Shane’s front hooves had the worstest of hurties.
Well, actually he couldn’t feel them at all, as they had been sliced off by Pistol. The places where Shane’s tough, leathery hoof pads were supposed to be were now just exposed tissue, slowly clotting and blistering as the fluffy continued his grueling march upon the salt and blood that covered the treadmill.
When Shane had been unable to understand that if he didn’t walk now he would have to walk further later, Pistol changed tactics. There was now a laser tripwire at the end of the treadmill and whenever it went off, Shane received up to five thousand volts delivered from two tiny pins, one in each testicle, leading to the tiny electrode in Shane’s urethra. It was little surprise that this was more than adequate to convince Shane to walk on his painful front feet, although every minute or so he would stop or slow down enough to get zapped again.
Every time he was shocked, Shane’s penis contracted around the pool of 5-alarm reaper sauce Pistol had injected Shane with, forcing the burning liquid to spread further through the fluffy’s now bright red and swollen penis.
“HUU HUU HUU! WHY PISTOW DU DIS TO SHANE? SHANE NEBAH DU ANYTINK WONG!” Shane shouted after getting zapped again. Pistol was genuinely shocked at the fluffy’s audacity, or perhaps this was self centered douchbaggery. Entitled cuntiness? Questions for later, for now, Pistol just increased the treadmill’s speed a bit.
“So you’ve no idea why you are being punished? Like, none at all?” Pistol asked, ready to stop after a half-hour of this torture on his brain and ear drums.
“Dis jus cause Pistow am wacist”
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“You’re a fluffy and I’m a human, how is this racist?” Pistol asked, genuinely interested in how Shane could possibly support his argument.
“Dis jus cause Shane hab bwack fwuff!” Shane said, stopping for a moment to stomp a hoof, which earned him extreme pain both from his leg and his junk as he got zapped again.
“That… That’s not what people mean when they call other people black.”
“NU! Da hoomans hab bwack fwuff tu an dat da onwy weason why dummeh-pistow-dummeh am gib Shane hewties.” Shane said as he winced and fat waddled along.
“So you don’t think it has anything to do with you stabbing Sally, or torturing me when I was a fluffy?” Pistol asked, incredulous.
“NU! Nu hab any tink tu du wi’ Shane, Pistow jus wacist.”
Pistol doubled the voltage for the laser tripwire before crouching so he was face to face with Shane. “What humans do to each other over petty reasons like race, religion, and nationality is obscene and deplorable, but the reason you are presently being hurt is because you keep hurting others. And yet instead of even considering that the others you hurt can also feel pain, you make light of the persecution of others. I didn’t have high hopes for you, so I shouldn’t be surprised, but again and again you manage to surprise me with how far you lower the bar.”
Pistol sped up the treadmill a bit more and set a 30 minute timer on it before heading upstairs for some aspirin.