Fluffies come in a variety of colors, some more rare than others. Color genes are completely random in fluffies, causing breeding for colors to be useless. Compounded on this, Hasbio programmed how often colors would show up, causing brighter and more complicated colors to show up less. At the last “America’s Greatest Fluffies” the beauty contest winner was determined to be a 1 in 10,000,000 color.
When high-end fluffy traders have such a fine fluffy, normal punishment won’t work. Any sort of physical abuse might damage the fluff, which would be a killing move in the fierce competitions. Fluffies must also not be mentally broken since so many kids watch the shows. A beautiful fluffy must be a happy fluffy.
Then how does one discipline a bad competition fluffy? Just like the rest of them, they are still entitled and nasty. One wonderful bastard on 4Chan going by TG_89 has cracked the code. It all starts as a newborn. Before fluffies can walk or talk, they grow fluff to help with those rough air-conditioned environments. So, get a pretty baby and a generic brown or equally worthless baby, and raise them together.
It doesn’t matter if the pretty pony bullies her “sibling” just as long as it is the only company they have. Let them live in otherwise fluffy luxury, but be sure that the pretty pony only has one other companion. Let’s take a look at Rocky, a beautiful stallion, and Smear, his punishment pal.
Rocky woke up in his soft and comfy bed in the morning. Stretching, yawning, and stepping out of bed, he saw Smear sleeping on the floor. Smear was Rocky’s nasty “brother”, even if Rocky was very pretty and Smear was a green and yellow mix. Rocky walked in a wide circle around the only fluffy he ever knew to make it to the litterbox. Half way around though, Rocky had a horrible idea.
Smear was soundly sleeping the best he could on the cold and tiled floor. He dreamed of love and friends, that he was a pretty fluffy playing in the fields. Smear could almost taste the sketties that his babies and him ate from their nicest daddy ever. Suddenly, in his dream, a warm blanket was placed over him by his daddy. It felt warm and heavy, but it smelled nasty. Almost like… poopies?
Smear opened his eyes to see Rocky doubled over in laughter.
“Smeaw…” Rocky had to stop to laugh some more, “Smeaw am poopie AN ugwy noa! Ha ha ha ha!” Rocky beat his hoof on the ground as he laid laughing. Smear looked down at his side to see a massive pile of feces covering him. Rocky often hit and laughed at Smear, but this was different. This was just degrading. Smear felt a lump in his throat and his eyes burned. Rocky kept laughing as Smear shed some hot tears.
The door to the safe room slammed open as mean daddy walked in.
“Good mornin… Are you FUCKING kidding me?!” Daddy shouted after seeing the scene. Rocky quickly jumped back as Smear cowered down, both pissing onto the floor in surprise. They were young fluffies and hadn’t done anything worth yelling at yet.
“Daddeh, Wocky am sowwy, nu get angwy pwease… Daddeh am scawy…” Rocky peeped as he slunk away. Daddy didn’t seem to care all that much as he marched over to the cowering duo and grabbed them by the necks. Rocky protested, but the strain on his windpipe only allowed for wheezing. Smear just went limp and cried some more.
Rocky was tossed into a glass box overlooking a small wooden table. It was cold and sterile, it freaked Rocky out as the strong smell of cleaning products hit him. Smear was much worse off though. He was tightly strapped down to the wooden table and laid there limply. Daddy cleared his throat and both fluffies meekly looked at him.
“Rocky, you did shit on the floor, or did bad poopies, or fucking whatever. I can’t hurt you or else you wouldn’t have ears right now.” Rocky grimiced at the thought of losing his fluffy ears. “But that is why Smear is here…” Smear’s eyes widened at Daddy’s implication. Daddy brought out a variety of loud metal objects that Smear couldn’t see, but Rocky’s reaction was enough to cause panic.
“D-d-daddeh, Ugwy Smeaw am sowwy fow Wocky bad poopies… Pwease nu gib huwties to Wocky…” Smear cried. Rocky was somewhat touched, Smear was trying to help him.
“You dumbfuck, I’m not here to hurt Rocky. You’re the one getting hurt.”
“N-n-nu! Smeaw do good poopies and peepees! Pwease nu…” Daddy stuffed an old rag into Smears mouth. It tasted like motor oil and sweat and it made him gag. A torrent of vomit came up Smear’s throat but was stopped by the rag now taped inside his mouth. With no where to go, the puke flowed up and out Smear’s nose, causing him to choke. Smear blew out just enough to still breath, but he was completely miserable.
Rocky watched all this in horror. What was this feeling? He had beaten Smear since the moment he could, called him stinky and ugly, this morning he shit all over him. But now, he was feeling bad about it. He didn’t want Smear to get hurt. Smear was all he had ever known. Indeed, Rocky had a rare trait among fluffies, he had learned empathy.
“Pwease daddeh, pwease! Pwease nu huwt Smeaw! Wocky neba du noffin bad eba again! Nu nee sketties or make bad poopies or noffin!” Rocky begged, tears running down his fat cheeks, his little foal body pressed against the clear walls. Daddy just looked at him blankly.
“This is your fault Rocky. Only you are to blame. If you really care about Smear, don’t break the rules you spoiled shit rat.” With those final words, Daddy stopped listen. Rocky saw him put some weird little white things in his ears, which he always did while Rocky tried to talk to him, and picked something up. It was a spoon, Rocky had seen those on Fluffy TV. That couldn’t hurt anyone.
Daddy approached Smear, brandishing the spoon like a lethal weapon. He patted Smear on the head roughly a few times while staring at Rocky, causing a whimper from both of them. Daddy got down on one knee and peeled Smear’s eye open, inspecting it. Rocky wanted to shout and help, but the massive lump in his throat wouldn’t let him. Daddy shook his head and moved on to the left eye. Rocky distinctly remembers hoofing Smear in that eye. He looks down in shame as Daddy shakes his head and gets to work.
Smear’s wails are muffled by tape and a rag, but Rocky’s are not.
“Daddeh! DADDEH! Pwease stawp! Pwease! Smeaw needs see-pwace!”
“Shut the FUCK up!” Daddy screams, ramming his spoon deeper into Smear’s socket. Blood steadily streams down Smear’s fat face. His weak thrashes don’t help him as the spoon is finally behind fluffy eye. With a simple pull forward and a quick snip, the eyeball is no more. Smear has passed out from fear and pain right about the time the eye left the head, but Rocky didn’t.
Daddy walked to the sniveling pile of fluff in the cave, sobbing and hyperventilating. Daddy drops the eye through the top and it plops in front of the mass. Daddy grabs the back of Rocky’s neck and forces the weeping creature to stare at his work.
“Look you fucker, LOOK!” Daddy shoves Rocky’s face into the eye. “You did this, YOU DID! NOT ME! You little shit, you feel fucking bad, huh?! Maybe, just maybe, don’t break the fucking rules!”
The healing process was decent, fluffies heal fast. The phantom pain never fades, and neither does the trauma. At least Smear’s, now called Pwetty by Rocky, eye doesn’t bleed all day. Pwetty even gets to share the bed now. Rocky won some local contests, and he is going to state soon. He hasn’t broken any rules since the eye incident, but Daddy always brings his punishment pal just in case.