“Uuuuuaaaaaagh…. Hic……uuuuuuuuuhuuuhuuhuuhuuu.”
Syrup lay curled up, slow trickles of tears soaking into the yellowing foam that peeked through the threadbare fabric of the cat bed. She felt even worse since she was disobeying her Daddeh. Every night before bedtime he would make sure to tell her not to think about her special friend, and every night without fail she would remember his face. His matted sunshine yellow fluff, his snaggletoothed smile, his greasy pale mane.
But more than anything, she remembered his seeplaces. Two bright blue seeplaces that she had fallen in love with at first sight. The same seeplaces that stared at her glassy and unseeing that night. The thought of that night brought on a new set of sobs and muffled wails as Syrup cried into a corner of her bed.
“Cheerrp!”
Syrup sniffled, looking up from the tear stained corner of her bed to her Lastest babbeh. He stared at her with the same seeplaces as his daddeh, chirping and peeping noisily as Syrup quickly trotted over. “Babbeh make chirpies? Nee’ huggies?”
Lastest stared at Syrup, mouth slack, eyes half closed and glassy. His tummy rumbled noisily, the small fart escaping from him rancid enough to set Syrups eyes watering. Or at least it started her eyes watering before Syrup broke down into a new set of tears.
“Huuuuu…. Wai babbeh don’ wisten… nu wub mummah? Nu make tawkies caws nu wub?” Syrups lip trembled as she stood over her babbeh, tears dripping down her snout onto the colts head.
Syrup crouched by her babbehs bed, beginning to lick him all over. Grooming him was one of the last comforts she had left, her Hasbio programming releasing a rush of oxytocin each time her tongue caressed his short, soft fluff. “Mummah wub babbeh… Mummah kno’ babbeh wub Mummah tu.”
“Chiiiirp…”
Syrup’s tongue froze midlick as her heart began racing. “Nuuuuuuuuuu! Babbeh! Pwease nu bad poopies!” Syrup gripped his scruff between her teeth as she attempted to lift him from the bed, bracing herself for him to resist her, to scramble back to his bed, back to Miss Miwkies.
Instead, he allowed her to lift him, hanging limply in her mouth as she stumbled backwards towards the litter box.
“Ve-veh?” Syrup was confused, but still managed to carry the tubby orange colt to the clay litter, gently setting him down. She watched with growing excitement as he sniffed around for a moment, nudging litter around with his nose before squatting and trembling with exertion before finally, for the first time in his life, making good poopies in the litter box.
Syrup watched with her mouth agape as the colt weakly scooted litter over the sludgy mass he had deposited before looking at her with a bit of pride, chirping happily as Syrup squealed with joy. “Babbeh make gud poopies! Babbeh am su smawt!” Syrup picked up the colt, clutching it tightly to her chest as she licked his face, both tails wagging in sync.
Lastest scrunched his face in concentration, noisily peeping and chirping garbled noises as he tried to form a sound. A single syllable. A word.
“Wuh… wugh… wub!”
The colt burbled happily, Syrup full on crying in joy at her babbehs first word, cradling her foal in her arms. Her special friend would be proud.
—————————————————————
Nick was mildly surprised to see Syrup in a good mood, watching from the doorway as she fussed happily over the fat little colt, rubbing his back as he ate, licking his head to style his wispy mane just right, all while loudly humming the Mummah song. She hadn’t even noticed him standing in the doorway for a full five minutes.
“Good morning Syrup!”
The mare gasped, bounding over to hug his leg in excitement. Nick shuddered in disgust at the feel of the mares damp face fluff against his bare shin, softly shaking his leg until the mare released her grip. Nick crouched down next to her and slid on his latex gloves. “Hey girly, you’re in a good mood today aren’t you!”
Syrup nodded furiously, bouncing from side to side in excitement. “Babbeh make gud poopies! An’ den, an’ den, babbeh make TAWKIES! Am suuuu eck-sited!” Nick hid a scowl behind his gloved hand as he glanced towards the fat orange tumor suckling from the milk dispenser, tail nub wiggling. He should have known things wouldn’t go exactly to plan, but this is why he had contingencies in place. Forcing a smile, he crouched next to Syrup and scratched behind her ears, the mare closing her eyes and gently cooing. “WOW that sure is special!”
Nick sat on the floor next to the two, listening through clenched teeth as the mare went on and on about her bastard. Nick decided to steer the conversation for a bit.
“Syrup, have you had to give the floor lickie cleanies today?”
The mare stood, wide smile plastered across her face as she shook her head no. “Nuh-uh, babbeh make gud poopies AWW mownin’!” Syrup bounced happily from side to side, her distended breasts making the action difficult. “Can See-wup gib babbeh miwkies?” Nick scratched his scraggly facial hair, humming and hawing. “Hmmmm… maybe… but what if your milkies are still poopies?”
Syrup winced at the accusation. “Huuu, buh… See-wup nu num poopies too-day…” The mare sniffled, sitting up onto her haunches to better look at Nicks face. “Pwease daddeh, can See-wup gib babbeh miwkies? Hab wowstest miwkie peace huwties, an’, an’ babbeh nee’ dwink mummahs miwkies tu gwow big an’ stwong!” Nick shrugged. “I guess, I’m sure it will be fine.”
Nick was forced to clap his hands over his ears to protect them from the high pitched squeal of joy the mare emitted as she sprinted towards her baby. “Babbeh! Nu nee’ Miss Miwkies nu mow’! Mummah hab bestest miwkies fo’ bestest sensitibe babbeh!”
With a grunt, Syrup lifted the tubby orange foal from his bowl, the colt blowing snot bubbles into his Mummahs chest fluff as she cradled him, cooing excitedly. “Miwkies time babbeh!”
Syrup lay the foal down. The colt burbled happily, snot dripping from his nose as he began to crawl towards his mummah, flopping happily onto her milkie place and hugging her.
“Wuh… whuuggh… Wub!”
Nick scowled at the pair. He’d have to deal with that. But for now, he could sit back and watch the show.
“Here babbeh, dwink awwww da miwkies ‘ou wan!” Syrup sang the mummah song as she kneaded her own breasts to start the flow of milkies.
The colt sniffed around the air, nostrils flaring as he caught the scent and flopped into place in front of the nipple. With a small lunge he latched to the nipple, sucking down large gulps of milk as Syrup squealed with delight, clapping her hoofs together.
Nick watched the foal closely.
One gulp.
Two gulps.
Three gulps.
It took three gulps for the foal to realize something was deeply wrong with his mummahs milk.
—————————————————————
FluffYes! was one of many corporations that sprang up to get a slice of the pie when fluffies first started stumbling out of the woods of New England. While most of the companies were simply flipping unsold pet toys and equipment, FluffYes! instead chose to produce special, fortified kibble for fluffies in different life stages.
Their FluffYes! Mummah Feed was one of the first nursing mare specialized feed on the market, rushed through production with minimal testing and quality checks, stuffed with oats, fillers, and whatever chemicals the disgraced Hasbio scientist they hired deemed necessary for healthy fluffy milk production. The company went defunct soon after, and bags of their Mummah feed became a sort of holy grail for abusers. Nick had lucked out and gotten a couple forty pound bags from a seller on EBay shortly after it was discontinued. Out of eight bags, he had gone through three of them, but he had set one bag aside from the start with this very experiment in mind.
Nick smiled happily as the small foal began to wriggle with discomfort, continuing to drink a few more mouthfuls before finally detaching with a cough.
“kaff Pe-kaffp!”
“Babbeh? Wha’ am wong? Nu wan’ miwkies?”
The colt didn’t answer, both mentally and physically unable as he began to cough and wheeze, pudgy hooves beginning to scrabble at his throat, tiny lips turning purple as it thrashed around on the ground.
“eef KAK eeef!”
The foals swollen tongue began to protrude from his mouth as Syrup frantically tapped her hooves against Nick. “Daddeh! Babbeh am sickies, nee’ hewp! Pwease daddeh, babbeh nee’ hewp! DADDEH!”
Nick faked concern, hiding his grin behind a hand clasped to his face in faux shock and horror. “What going on? Did you lie, were your milkies poopie Syrup?” The mare began to bawl, tears and snot pouring from her face as she clutched her thrashing child to her chest. “NU! See-wup nu wie! SEE-WUP NU WIE TO DADDEH! Pwease daddeh, PWEASE HEWP BABBEH!” The foal began to vomit and shit itself, thick chunks of curdled milk stark white against the mare’s toffee colored chest fluff as the foal went limp in her hug.
Nick enjoyed his fun, but reached over and quickly administered the foal sized EpiPen that cost less than twenty bucks. Another reason to hate fluffies.
“GUUUUUHP PEEP!”
The colt gasped, sucking down as much air as its tiny lungs could manage. Nick tugged the foal from Syrups grasp, the mare whining in protest. “Pwease daddeh, gib sensitibe babbeh bak, babbeh nee’ huggies! Hab wowstest huwties!” Nick smiled and rubbed her head roughly, purposely tangling her mane a bit. “Don’t worry, ‘Daddeh’ is just going to make sure he’s fine.” Nick stood, smiling at the mare with sick delight as he pointed to her feet. “And don’t you have something else you need to do?”
Syrup followed Nicks outstretched finger to see the puddle of poopies that she now stood in. She began to sob, a long, drawn out sob that shook her with each long, raspy inhale. Nick remembered it from the alley.
—————————————————————-
Nick carried the foal to the basement by the scruff, feeling its still frantic heartbeat through the tips of his fingers. With a flip of a blood stained switch the lights of Nick’s “Operating Room” flickered on, illuminating a centerpiece Nick had designed and built himself. A custom operating table with multiple sets of leg, head, and chest restraints, along with swiveling metal fixtures, appendages, and straps. Nick could restrain a fluffy in any position he wanted to. He had a whole image board of fluffies posed as classical renaissance sculptures. But now was not the time.
Nick pulled the moving metal fixtures to put the table into the ‘dental’ configuration, a full leg restraint with a head restraint and a bridle, all of which the colt was quickly bundled into despite its peeping protests.
“Alright, let’s see…”
Nick swiveled a large operating room light into place, smiling with delight as the colt winced and tried to peep.
“Eeeeeeeck! Eeeeeeeeck!”
Nick examined the foals mouth with revulsion. It had teeth. Barely. Tiny white nubs protruded from thick, swollen gums, already covered in tooth decay and cavities.
Nick removed the bridle, opting to hold the foals mouth open with one hand as he used a curved dental mirror to find his target. The bright red, swollen throat made the task difficult, but not impossible. “Bingo!”
“Peep! Peep! Peep! Peep!”
“Will you shut the fuck up?” Nick sighed, reaching for a custom tool. Unlike the magnificently constructed table, the tool was merely a bartenders spoon he had cut serrations into. Holding the dental mirror in place with the same hand he used to open the foals mouth, Nick found the vocal cords again, using the jagged spoon to shred them to ribbons while the foal attempted to squeal and escape, firmly buckled into the table. Once he was sure the foal would never make a coherent noise again, he pulled out a small tub of insta-heal gel, smearing it liberally around the colts throat. “kaff kaff Haagh!”
Nick smiled, flicking the sobbing colt in the nose hard enough to draw blood. Nick enjoyed watching the foal tremble.
“I like you much better when you shut the fuck up.” Nick sat with the foal in the restraints, periodically monitoring its condition and stabbing it with a thumbtack whilst doomscrolling.
—————————————————————
Syrup nervously tore at the exposed fluff of her bed, spitting mouthfuls of damp foam into the corner. It was her fault, all hers! She gave her babbeh bad milkies, she gave him the worstest tummy and breathie hurties! Her and her stupid dummeh miwkies. She began to beat at her milkie places, raining blow after blow onto her swollen udders.
“Am WOWSTEST mummah huuuuu…. Desewbe WOWSTEST sowwy hoofsies…”
The mare’s self flagellation was interrupted as her daddeh came back into the room, depositing the quiet, limp colt into his bowl. Syrup sprinted up to him, dropping a mouthful of foam as she ran. “DADDEH! Am babbeh otay?” She clutched onto his leg, getting dislodged by the funny shake his leg always did.
Syrup’s daddeh shook his head sadly. “Your baby will be alright, but… Syrup. I can’t let you feed him anymore. Your milkies are just too poopie for his sensitive little tummy.” Syrup wailed, flopping forwards as her daddeh sat down beside her, patting her still tangled mane as he tried to comfort the hysteric mare. “I’m sorry, Syrup, it’s really sad you can’t give your baby the best milkies. I wish he would grow up big and strong too, but… you’ve just eaten too many poopies.”
“Huuuueeeeeee….. hueeeeeeee….. Daddeh…. hic See-wup sowwy… nu mean hab poopie miwkies… nu mean huwt babbeh… nu wan be poopie mummah…”
Her Daddeh gave a soft smile and scratched her under chin. “It’s not your fault. Sensitive babies are just like this. They like giving heart hurties.”
Syrup’s daddeh stood up and walked out of the room, the mare only registering what he had said after the door latch had clicked.