Stompie padded on set, her normal heels replaced with fluffy slippers. Literal slippers made of fluffies. Dead ones, and just their fur, though their heads had been stuffed at the front of them like character slippers. Stompie’s were black and pink, a patchwork of those shades artfully stitched together. The camera was sure to zoom in on those slippers before she headed to her normal spot behind her work table. The rest of Stompie’s attire was the standard; long black leather apron, a white clown mask, blonde hair in pigtails, one colored pink, one colored blue. She was holding a Stompie brand bat; which had her mask printed on the handle’s end, the rest of the bat black steel with what looked like googly eyes on it. On her table sat a terrified fluffy, colored red with a green mane. She’d pissed herself upon seeing the slippers. The fluffy’s leggies and muzzle were bound with a strip of duct tape.
“Hey, Stompers~! It’s been WAY too long! But I’m getting back into the SWING of things!” As Stompie said ‘swing’ she swung her bat, taking the fluffy out. “Yay! Home run!” She cheered, jumping up and down. “Anyways, you’re not here to watch me bash fluffies with a a bat. Oh no…my Stompers want a more sophisticated way of killing them…or at least more fun to watch.” She brought out the beloved chirping Foal Box. “I did want to show off a new skill of mine before we really get into it. Humor me for the Holiday’s sake?”
She took out an assortment of chirpies, their eyes still closed. They peeped in fear, huddling together for warmth. She had four of them; red, blue, green, purple. “So…some people have asked how I prepare these fluffies for some of the fun. I don’t want them spraying shit everywhere, so normally I squeeze them to purge but it just won’t get everything out.” Stompie looked disdainfully at the fluffs. “Lil shit factories.” She said. She dug into the pocket of her apron, pulling out superglue. “This. This is your bff. Superglue, Krazyglue, gorilla glue…whatever my lil Stompers like to call it.” She smirked as she picked up the purple fluffy. “I left this guy untreated for a demo~!” She gave the fluffy a squeeze when it tried to nuzzle her hand, causing a peep of pain from it. “Just dab a little on the ass and whatever bits it’s got…” she put a dab of superglue over the chirpie’s asshole and over the tip of it’s tiny genitals. “You can even glue the mouth shut if you want, but I like to hear them scream and beg.” Stompie put the glue away.
“Now…I want to show you my new skill of foal juggling!” Stompie jumped up and down with a grin, ignoring the fearful chirps. “I worked really hard on this, guys!” She picked up the other foals, two in each hand. She began to juggle. Stompie was no professional juggler, but she was decent at it, given the bulbous and uneven shapes she was juggling. The chirpies began to scream in fear and pain as they flew through the air, roughly falling back into Stompie’s hands. Eventually she missed one; the green one.
*CRUNCH*
The green chirpy landed headfirst into the steel table, its skull and neck shattering. The chripie’s rear leg twitched once and it was still.
Stompie glanced at it, snorted a laugh, then let them all splat onto the table except the blue one. She caught that one. “Aw. Looks like my skills need work.” She said. “Well, that stressed me out. Good thing I’ve got a stress ball here.” Stompie began to squeeze the foal, ignoring it’s peeps and cheeps. It began to frantically tap at Stompie’s hand, struggling to breathe. It only made Stompie’s grip tighten. “Pathetic little things, aren’t they?” She asked the camera. The foal was gasping, raspy chirps coming from the foal before half digested milk was vomited out, over Stompie’s black leather glove. She let the foal go, and it fell a foot onto the table, breaking a leg.
“Scree!” It screamed, miraculously not dead. Stompie would fix that as she got her bat. She swung down, crushing the foal, the metal on metal clanging loudly.
“There we go. Onto what I had planned!” Stomie said, making a heart with her hands. “Now…I had a fun idea. I’ve got a fun lil abuse product!”
Stompie took out an old game. “You remember the Rock’Em Sock’Em? I know, I know. Old game. But I got a hold of a…modified one.” Instead of the boxers, there was a strange, hunched harness. “This is for foals! After all, they’re meant to be played with.” Stompie took out a red foal that was shaking.
“N-nyu mummah? Babbeh scawdies…” it managed. “Nu wan huwties.”
“This is a toy, little shitling.” Stompie said, strapping the fluffy in. The harness did not stretch the fluffy’s arms out to the side, but more in front.
“Nu wike bad wordsies!” The foal claimed, unable to cover its ears. “Nu wike dis toy!” It was whining now. “Nu wike nu wike NU WIKE!” Suddenly it was slapped across the face. “SCREEEEEE!” The foal screamed, then began to cry. “Huhuhuuuu….wai giv huwties?”
Stompie ignored it now and pulled out a blue fluffy. It looked roughed up already and a bit smaller. “Hm. Let’s see if the underdog is any good.” She said, strapping this fluffy in.
“Nyu fwiend? Pwease be nice tu babbeh…” the foal begged the red one.
After strapping them both in, Stompie added the last touch; boxing gloves. They were meant to be attached to the fluffy by pushpins. Stompie grinned evilly. “We need these. After all, look at their stumpy leggies. They can’t play right with those.” She took one of the red fluffy’s legs and held it steady, even though the fluffy could only move forward and backward with it’s delicate leg. She pushed the pin in slowly.
“SCREEEEEEEE! WEGGIE HUWTIES! STAHP! SCREEEEEEEE!” The red foal tried hard to resist, but didn’t even rock the harness.
“Stupid wimp. That’s just the first one.” Stompie moved onto the second leg.
“NUUUUUU! SCREEE! OWIES!” The foal was left crying, drops of blood coming from the mutilated hoofs. The boxing glove attachments were angled so they could perform uppercuts like the game.
“Can’t forget the other one.” Stompie grabbed the blue fluffy’s leggie, noticing it chirping and peeping already. “If I hadn’t used superglue, I’m sure this thing would be pissing itself.” She pushed the pins in, the blue foal peeping up a storm. “I think this will be down to luck. This little shit has no fight in him!” She doublechecked they were all attached right.
“Now, let’s see how this works.” Stompie stepped back to look at the toy.
The only other controls were similar in shape to a tuning fork; a narrow blocky U shape. They were topped with a button each. “Easy enough. Press the buttons and whoever wins…” she tapped the collar. “They get beheaded.” She smirked. “This looks like so much fun! For me.” She couldn’t use the game as it was meant to be intended; two handed and a thumb for each button. She had to use her pointer and middle finger each for the controls on either side. “And…begin!”
Stompie pressed the buttons fast as she could, the harness forcing the fluffy leggies up and out, the gloves pounding each other and the other foal with as much force as the harness could generate.
A cacophony of screes, owies, and peeps filled the air as the two foals were forced to fight each other, welts rising on their delicate skin. The blue one had a bleeding snout, the red one had an eye swelled shut. Stompie was laughing, having the time of her life. Eventually the toy decided one of the contestants had taken enough hits, and the red head shot up.
Even without the light sharpening to the edge Stompie did, the toy likely could take a foal’s head off. They had soft, thin skin and malleable bones, after all. The red foal had it’s head torn from it’s body. The replay would show the head being ripped off in slow motion, following the head as it arced through the air, choir music splaying. A slow shot of the blue foal screaming in horror, then Stompie as she jumped up and down, clapping her hands.
“That was FANTATIC!” She squealed. “See, I played it a bit to see how strong it was and I sharpened the neck harness a bit to give it an easy time.” Stompie got a toy cup filled with a cloudy yellow liquid. “This isn’t piss, but pure lemon juice! Freshly squeezed too! Now let’s congratulate the winner. Wine for him!” Stompie poured the lemon juice over the blue foal.
“SCREEEEEEEEE!” The foal screamed, the sounds going hoarse as the lemon juice seared down his throat. His eyes went red and bloodshot as the juice dripped into them.
“How ungrateful!” Stompie said, shaking her head. “We don’t like poor sportsmanship here.” Stompie took the screaming, squirming foal out of the harness. “We’ll make you a cute little pillowed keychain.” Stompie decided. “I love those when they last.” She took out some googly eyed pliers and hummed as she cut through the legs of the foal, the screees more like a wheeze at this point.
Stompie used a lighter to cauterize the bleeding stumps. “There! Now it’s like a little plush!” She said. She put the foal at the edge of the table. The lip at the edge of the table prevented the pillow foal from getting any momentum to roll.
“My next trick!” Stompie said. “You might have seen hints of it on my pics, but now I’ll unveil it!” Stompie brought a covered object on the table, then whipped off the sheet. Underneath was a plastic minecraft horse model…with a fluffy uncomfortably squished inside.
“Owies…hab huwties…” the foal whimpered.
“Y’all have heard of square watermelon, right? And other fruits that have to gorw into a mold? Well, I’m trying that with fluffies! Their bones are so soft and pathetic, I wondered if their heads would grow into the shape of it. So far it’s working.” Stompie tapped the top of the container. “The problem is they’re so fat and round that it’s hard to get a defined square shape. The bones form into it, but what good is that if you can’t see it? I’m debating whether to let him out when he outgrows it, or see how long it takes to suffocate in it. Plus all the sharp edges hurt it. I’m thinking of putting some sand in there too so it hurts more!” Stompie smiled at the camera. “Go ahead and vote in the comments.”
Stompie smirked. “But in the meantime…this moves!” Stompie began to move the legs around. It was only forward and back, even less mobility than a dancie babbeh. Still, the foal screamed like it was being tortured.
“Shawp owies! Weggie huwties! Babbeh am sowwy!” The foal sobbed. “Babbeh nu know wha did bud pwomise to neba do it gain!”
Stompie rapped the top of the container hard, just above one of those thin, sensitive ears. “Oh you’ll never do anything again. That much I’m sure of.” She set that container next to the pillowed foal. “I think I should feed Mr. Nibbles at least one foal.” She said. Mr. Nibbles was a rat she’d rescued from the streets after seeing him feast on feral fluffies. The rat still didn’t let Stompie hold him, but he didn’t try to bite her anymore and came to accept she wasn’t going to hurt him. She fed him a good diet with fluffies as a treat. Stompie wheeled a rat’s cage over. “Don’t worry, pet lovers…this is just a show cage. A feeding cage, kind of.” It was less cage, more repurposed aquarium with a hide in it. “Mr. Nibbles just stays in here in case I need him for shows. I promise he’s living his best ratty life in a luxurious cage the rest of the time.” She dropped the pillowed foal into the feeding cage. “I made enough pillow keychains. Microfluffs are better for it anyways.”
Mr. Nibbles stuck his head out of the hide. He was a large, glossy rat with black fur. He sniffed the air and went close to the sobbing foal, knowing this was food. After sniffing at the foal one last time, perhaps wondering why he wasn’t moving.
The foal sniffled. “N-nyu fwiend fo babbeh?” It sniffled.
The rat wasted no time after that, biting and digging into the soft underbelly.
“SCREEEEEEEE! OWIES! NU HUWT BABBEH! NU HUWTIES!” The foal was unable to even roll away, stuck as he was eaten alive. Bits of blood were splattered on the aquarium walls.
“See why we have a feeding cage? It’s messy work.” Stompie said. “Babbehs are for hurties.” She said to the foal. She watched with glee as it was taken apart.
“Alright…now we’re gonna do a little evening of the scales. All of you have been raving about sensitive babbehs. Well…I fucking hate them. So we’ll do a little tormenting of them.” Stompie grinned. She had a separate crate for them. “You know why I hate them? Fluffies are already the epitome of pathetic, but these little shits take it to a whole new level. And people pamper these things! At least regular disabled animals are worth something and evoke pity!” Stompie shook her head. “Anyways…first up. I saw a drawing of this, so I want to take it to the extreme!”
She plucked out a fat green sensitive babbeh by the scruff of it’s neck. It should have been a walkie talkie babbeh at this point, should have its eyes open and a small array of words…instead it blindly flailed it’s useless hooves in pain at the pinch. “Pi! Pi! Chirp!” It only had it’s chirps and peeps at this point.
Stompie rolled her eyes and dropped it on the table, causing a tiny ‘scree!’ Stompie then took out an electric razor. “We wanna see these results, so we have to shave the ugly fucker!” She was rough with her shaving, not caring the razor nicked the paper thin skin of the foal. He was left shaking and pathetically peeping.
“The main event!” Stompie said. “What I saw was someone slapping a fat sensitive babbeh and leaving a mark on its stomach…I wanna leave this whole thing red with marks! I bet it’d look pretty with black and blue and purple all over!” Stompie giggled. She held the horrible naked thing down and flicked one of the eyes.
“SCREEEEEEEE!”
“Not like he’s using them anyways, right?” Stompie smirked and flicked the other, laughing as the eyeball popped from the force. “Oops. Oh well. These things are resilient.” She said. She drew her hand back and gave the foal a sharp slap before laughing. “That’s a satisfying sound!” She began to slap the foal like she was playing bongos, ignoring it’s cries of pain. The pathetic sensitive babbeh couldn’t even run with its useless hooves.
Stompie was sure to get everywhere, the back, belly, sides, legs, head, even gave the tail a few good flicks. She made sure to get the snout too. The babbeh was slapped and flicked until it’s whole body was an inflamed red instead of pale pink.
“Damn was that satisfying.” Stompie said, and plucked the sobbing babbeh up and plopping him in the observation incubator. “Aren’t I so nice to get this for them? I don’t want him to die before I say he can. And I have no patience for these things.” It was pretty bare bones, just enough warmth to keep the foal alive, just enough milk to keep him alive as well. Stompie was sure to take the cork out of the babbeh’s ass so he could shit again. He was meant to live more than a few days. “We’ll see what we do when he heals up.”
The psychotic girl then clapped her hands with glee. “Now…this one I’ve always wanted to do.” She took out want looked like oddly colored fluffy toys at a glance, but closer inspection showed it was actually covered in sandpaper. Most were huggy toys, two was balls, and two were blocks. “These…are all coated in sandpaper. The coarsest I could find at the hardware store. They know me well there. They’re even getting an entire fluffy abuse section!” She arranged the toys in a rough circle. “There. Now…who will be our pathetic little victim… Stompie reached down and pulled out an equally fat and pathetic blue sensitive babbeh. It peeped and tried to hug Stompie, so she switched her grip to the filly’s tail. “Nope. Not even a second of respite for you fuckers.”
It peeped in fear and pain, all the fat flowing to the front of it, making the foal look even more fat and ugly. She plopped it in the center of the circle of toys. “Right, almost forgot…you can’t see, fat little fuck.” Stompie took out a spray bottle of Real Mummah Scent, spraying it on the toys.
The foal sniffed, catching that scent and peeped, looking for its mummah. It managed to drag itself over to the huggie friend. Another sniff and the foal peeped happily, giving what must be her mummah a big hug!
“SCREEEEEEEEE!” Pain. Sharp, rough pain was all the fluffy got to feel instead of the soft fluff she expected. The pathetic sensitive babbeh tried to pull away, but her fluff was stuck to the rough sandpaper like velcro. Toppling to the side, the foal only succeeded in pulling the toy over. She pathetically bat her hooves against the stuffy friend, peeping in pain each time.
“Aw, I think she wants off of it.” Stompie said. She picked up the stuffy friend, smirking as the foal was starting to be dragged with it. She dangled the fluffy a few centimeters off the table, and lightly shook the stuffy friend. Something would give, and Stompie knew it would not be the sandpaper. It was going to be fluff or skin, and Stompie couldn’t wait to see which one!
It was fluff. The foal screeed in pain as fluff tore from it’s skin, leaving a bald patch and beads of blood as if it’d been waxed. Stompie laughed. “What an ugly little thing! You’re not even worth your fluff!” She watched the foal trying to cover its ears. “Ugly. Pathetic. Fucker.” She enunciated each word so the fluffy couldn’t mistake the words directed at it. Though she preferred physical abuse, it was always fun to add a dash of phycological. She flicked the sensitive foal a few times before she picked up the toys, pelting the foal with them!
The sensitive babbeh screed in pain as the toys roughly hit her, sticking to her and pulling her fluff. Then pulled even more as Stompie removed the toys the same as she did with the first! Soon enough the sensitive foal had multiple bald patches, most bleeding. “It can’t even talk or use the litterbox…” She grinned deviously. “So it’ll live the rest of it’s life in one!” Stompie took out a small, shallow box. “Found the coarsest kitty litter I could find.” She shook the grey rock like material. It was truly closer to tiny rocks than sand. She plopped the sensitive foal in, ignoring as it cried, wailing its little lungs out. “Learn to care for yourself, little fucker, and maybe you’ll be let out. But if you make a mess, you’ll be dunked in ice cold water.” She looked a the camera. “That’s right! We’re gonna care for this thing! Well, care is a strong word, but we’re not gonna be actively trying to kill it.” She held up a bottle. “Like this. The cheapest, nastiest foal formula I could find that can still be called formula. And I added some hot sauce to it.” She dropped the bottle near the sensitive foal, just far enough away that it had to drag itself across the litter to feed.
Almost as soon as the foal latched on, it swallowed the milk greedily, getting a couple swallows in before the taste hit. “SCREEEEEE!” The foal unlatched from the bottle, thrashing its head back and forth.
“You can check my abuse blog for updates! I’m sure when I get bored I’ll end up killing it.” Stompie chuckled. “Anyways, next stream I’m gonna show you how to throw an awesome party…while abusing foals!” Stompie struck a pose with double peace signs. “Until next time, my Stompers!”
With that, Stompie signed off.