Valentines Day
Stompie skipped on screen, her usual outfit, though a red headband with two hearts on springs adorned her head over her mask.
“Hello my beloved Stompers! It’s almost Valentine’s Day! You know what that means! Love, chocolate, and fluffy killing!” She made a heart with her hands before the opening animation played.
“I’m going to do a bit of a Q&A as I do this stream. I got a lot of new subscribers and I wanna rehash some things and tell some old stories.” She giggled and sat down on a multicolored fuzzy looking chair. “This is fluffy pelts, of course.” She said. “Homemade, but not from me. You gotta be careful with treating the pelts or it’ll smell. My first attempt was cute but it was a disaster.” She shook her head. “So now…let’s go to the first question…and the first victim!”
Stompie reached into the foal box and pulled out a red foal. The foal’s eyes were open and it was looking around. When it spotted Stompie, the foal gasped happily.
“Nyu mummah?! Wuv nyu mummah! Wan wuv an toysies an ga-“ the foal’s voice cut off with a wheeze as his middle was squeezed. “Kaf! Kaf! H-huggies tu tite!” The foal gasped.
Stompie looked into the chat. “Oh, here’s a common one. “Stompie. Why don’t the fluffies sh-t on your stream?’” She looked at the camera, still squeezing the foal. “Simple. I empty them beforehand. I wear a different mask so they don’t know it’s me. I want their reaction to me to be fresh.” She ignored the foal’s little gasps and struggles. “I don’t like having to clean up shit on the live stream or smelling it. So no shit on the live streams anymore.” She loosened her grip on the foal.
“Haf haf. N…nu mowe owies?” The foal asked, his face fluff stained with tears.
“Owies? Little shitrat, those were huggies. How could huggies hurt? They make everything better!” Stompie said with all the sarcasm she could muster. “Hm. Maybe you need fluffy huggies.” She said. She put on a special glove, one that was made of a thick padding to protect her hand from…something. Reaching into a separate container, bringing out a different foal. This one was a hideous brown and green. Undoubtably this foal would have been rejected and relegated to poopie babbeh by even the most loving fluffy parents. This fluffy had thumbtacks stuck all over it. Some pointing toward the fluffy, some pointed out. Either way the fluffy seemed to be in a good amount of pain, chirping as Stompie pulled it out by the tail.
“Try hugging this one. I think he really needs the hugs. If hugs don’t make everything better…well, then you must be a bad fluffy.” She said pointing to the first fluffy, then to the brown one. “And you must be too ugly to be loved.” Her voice was full of malicious glee, knowing damn well what would happen.
The red foal toddled over to the sobbing foal and tried to give it a big hug… “SCREEEEEE!” Both fluffies screamed, trying to pull away from each other. The red fluffy was stuck on the tacks, screeching as loud as it could.
The brown fluffy was screaming and sobbing.
Stompie laughed. “Oh, it looks like we’ve got a bad fluffy and an unloveable fluffy. How sad.” She claimed. “Maybe next time, ugly fluffy.” Stompie ripped the red fluffy off the brown fluffy. “No love for you.” She plopped the ugly foal into his separate box, enjoying the screams of pain from him as he landed on the tacks.
She turned her attention to the red fluffy now, laying bleeding and chirping. She flicked the fluffy’s rear. “Pathetic thing.” She said. “What should I do to this thing?” She asked, and took another question. “Hm? What got me into abuse? Well, that’s a sad story.” She said. She grabbed a tack and jabbed at the fluffy’s rear and torso as she spoke.
“I was a young lady. At one point I thought fluffies were cute. Domestic ones, mind. The dirty fluffies in the street were annoying. But I didn’t hate them at first. It started when I was feeding a stray kitten. I had been begging my mother for a kitten for the longest time, and I thought the little kitten was perfect. She trusted me now and let me pet her. My mom finally agreed and when I rushed to the kitten to get it…she was dead. Drowned in shit and stomped on by feral fluffies that wanted her food.” Stompie shook her head. “I hated fluffies after that. Feral ones. But I hated domestic fluffies later. My friend’s fluffy had given birth and I went to see the little foals. She had a pretty big litter, and was feeding them…except for three of them. A black one, a green one, and a yellow one. She said they were poopie babbehs and no good.” Stompie smirked up at the camera. “I know, old story, but I was young. I tried to understand. But they were healthy foals. The green and yellow weren’t ugly. The black one was stunning. The dam didn’t care. She wanted nothing to do with the foals. So they were going to be hand reared. But we can’t leave it there, can we? Nope. The mother did not like that any of her unwanted progeny were getting attention instead of her or her favorite foals. So she waited until playtime and stomped on those poor foals in front of my friend and I. And she looked so damn proud of herself. I couldn’t stand fluffies of any type after that.”
Stompie smirked and made a fist. “I began honing my craft. Looking at what others have done, and what worked. I experimented on the fluffies to see what they could take and what broke them too quick. And I found out that people love seeing these little things suffer. So I began streaming. Most of my stunts go well because I’ve got a good idea of what these things can handle.” She brought her fist down, dispatching of the fluffy with a splat. “Is that a good Stompie Origin Story for you?” She asked.
“Next…I think we’ll play a good ol’ Impossible Choice game.” She said. “We’ll need a mummah, one of her fillies, and an overly horny stallion.” Stompie had those prepared already, pulling out the two. She taped both of them to the table, facing each other. The mother was a soft butter yellow with a blue mane and tail. The foal was the same color as her mother but with a pink mane and tail. Shades off Fluttershy, and certainly not a match for the personality. “These are a mummah and her bestest babbeh. She had other foals, none bad colored…but the mother refused to feed any other than her favorite. The other foals are being hand reared and will be adopted to good homes.” Stompie rolled her eyes. “The owner wanted you to know that last part. Can’t imagine why when she wanted me to say that. She did say she’s a fan.”
The fluffies were facing each other, the foal crying her eyes out. “Mummah! Sabe bestest babbeh! Nu wike! Nu wike dis!” She flailed her little hooves on the unforgiving metal table.
The mother fluffy was struggling, wincing about the tape. “Mummah twying, bestest! Fwoow nu wet mummah move!” She said.
Stompie slammed her fist down on the table to get their attention, causing them to both eep. “Well, fluffies. You have a choice to make.” She said. “I have a very horny stallion. Her wants special huggies…And he’s going to get them. The question…is who’s gonna give him the huggies? He could be nicer and go for the babbehs, which he really likes…or be really mean and go for the mummah.” She grinned evilly. “Your choice.”
“Nuuuuhuuuhuuu! Babbeh am nu fo speshul huggies! Babbeh am fo huggies and wuv! Huggies and wuv!” The foal screeched.
“Babbeh nu am fo speshul huggies! Buh…mummah nu wan owies…” she said.
Stompie smirked and brought out the stallion while they were deciding. The stallion was beautiful, black with a silver mane. “This guy used to be a prized stud.” She told her audience. “Unfortunately he got too rough and he started to find himself drawn towards the foals instead of the mares. He broke out of his pen one night…which means some idiot left his pen unlocked, and he got to the foal pen. …Workers came in to a LOT of dead, enfed foals. A traumatizing day for them, I’m sure.” Stompie said. She held up the fluffy. “His name is Noble.” Stompie did not point it out, but the stallion had a larger than normal package, either induced by growth hormones in his youth or luck for a fluffy.
Already Noble had noticed the babbeh and was trying to enf the air. “Wan babbeh. Wan babbeh.” He said.
Stompie saw the female fluffy’s pairs of eyes widen to see the big stallion enfing in their direction. “Make your choice, ladies. Who’s gonna take one for the team?” Noble was set on the table, his legs moving, only Stompie’s grip on his sides preventing him from moving forward.
The mother fluffy started to sob. “Nu wan! Tu scawy!” She said. “Sowwy babbeh! Mummah tu scawed!” She claimed.
Stompie sighed. “What a selfish bitch, right?” She asked. She aimed Noble towards the babbeh, and let him loose.
Noble wasted no time going behind the babbeh, mounting and enfing it. “Enf. Enf. Enf. Enf.” He clearly enjoyed himself.
“SCREEEEEE! NU! BAD SPESHUL HUGGIES! SCREEEE!” The babbeh screamed in pain, trying to escape. She only got a bop on the head for her efforts.
The mother was forced to watch. An attempt to close her eyes or turn her head was thwarted by Stompie taping her head down and using two strips of it to keep her eyes open. “You’ll watch what you chose.” she said. “While that’s going on, I’ll take another question.” She scrolled through the chat.
“Here’s one. Stompie, how and why did you choose that name?” Stompie grinned at the camera. “Isn’t it obvious? I stomped on fluffies. That was how I started, at least. And it’s my favorite way to kill them. I have all sorts of boots. My first viral hit was when I got a bunch of foals on fly paper and danced on top of them. It just kinda stuck, you know? Once in a while I go back to a good stomp, but I’ve expanded.”
Finally the enfing was done, and the foal was a sorry sight. She had white liquid dripping out of every orafice and the stallion had gone to the front.
“Yikes.” Stompie said. “Alright, you can do whatever you want with the mother.”
The mare looked at Stompie. “Wha? Bu….you pwomised!”
Stompie smirked cruelly. “I promised nothing. I told you to make a choice. You did.” She watched Noble close in on the mother, giving her sorry hoofsies.
“Bad Mummah nu sabe babbeh!” Noble yelled at her.
“Ironically he hates bad parents. Funny, isn’t it? He’ll enf their children then beat them for not stopping him. “ Stompie shook her head. “I wonder what would happen if a parent did try to stop him. Guess we’ll never find out. Nobody survives my streams for long. I think the current record was four episodes and it was an infection of all things that took him out. She watched as the mare’s dead body was violated. “Well, one down.” She peeled the tape off and tossed the…bodily fluid covered dead foal into the biohazard bin. “Think the trash collectors will ever work out why the bin is always so full each week?”
When Noble was done, Stompie pat his head. “I might keep you around a bit longer. You put on a good show.” She said. “That also depends on my viewers. Shall I keep Noble as a little assistant or kill him like the rest?” She put him away, then got another couple. A bonded pair. The mare was blue with a yellow mane, while the stallion was blue with a green mane. “These two are special friends. They grew apart after the stallion was caught giving special hugs to a prettier mare. This mare’s sister.” She shook her head. “Family, am I right? Anyways, they had some foals, and started what was essentially a custody battle over them. Turns out prettier mare was infertile and this stallion had the ‘bright’ idea to steal his foals from their mom to the other mare. Who could not feed them.”
Stompie grinned. “I’ve been given two foals for them to play with.” She said. She held up a clear container for the viewers to see. There was a pair of peeping foals inside. They looked as though they’d just recently opened their eyes and began talking. One foal was navy with a red mane. The other was purple with a yellow mane. “Here they are. Precious, aren’t they? We’re gonna go with a twist on an old Biblical story.” She smirked. “Whoever loves the foal more should be able to hold onto them.”
Meanwhile the fluffies had spotted each other and were arguing. “Yu awe bad daddeh! Yu steaw babbehs! Hatchu! Hatchu!” The mare yelled at the stallion. She ran over trying to give the stallion sorry hoofsies.
“Screeee! Nu! Daddeh wuv odda speshul fwiend! Deserbe babbehs!” The stallion yelled back, flailing to avoid the hooves.
She picked up the purple one first, dangling it above the two parents and gave a sharp, piercing whistle which made the two fluffies flinch, covering their ears after and complaining about ‘sound pwace owies’. The foal began to peep, which took over their attention.
The mare gasped. “Babbeh! Gib babbeh tu mummah!”
The stallion shook his head. “Nu! Gib babbeh tu daddeh!”
Before they could start arguing again, Stompie spoke up. “It seems you two are having trouble deciding who’s going to take the babbeh. I have an idea. Both of you grab a hoof and pull. Whoever is holding the babbeh at the end keeps it.” She grinned, seeing the two fluffies reaching for the foal. She lowered the foal, helping each fluffy grab a forehoof of the foal.
“Mummah? Daddeh?” The foal asked, looking between the two.
“Now pull!” Stompie announced.
The two fluffies pulled with all their might. It was not much force at all, but far too much for a foal’s delicate body.
“Screeee! Owies! Mummah! Daddeh! Hewp!” The foal screamed, despite its parents being the one causing it harm.
“Nu wowwy, babbeh! Mumma got chu!” The mare cried, giving a hard pull.
“Nu! Daddeh got babbeh!” The stallion retorted, pulling in kind.
With a final screech, the foal split, the arm tearing completely off on one said, partway off on the other. Most of the babbeh ended up on the father’s side.
“Babbeh! Haf babbeh haf babbeh haf ba-“ the mare realized she only had part of her foal. “Babbeh! Nu!” She screamed.
The stallion was overjoyed at first to have his babbeh before he realized…his babbeh was missing an arm! “Babbeh!” He cried, and began sobbing over the babbeh who was bleeding out.
“Looks like the stallion gets the babbeh this time.” Stompie claimed. “Let’s decide who gets the other one!”
“Bu…game giv babbeh huwties! Babbehs am fo huggies!” The stallion claimed.
Stompie slowly smirked, having anticipated this might happen. “That’s right, isn’t it? They’re for hugs. So we’ll see who gives the biggest, tightest hug to the foal. The best hug wins.” She decided. She winked at the audience. “We’ll let the daddeh hug first.” She said, and plucked out the navy foal by the tail.
“Scree! Taiw owies! Taiw owies!” The little foal peeped. He was soon in his daddeh’s arms and peeped contently. Soon the peeps and chirps turned to panicked sounds as his huggies were too tight! The foal struggled for breath and the pressure was released suddenly.
“Sowwy, babbeh. Daddeh wan babbeh!” The stallion said, forlornly, at a loss.
“Now it’s time for mummah to try!” Stompie said. She handed the shaking foal to the mare.
“Daddeh gib bad huggies! Babbeh am scawdies!” The mare scolded the stallion. “Mummah gib biggest bestest huggies!” She hugged with all her might…crushing the poor foal to death. There was a soft snap as his ribs and spine snapped like a styrofoam cup, coughing out blood.
Just as last time, it took a while for the mother to notice. “Babbeh? Nu make nosies?” She let the foal go. “BABBEH!” She screamed, seeing its broken, bloodied body.
“Looks like you keep that one. One each. Not bad at all.” Stompie said, clapping her hands.
“Buh…babbehs gu foweva sweepies!” The mare sobbed.
“I only said you’d get the foals. I didn’t say they’d still be alive. You two killed your foal. You were both too greedy and killed them both. Neither of you deserve to be parents.” She told them. “You pulled one foal apart and crushed the other. How shameful.” She shook her head. She produced two strings. “You two should watch the rest of the show.” She said. She hauled the fluffies up on the hooks hanging from the ceiling by their tails, ignoring the screams. She smiled at the question coming in. “Yes, those hooks have been there since the first stream. I actually installed them myself before the first stream. It was hard, lemme tell you. I did have to replace them from time to time, but these newer ones have been holding strong for a year now.” She gave a peace sign. When the mare tried to protest, Stompie gave her a light punch, sending her swinging. She laughed as the mare vomited. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of them by the end.” She told her audience.
“Another question or two…” she said, scrolling through. “Alright, let’s see…Stompie, how old are you?” She grinned at the camera. “Isn’t it rude to ask a lady her age?” She winked. “Well, I won’t tell you the exact age, but I’m over eighteen and under thirty.” She looked over the questions. “Stompie have you ever owned any fluffies long term?” She shook her head. “No. You heard my Tragic Backstory, didn’t you? The most I did was fluffy sitting for a cousin of mine. I lasted two days before I told them they had to hire someone else or they were coming home to a dead fluffy.” She shrugged. “I can handle snakes, spiders, rats…just not fluffies. Alright. Let’s move onto the next event.”
Stompie got out her next victims. Four fluffies this time. “We’ve seen a mare’s love doesn’t mean sh-t. But what about a stallion’s?” She asked. “We’re gonna make these boys fight each other.” She said. She taped the mares to opposite sides of the table, dangling a cinder block above each. The right mare was a mono color pink. The one on the left was green with a white mane and tail. “Aw. how pretty. Too bad they’re ferals.” She then pulled out the stallions, who were trying to comfort themselves by hugging. She placed the stallions near their special friends, the hugging instantly turning to them. The pink mare’s stallion was cream colored with a brown mane and tail. The green mare’s stallion was a darker green with a red mane and tail. “If I was short on money, I’d sell you to a breeder. But I’m not. And I don’t want any more of you little sh-ts to live.” She grinned. “Now boys…you two have to fight.”
The cream stallion looked dumbly at Stompie. “Buh….fwuffies am for huggies and wuv. Nu huwties.”
“You’re going to give each other hurties or your special friends will go forever sleepies.” Stormpie said plainly. She gave each mare a flick to the eye to prove her point. The green mare had luckily closed her eyes in time, giving her a bruise to go with her screams, but the pink one…
“SCREEE! See pwace huwties!” Blood poured from her eye, which had ruptured from the flick. “Welp. That’ll get my point across.” She claimed. She looked at the stallions. “You’ll fight, or I’ll hurt them worse and worse until they go forever sleepies.” She smiled cruelly at the stallions.
The cream stallion stared at Stompie in shock, but was suddenly pushed over by the green stallion.
“Nu wowwy, speshul fwiend! Gwassy wiww sabe you!” The stallion now known as Grassy declared, having pushed the other stallion over and was now giving him sorry hoofsies.
“Screee! Nu meanies! Nu huwties fo Cookie!” Cookie screamed, trying to flail away.
“Speshul fwiend! Hewp fwuffy!” The pink mare screamed as the cinder block was lowered closer to her. She apparently knew a fluffy colliding with cement meant bad things. Ferals were always a bit smarter than domestics. They had to survive without safe rooms, after all. Only the smartest survived.
Cookie was emboldened by his special friend being in danger and fought back. He was a unicorn, and had strength over his pegasus foe. He reared up, screaming, and came down with all his weight, crushing one of Grassy’s forelegs.
“SCREEEE! WEGGIE OWIES!” Grassy screamed, and backed up a bit, dragging his leg. “Gwassy wuv speshul fwiend!” He charged in once more only to be soundly stopped by the unicorn’s horn, piercing the nose of the pegasus. “SCREEEE!” He screamed, stumbling back and falling.
Cookie closed in on Grassy, scowling and teary eyed. He went over and began to gnaw at Grassy’s wingies.
“SCREEE! NU! NUHUHUHUHU! WEAVE WINGIES AWONE!” Grassy tried to crawl away, only for Cookie to rear up and stomp down on him, breaking that delicate spine of the pegasus.
“Well, it looks like a winner has been decided.” Stompie said. She turned the green stallion the other way. “And your special friend dies.” Cookie rushed over to his own speshul friend just as Stompie pulled the rope.
A cinder block crushed the pink mare and Cookie screamed. “Whoopsie! Wrong rope.” Stompie said, knowing damn well it wasn’t a mistake. “Well, I promised Grassy’s mate dies.” She pulled the other rope so Grassy watched his mate get crushed. “Now…what to do with you two…” she said, then looked to the chat. “How should I kill these two leftovers? Grassy’s spine is broken, but he’s still alive. Actually…I think he’s catatonic. That’s no fun.” She sighed and clambered onto the table. “Well, we’ll take care of him the old fashioned way.” She said. She raised a booted foot, stomping down on Grassy’s body once, twice, three times before most of his body was pulp. “There we go!” She said. “Now…we’ll take care of Cookie. Brave cookie who fought to defend his mate and won.” She hopped off the table. “How about…we play piñata with him?” She asked. She tied a rope around his tail and hoisted him up. She then took a modified sorry stick that had spikes all over it. “This is a special sorry stick I got. Let’s see how many hits it takes to kill. They said it takes a good amount of hits so you can really punish them.” She twirled the stick then went at it on Cookie.
Stompie began counting the hits, each one making more blood fly off the more hits she got in. By the time she got to the mid thirties, Cookie had stopped responding. Stompie nodded in satisfaction. “I wasn’t going easy on the fluffy either. Thirty seven hits until he’s dead.” She untied the fluffy and threw him to the bio bin, a trail of blood left. “Hm. Kinda left a mess, don’t you think?” She then got a spray bottle and a rag out. “I’ll answer while I clean this, cuz I got a lot of questions. I don’t have the smell of blood down here because of my cleaning. I don’t use bleach cuz the smell would be too strong with the soundproofing and the closed doors. So I use a special abuser mix from DedFluff.com. They provide all sorts of abuse products. This is their No More Blood cleaning solution. Hashtag non spon. But I go on their website ALL the time. It takes the smell out, but I like to use vinegar and water for the shine on my table.” She said, wiping the blood clean. “See? Just like the day I bought it.”
She looked over the two fluffies. “And now….we deal with you two. The irresponsible parents who’ve been crying their asses off.” Stompie hummed as she untied the two of them, letting them plop onto the table. The mare fell badly and broke her front legs.
“SCREEE! WEGGIES! NU!” She screamed.
The stallion landed on his side, making a pained sound.
“Aw. He didn’t break a rib. Too bad. We’ll fix that.” Stompie took out a teeny hammer and tapped on the stallion’s ribs until a small ‘crack’ sounded. “Now how to take care of you two…let’s ask the audience! They’ve always got such good ideas.” She decided to mess with a few foals. She took out a bright yellow one with a white mane. It was still a chirpie. “You two fluffies…you get to watch me tear apart foals!” She said.
“Nuhuhuhu! Nu huwt babbehs!” The mare cried.
“Babbehs am fo wuv!” The stallion chimed in.
“After two two both killed your own foals? Now you care about some random foal?” Stompie asked, satisfied to see them lower their heads and ears in shame. She began tearing the leggies off the foal one at a time, dropping them onto the hapless fluffies, unable to move away due to their injuries. Stompie decided not to rip the head off this foal, letting the newly created pillow fluff bleed out before the two fluffies, screaming his little head off.
Finally Stompie had some suggestions. Burning them alive, electrocution, crucification… “Hm…good, good…but I’m looking for something creative…that also won’t leave a smell in this room. Remember when I burned that box of foals? It took forever to get the smell out.” She then came across something interesting. An experiment involving fear and sketties. “Hm…this will take longer, but I think I can save this for a next stream. But for right now…nooses it is.” She got out two zipties, a string connecting them. She put the zipties over the fluffies’ necks, tightening them painfully. “I won’t kill either of you. You two will.” She said.
The mare, trying to escape the choking, thrashed her head. This tightened the stallion’s ziptie, making him cough and try to pull away, tightening the mare’s.
Stompie watched with delight as the fluffies inadvertently choked each other to death. When it was over, she clapped her hands. “Marvelous. What a great ending. See you next time!”
With that, Stompie signed off.