Smarty's Stay At Daycare Pt. 1 [By MuffinMantis]


[Note: This seemed a bit too graphic to be under normal textbox posting, but if it’s not graphic enough to justify being controversial I can move it.]

“Pwease! Smawty nu wan huwt odda fwuffies! Jus’ wan huggies an’ pway! Pwomise nu wiww huwt ow be meanie! Pwease jus’ wet Smawty gu!”

“No. It doesn’t matter what you say if you keep calling yourself smarty. I’m not making that mistake again.”

Smarty flailed ineffectually, desperately attempting to escape the immobilization board. Already he was filthy with scardy-poopies and scardy-peepees, the smells of the room and the words the munstah lady was saying driving him to panic. Under the board, his hooves slipped on the disgusting slurry of blood, feces, and urine.

The munstah lady left, leaving him immobilized, but he was momentarily relieved. Maybe she’d leave him alone. Maybe his daddeh would be back soon and would save him! “Pwease, daddeh, pwease sabe smawty! Smawty nu wan huwties an’ forebah-sweepies!” He begged.

Suddenly he smelled something, something different. A living fluffy, in this room full of the stench of death and suffering. The scent reminded him of the few blessed minutes he’d been among the other fluffies in the daycare, so short a time ago yet seeming so distant. Maybe this fluffy would help him, explain that he wasn’t a bad fluffy!

Ghast, we have another smarty for you to play with!”

“Gud! Smawty wumps hab wowstest huwties! Nee’ gud feews!”

Smarty began struggling again with renewed vigor. He didn’t understand what the words meant, since he wasn’t a mare so Ghast clearly couldn’t be talking about him, but there was malice in the words that pushed buttons deep in his psyche. Something about the way Ghast said “smarty” made him think it was more than a name.

“Dummeh hoomin! Nu gib bad upsies!”

“I’m not lifting you the other way after what you did last time.”

“Hehehe! Hoomin nu wike peepees?”

“You’re lucky the manager wants me to keep you around, shitrat, or it’d be you on the board.”

“Smawty nu cawe. Dummeh hoomin twy an’ smawty gib wowstest sowwy-hoofsies!”

“Just…do your thing, okay? God, I hate you, fucker. I can’t wait until it’s your turn.”

The smarty, no, the bad-smarty approached Smarty, grinning. “Smawty gon’ gib wowstest enfies!”

“Bu’ Smawty nu am mawe!”

Smawty? 'Ou nu can be smawty, ‘ou am poopie-fwuffies wif ugwy fwuff. ‘Ou am onwy gud fow enfies an’ nummin’ poopies!”

Smarty’s terror was mixed with even more confusion. Why did everyone hate him? What was wrong with his name? It was a good name, the bestest name, given to him by his nice daddeh.

“Dummeh fwuffy taiw am in way.”

With a sigh, the munstah lady lifted up Smarty’s tail, while her other hand lifted a pair of heavy garden shears. “Nuuuuu! Smawty nu wan wose taiw! Pwease nu taek Smawty’s pwetty taiw!”

“Fine, I’ll give you that one choice. Don’t blame be for this, though.”

Smarty sagged with relief. His daddeh always said his tail was so pretty, so he was happy he’d get to keep it. This relief turned into shock and pain as a nail was jabbed into his haunch. “SCREEEE! WEGGIE HAB WOWSEST HUWTIES!”

“I’m not going to stand here and hold your tail, so it needed to be wrapped around something. Blame yourself. Shitrat, he’s ready, so get to work.”

“Wowk? Dis nu am wowk, dis am pweasuwe.”

“Fuck off.”

“Pwease nu mowe huwt,” Smarty’s plea went unheeded.

“Fwuffy wiww fuck, bu’ nu can du off.”


“Dis smawt-ass gon’ hab fun wif dat smawty’s ass!”

“Nu! Nu! Nununu! SCREEEEEEE! Poopie pwace hab wowstest owwies! Nu mowe! Smawty nu am mawe! NU MOWE!”

“Enf enf enf! Dummeh poopie Smawty hab nice poopie-pwace! Gib smawty bestest gud feews!”


“Enf enf enf! ENF-ENF-ENF! GUD FEEWS!”

Smarty retched at the awful feeling, but also felt relieved. Now the pain would stop! Now the bad-smarty would leave his poopie-place alone!

“Enf enf enf!”

“Nuuuuuu! 'Ou hab gud feews! Nu mowe enfies!”

“Dummeh poopie Smawty! Nice wady gib Smawty bestest speciaw nummies fow mowe enfies! Gon’ gib enfies fow many forebahs!”

“Pwease, nice wady!” Smarty begged. “Smawty-SCREEEEEE!- Smawty nu am mawe! Nu am fow enfies! SCREEEEEE! Hewp Smawty!”

“No. You’d have just done the same thing to one of the mares or a foal as soon as we left you alone with them. This is what you deserve.”

“Huhuhu! Smawty nu wan gib bad-enfies! Hu hu. Nu am bad fwuffy! Nu wan huwt babbehs! SCREEEEEE!”


“Wut?” the bad-smarty asked, pausing for a moment. Smarty gasped from relief for the momentary cessation of his torment.

“This fucker just lied to me. Go harder. Just don’t kill him.”

“Gwadwy.” The bad-smarty resumed, harder than before.

“SCREEEEE! GASP! SCREEEE! GASP! SCREEEEE! GURK!” Smarty’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he lost consciousness.

Smarty awoke, and the first thing he felt was relief. The bad-smarty wasn’t hurting him anymore, although his poopie-place was still horribly sore. He looked around frantically, trying to see if the bad-smarty was still there. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious.

“Awake, are you?” The voice came from behind him, where he couldn’t see due to his restraints and limited neck movement. “Ghast wasn’t finished. Oh well, can’t have you dying just yet. Ghast!”

“Am dummeh Smawty awaek? Smawty nee’ mowe enfies!”

“He’s awake, but for now no more enfies. Can’t have him dying yet and I don’t want to have to try to cauterize a torn asshole.”

“Hehehe! Jus’ say smawty nu-nu stick am tuu big, wady. Smawty nyo 'ou wanna.”

(“Nu…” Smarty moaned, unheard.)

“You’re a disgusting piece of shit, Ghast.”

“Smawty nu cawe. Nee’ mowe enfies. Wumps stiww huwtin’!”

“Yeah, yeah, but I still can’t let you kill him yet.”

“Just wet smawty enf mouf.”

(“Pwease. Pwease nu,” came a half-hearted whimper.)

“I’ll have to remove his teeth first, but that’s fine.”


“Shut up.”

“Let me get this done and you can finish up, sicko. You want to enf his mouth, don’t you?”

“Nu meant fwuffy mouf, bu’ otay.”

“Weally? Nu mowe huwt?”

Ghast, some day I’m going to quit working here, or the manager will get fed up with your bullshit, or both. And when that happens, you’re going to pay for saying that. I hope you enjoy watching what happens here, because I promise it’s not even going to begin to compare with your suffering.”

“Smawty wookin’ fowawd tu it, wady. Du it if 'ou hab da wumps.”

“You’re going to regret saying that. Now, where are those pliers?”

“Nu…nu wan mouf enfies…nu wan wose teefies…nu wan…nu wan…nu wan…pwease, daddeh, sabe Smawty…pwease…pwease…pwease…wan die…”

Part Two


You know, abuse almost never makes me angry at the characters doing it, whether the abuse is justified or no. But when the abuser is getting all self-righteous and acting as though what they’re doing is justified when it actually isn’t, that really gets me fuming.

Great story so far, managed to create an abuse situation that actually made me angry.


That place needs a serious overhaul of personal… or possibly be shut down. Really shitty routines if they keep torturing the fluffies left in their care, smarties or not. Would’ve been better to just stick the smarties in cages in a back room. It might be in the fine print but if the public, the vast-majority of non-abusers I mean, knew they gladly torture and allow fluff on fluff rape based on smarty syndrom… tsk tsk… yeah. Not gonna be popular. I doubt most non-abusive owners will take their business elsewhere. :hmm:

And yes, reading this had me fuming. The business model annoys me as do the actions of the personal. How did you know? :sweat_smile:


Well, the goal was a critique of the “You said smarty, now everyone is justified to make you suffer and die” trope, so if it’s unreasonable and makes you angry, I’d say it’s working.


It’s not just working, it has me spewing profanities like a Klingon warlord ready for battle so good work! :stuck_out_tongue_winking_eye:


Poor Smarty! I’m super curious how this will end. Will Smarty live? Will he be a total wreck? Will he turn into a smarty because he’s been told time and time again that’s what he is? What will his daddy do regardless of the result?


That escalated quickly


Not quickly enough! There’s no fate bad or fast enough for a fluffy that dares comment on its own intelligence!


@MuffinMantis I get hard Crimson or Maroon vibes from Ghast and I’m loving it so much. Keep up the good work


S someone named their fluffy smarty. The employee doesn’t pay attention to facts and does something that they shul have no right to do. I’m just guessing

Ghast is very much based on Crimson and other smarties that demonstrate some actual intelligence to go with their sadism. I find it much more engaging than generic “sowwy hoofsies fow poopie babbeh” smarties.


Yeah I love them like this more than the generic Smarty they are just way way better.

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