no idea how hard it was to deal with the judgmental stares from teachers, asking about why his daughter was slipping behind in grades. The whispers behind his back at family events, the fake sympathy for being the parent to the ‘problem child’.
His grip on the pony’s mane made it easy to shift his grip to wrap his hand around the colt’s neck. “SHUT THE HELL UP!” He screamed, holding the foal inches from his face. His voice lowered to a growl. “You have no idea how hard my life is already. I have a shitty job that pays well, and that’s about it. I have lost friends, lost my wife, I devoted so much time, money, energy, and love. All just so I could do what I thought was best for my girl. Private school, private tutors, any and everything she wanted. You know how many of you I could buy with the amount it cost just to get that fluffy proofed computer setup in there?” Pip attempted to shake his head, terrified and unable to speak with both fear and the strong grip wrapping around his throat. His attempts at screaming remained as gurgles in his throat as Alain continued his rant. “Of course you fucking don’t, you can’t even count past six!”
Alain grabbed the top handle of the sorry box, flipping the lid open and dropping the colt on his rear. The pony scrambled to stand up as Alain looked down at him from the top of the sorry box, spitting a gob of mucus into Pip’s face. “You aren’t even worth the air you waste.”
“PWEASE DADDEH NU WEABE FWUFFY IN SOWWY BAWKS, PIP AM GUD FWUFFEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-!” The pony screamed as Alain closed the lid to the box, trapping the colt in darkness. Cynthia had been looking for an excuse to have Liz stay with her for an extended stay, and her apartment was closer to the school anyways. But the shitrat would be his responsibility since he had bought it in the first place.
Alain stared angrily as muffled shrieks emanated from the crate. He slapped the side of the sorry box, met by another scream from the trapped foal. It would just be him and the shit rat alone in the house for the next month. Days of being bothered with inane questions, days of being forced to clean up a shitty litter box, days of refusing requests for spaghetti. Days of being asked why his daughter was not staying in his house.
Alain left the laundry room, muffled sobs and pleas finally drowned out when he closed the heavy mahogany wood door. Had cost him a pretty penny, but had been worth every cent. Same with the washer drier combo he had, top of the line model. Which was weird to say about household appliances, but it did a flawless job every time even when cleaning shit stains out of foal bedding. Alain had always tried to solve his problems with money. Today was no different, as the man pulled his phone out and looked up ‘long term low effort fluffy care”.
———————————————————
Pip sobbed in the bottom of the sorry box, tightly curled into a ball with his tail pressed to his stomach, hugging it for comfort. It was only by virtue of him having voided his bladder before being dropped into the box that he was not lying in a puddle of his own piss, instead his soft face was smeared with tears and snot as he cried. He had no idea how long he had been in the box, but all he really could do was cry, sleep, and think. He thought about the good times he spent with his mummah, the play times, the nights spent sleeping in her arms. The late nights spent chasing the meanie sad wawas from her see places.
The pony was rudely roused from his thinking by a fistful of kibble being thrown at him. Pip yelped, looking up angrily to see the face of the meanie munstah that wore Alain Daddehs face. Clearly not Alain, this munstah had given him some terrible hurties, but even worse had given Mummah the WORSTEST heart hurties. Pip had to act fast, rearing up on his hind legs he sprang forwards to attack the munstah, only managing to barely graze the rim of the open box. Alain rolled his eyes, watching as the pony flailed at him, eyes shut tight and cheeks puffed to their maximum. He reached down, flicking the colt in the face hard enough to knock the foal backwards. “Give it a rest.”
Pip took the classic fluffy defensive stance, an exaggerated crouch with his ass in the air. “Nu! Pip gib WOWSTEST huwties tu meanie heawt huwtie munstah!” Alain frowned at the fluffy, reaching down to flick it again. Pip bit his hand, his broad flat teeth gripping the middle and index fingers. It was a stupid move by a stupid fluffy, only causing Alain to laugh. He had shaken hands with geezers at his company who had stronger grips than this fluffy had bite. “Don’t worry shitrat, you only have to spend one day with me. I have a special package to pick up at PAINDIE.”
The colt looked at him in fear. Alain wasn’t sure how much of what he had said really registered with the fluffy, but he had registered the words ‘Pain’ and ‘Die’. He smiled, leaning down to stare the foal in the eyes directly, his head almost poking through the door of the box “I’m going to give you almost forever sleepies.” Alain reveled in his power of the creature, watching as it flinched away from his rancid morning coffee breath. Despite its obvious fear, the foal managed to blow a weak raspberry at the man. “Pip nu cawe, gon’ gib dummeh munstah weaw foweba sweepies! Pip pwotect mummah!”
Alain left the foal for a minute returning to the laundry room with a gallon jug of water. He swiftly dumped it into the box, chuckling to himself as Pip screamed about water being bad for fluffies. He had only put a quarter inch in the box, not even enough for a talkie babbeh to drown in. He enjoyed feeling of power he held over the fluffy, but he was also giddy with excitement over his new purchase. Checking the purchase form on his phone, he closed the lid of the sorry box. His morning routine felt relaxed now that he wasn’t having to take Liz to school. All the time in the world, and soon more once that foal was dealt with.
——————————————————————
“Step one, confirm the fluffy will fit in the bag.”
Pip was awoken from his fitful, damp dreams as the hand of the Alain munstah grasped his mane, hoisting him out of the sorry box and onto a surface the colt recognized as the kitchen table, but there were no nummies prepared like there usually were. Instead, a strange device sat next to an open cardboard box that the Alain munstah rummaged through, watching as he pulled a large plastic sheet from the box. Pip looked around for an escape, finding nothing but a certainly fatal sheer drop at all sides. Alain had pulled all the chairs out to the side, preventing the foal from having a clear path to the floor.
Alain held the bag up next to the fluffy. “Check. Step two, void the fluffy.” Alain hummed to himself as his long, lanky arm shot out and grasped the foal firmly, lifting him by the mane once more as he dragged it to the sink.
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE WOWSTEST HUWTIES!” Pip screamed, flailing around hard enough that the pony managed to detach himself from Alain’s grasp, the man left holding nothing but a fistful of hot pink mane fluff.
Pip raced off down the hall to Mummahs room, pawing at the door furiously as Alain walked slowly towards him, heavy footsteps thudding against the floor.
“HUWWY MUMMAH, PIP NEE’ HEWP!” His hooves clacked against the door helplessly as Alain reached the door. To Pip’s surprise however, he opened the door, letting the colt race inside the room to find it entirely empty.
“MUMMAH! PIP NEE’ OU! MUMMAH HEWP!” He raced around the room looking for her, yet finding no trace. Not in her bed, not in her closet, not in the en suite bathroom, nothing but the piss stained uniform in the hamper. He collapsed to his knees in anguish, crying deep, wailing sobs as Alain walked in, standing behind the pony impassively.
“Get it now Pip? She’s gone.” Alain leaned down and grasped the now sobbing colts scruff. “And she will be gone for thirty days. Thirty whole fucking bright times.” He lifted the foal to face him, recoiling at the sight of the foals sniveling, snotty face as he sobbed. “But here’s the deal. I can make you see her right now if you behave well.”
Pip looked up at the munstah with a faint glimmer of hope clouding his despair filled eyes. “WEAWWY?”
“Maybe.”
Pip squealed as he was dragged away from his saferoom, his mummah’s room. “You see, this is some relatively new technology. Fluffy tech so cutting edge they can only legally sell it as abuse right now.” Alain held the foal over the kitchen sink, glancing over at the images included in the included guide. “‘To void the fluffy, slowly apply a firm massage, moving from below the solar plexus towards the anus.’”
Alain gripped the fluffy with both hands, following the helpful illustrations on the page. Oddly enough, the foal in the picture had the same coloration as Pip.
Pip was surprised. Huggies was the last thing he had expected from the Alain munstah. It felt nice, Pip had been deprived of all physical contact and hugs for over a day by now. He nuzzled into Alain’s palm, cooing softly. But Alain’s grip only got stronger.
He smiled at Pip with sick delight, forcing his fingers into the foals stomach, watching Pip wriggle with discomfort as he forced it to defecate. “SCREEEEE PWEASE AWAIN MUNSTAH NU GIB WOWSTEST HUGGIES, AM TOO MANY HUWTIES!” Alain dropped his smile. “Come on Pip, fluffies are for huggies and love aren’t they?” He pressed down on the fluffies groin, forcing the last small bit of excrement out. At the end of the process Pip was left an even greater sniveling mess than he had started as. “Step three, ensure the fluffy is clean, using provided shampoo.”
Pip found himself under a serious deluge of water, spluttering and gasping as Alain sprayed him with the detached faucet head. “WAWA AM BAD FO’ FWUFFY! WAWA AM BAD!” He cried, Alain merely giggling as the foal struggled against his firm grip around the pony’s throat. He had never realized just how fun it is to torment fluffies, to watch them helplessly struggle against the will of what to them is basically a god.
The colt screamed as the cold shampoo was poured on him, squealing as Alain’s fingers roughly massaged the gel into the fluffy, forming a foul smelling lather as the antiseptic, antibacterial, and antiviral combo shampoo burned against the fluffies sensitive skin. By the end of it, the chihuahua sized colt was a shivering, itchy lump sobbing to himself in the basin of the sink. Alain reached down and flicked the fluffy on the rear, for no other reason than to enjoy his yelps of pain as he ran around the large metal tub. But if he wanted to make his 4 pm tennis match, he would need to get a move on.
“Step four, ensure fluffy is dry.” Alain very briefly considered tossing Pip in the microwave, but quickly put the idea out of his head. Instead he left the huuhuuing creature in the sink and went to the master bathroom, an elegant marble and gold room that Cynthia claimed to have designed in the style of an ancient Roman bathhouse. Hand carved marble columns accentuated the mosaics Cynthia had designed herself. The bathtub had forgone a spigot and instead flowed out of the urn of a hand carved marble sculpture. Alain hated everything in this room except his one addition, an incredibly over engineered Japanese toilet that Cynthia had hired a local artist to cover in an ugly marble vinyl wrap that looked terrible, but everything had to match a ‘theme’. Her theme.
But over engineered toilets and a stark reminder to his failed marriage were not why Alain was here, what he was here for was his wife’s expensive, wireless hair drier she had left when she moved out. Grabbing it, he made his way back to the kitchen just in time to hear Pip squeal as his testes touched the cold metal basin. “C-c-c-cowd am b-b-b-bad f-f-f-o’ f-f-f-wuffee… n-n-n-nee’ huggies!” He chattered, assuming the Upies pose and raising a set of shivering arms to Alain, who only grinned in anticipation. He had no clue what he was in for.
After drying the pony off with a dish towel, Alain finished the job with the hair dryer. Pip, seeming to forget the terror and pain that had just been inflicted on him less than thirty minutes ago. He cooed and laughed as the blow dryer tickled his fluffy coat, the whisper quiet hairdryer doing an excellent job. Alain was disappointed that the hairdryer hadn’t scared the foal, but only mildly. The real fun was about to occur.
“Step five, feed fluffy an appropriate amount of the Vita-Syrup as according to the weight chart on the following page.” As Alain consulted the aforementioned guide, Pip lightly napped, wrapped up in the dish towel. He had been tired from the sorry box to start with, his rollercoaster of an experience had driven him to pure exhaustion. He didn’t even notice what Alain was doing, nor did he care. He was warm and tired, and that meant nap time. He was already beginning to drift off to dreamland when he felt a weird hard object poking at his mouth. Opening his eyes, he saw Alain’s heavy lidded eyes staring at him.
“Wha am-“
Pip was unable to finish his sentence as the plastic syringe filled with Vita-Syrup delivered its payload, the foals mouth suddenly filled with a thick, sticky corn syrup, feeling a decent amount bypass his mouth entirely and jet straight into his gut. But the mouthful was enough. An already unpleasant taste and texture was made far worse by the various salts and chemicals required to maintain metabolic functions, bitter, salty, and acrid. Pip tried to retch, to expel the foul liquid, but found himself unable to open his mouth, Alain’s hand now gripping the colt’s mouth shut. Still, Pip struggled fruitlessly against Alain, wrenching his face back and forth to try and loosen the grip on his snout, but Alain was unyielding.
Alain watched the foal struggle for a minute, his index finger slowly massaging the colts throat. It was a handy little footnote in the guide, and worked an absolute treat. Pip didn’t even realize he had swallowed the liquid until his legs suddenly went numb as the mild paralytic in the syrup worked its magic. “Wai weggies nu’ wowk, WAI WEGGIES NU AM WOWK! PWEASE WEGGIES, PIP NEE’ WUN AWAY FWOM MUNSTAH!” The foal squeaked as its head suddenly hit the counter, the foals neck succumbing to the paralytic in a similar fashion to its legs. Pip could only cry as Alain approached him with a strange set of plastic tubes.
“Step Six, seal any orifice or cavity at risk from the vacuum.”
Alain grabbed a tube of the sealing wax, applying a liberal gob into both ears of the still sobbing colt. Using his index finger, he pressed it into the ear canal, the fluffy yelping in pain. Next, the anus. A plug, small by human standards but massive by fluffy standards, was quickly shoved in.
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! NU AM MAWE, NU AM MAWE! PWEASE MUNSTAH NU GIB’ PIP BAD SPECHUL HUGGIES, PIP AM ONWY WIDDWE BABBEH!” Mouth was next for sure, Alain unwinding a roll of special tape. It was quickly wrapped around his snout a few times, then used to make an airtight seal over his lips. The fluffy could do nothing but sob, heavy wet tears forming a pool around his head. Alain had done many different types of drugs through his years as a trust fund baby, but the high he was riding was unlike any of them. He practically skipped to the box on the counter, pulling out an odd canister trailing a set of clear plastic tubes.
“Step seven, place the patented PAINDIE Respirator kit’s tubes into the Fluffies nose, ensuring a firm fit.”
Pip felt violated. His poopie place burned, feeling indignant and hurt each time his heart beat, each throb clearly announcing the presence of his anal intruder. He was further violated by the two silicone balls being shoved into his nose, burrowing deep into his thinkie place. He felt them crawling through his snout, and had he been able to he would be flailing in an attempt to escape. But as it stood, he was forced to stay still as he was violated in ways unthinkable to his tiny brain. Then he started feeling sleepy. He saw that munstah, the one wearing the face of Alain Daddeh, mouth something. He felt the warmth of a hand lift him up, cradling him. He clung to the warmth of the hand, his one source of comfort in the world. And then he was in the bag, being splayed out spread eagle by the hand that just held him.
The bag was dragged to the machine, Pip watching in fear as giant metal jaws swung forth, crimping the bag. Then he started growing. Or the bag started shrinking. One of the two. Either way, Pop felt the slippery plastic grip him in the tightest, worst huggies he could have possibly imagined.
“MMMMMM! MMMMMHMMMM!”
Alain watched with both disgust and fascination as the foal was vacuum packed, watching as the plastic clung to the foals eye, locking it open. He watched the tears and mucus form thin veins through the plastic as it was dragged towards the vacuum, the muffled screams of the foal the only sign of life left. Pips cries grew weaker as the sedative gases in the canister cycled through his body.
“Step 10, place into a refrigerated unit between 30-36° Fahrenheit.”
Pip was barely conscious, only vaguely aware he was being carried. His sight was blurred, his eyes warped by the plastic and the vacuum, but he was still able to make out the hallway floor, then the garage floor, then the refrigerator. Then he saw nothing, but felt cold. No longer warm or tired, he fell unconscious, freezing and scared.
Inspired by Why-Not’s vacuum preservation system,
