(Writer’s block hit midway through writing this, so Part 2 will come at a later date.)
Distant streetlights cast a yellowish glow into the alley. A stillness envelops the adjacent streets; night had long since fallen and even the most resilient of bar patrons had turned in for the evening. It was deep into autumn in this city now, and the heat of summer had faded away. Traffic dies down and the dark, quiet chill of night sets in. Even here, in an urban locale, the night brings a measure of peace. Well, almost.
“Shhhhh… it am sweepies time naow. Make gud sweepies, babbehs. Mummah wubs 'ou…”
This was the high-piched, childish stage whisper of a fluffy mare. The artificial creature had been nesting beneath a heating vent that ran near the ground for some days now, giving the mare and her young foals warmth and comfort. A discarded dishrag served as a blanket to soften the cement below, and the trash can lid pulled to one side of the vent provided shelter from the wind. This fluffy mare was so very proud of her nest. She built it herself! The only thing that made her prouder than her “gud nestie” was her “babbehs”. The oversized eyes of the mare beamed with love down at her young as they wriggled ever nearer each other in the nightly fluffpile.
“Wub 'ou, mummah!” chirped the mare’s favorite baby. This foal had the same magenta fur as her mother, and was the first to open her see-places and talk.
“W-wub! Peep!” squeaked another baby. This one was a little less developed, baby-blue eyes just opened recently. The foal’s deep yellow fluff reminded the mare of her favorite “nummies” - “nannas”.
The third baby didn’t say anything, just snuggled closer to its magenta sister. This baby was lime green, and it was always the last one to feed. It wasn’t a bad baby, the mare knew that. But all the same, one of her foals had to be the last one to get milk. She only had two “milkie-places”, after all.
Smiling with an unnatural horsey grin, the mare curled protectively around her young and laid down to sleep.
Instinctively, the mare knew that these babies would be old enough to eat solid food soon. That was good. It was exhausting, having to spend all day and night looking for “nummies”. The thought of her babies finally growing up and becoming big fluffies excited her, but the mare knew that she had to rest to have enough energy to forage tomorrow. Rifling through overturned garbage cans takes a lot of effort, and a fluffy could get winded just from walking up and down the street. The heating vent turned on with a low, rumbling hum. The mare’s eyes drooped low as her family was bathed in soft warmth.
“Gu’ night, babbehs. Mummah wubs 'ou aww suuu much…”
The man paused to catch his breath as he stopped on the sidewalk. He couldn’t allow himself to get too excited, or he’d startle the game. The man had noticed a suprisingly well fed and well adjusted fluffy family in the alley behind his apartment and didn’t want to waste the opportunity. It was almost midnight on a weekday. No one would be around. The man slid a pair of latex gloves on. It was time to do that nasty thing that makes him feel like God. The man turned into the alley.
“Hee hee hee, wub pway huggie-tag wif’ speciaw fwiend!” said the mare’s special friend as he galloped majestically through the beautiful field of flowers. Special Friend’s glorious white mane flowed like rolling clouds.
“Wub pway tu! Wub speciaw fwiend!” The mare giggled as she caught up to her special friend.
The two rolled softly into a gentle hug in a field of daisies. All their babies were there, and they joined in the hug. Soon, the train to Skettiland would come and -
-and then the mare woke up. Even before the fluffy opened her eyes, she felt pain in her muzzle. She blinked, and blinked again to chase away the dark. There was a human! His not-hoof was wrapped around the mare’s “talkie-place”. The mare wanted to open her mouth and ask the man to be her new daddy, but she couldn’t. The man’s not-hoof was too strong.
“Hmmph! Fffwhh wmmm mm-mmh!” yelped the mare from behind her lips, still forced shut.
The man roughly yanked the mare out from under the heating duct, iron grip still clenched around her muzzle. The fluffy waggled her legs in midair, almost like she was trying to gallop. The man realized he needed to be a little more careful - if the mare kept writhing around, she might break her neck in his grip. That would end things too soon, so he lifted the mare up to eye level, placing a gloved hand on her stomach while keeping her muzzled with the other. The mare suddenly tensed and drew her legs inward. The man quickly rammed the mare’s hindquarters against the brick wall of the alley.
The squelch and sputter of “scaredy-poopies” stopped as fast as it started. The mare’s hindquarters were stained with her own waste. Semi-solid waste trickled down the bricks, catching in the grout in some places as the solid pieces slipped down towards the asphalt. The sound of the diarrhea was muted by the anus-to-brick contact, but the stench filled the air regardless. A stream of urine steamed in the night air as the fluffy jettisoned the last of her bodily waste.
“Mmmmh! Mmmmph! Fwffmmmf mmmfhhf!” The mare, still muzzled by the man’s hand, looked up at him with tears in her eyes.
In a remarkable feat of dexterity, the man loosened the roll of black electrical tape from his belt and began binding the fluffy’s mouth shut. For the briefest instant, the man’s grip slipped.
“EEEEK! NU HUW-” The fluffy’s squeal for mercy was cut short as the man repositioned his grip on her snouth. A quick glance towards the foals showed that they were still sleeping. Good, it wasn’t their time yet.
The man wound electrical tape over and over around the mare’s mouth, only releasing her muzzle when he was absolutely certain that the mare couldn’t make a sound. The mare’s supple pink-purple flesh bulged around the rubbery tape from how tight the man had wound it. He didn’t let the mare go though, and instead placed her hindquarters against the brick again. The mare raised her front legs and pressed them against the man’s torso. Her soft, leathery hoof-pads batted uselessly against him.
The man began to grind the mare’s rear against the brick, almost like grating fresh parmesan cheese. Only, parmesan cheese doesn’t cry when you grate it.
“MMMMMMMMHHHFF!”. The muzzled mare couldn’t scream, but that didn’t stop her from trying.
Tears poured down the greasy fluff of the mare’s face as the man grated her vagina and anus against the coarse bricks. Soon, a smear of feces, fluffy, and blood started trailing from the mare’s hindquarters as the man kept grinding. When the smear of blood began to resemble a fresh coat of ruddy red paint, the man pulled the mare from the wall. Little drops of blood dotted the asphalt as he turned the mare around to inspect the damage.
It was sort of like looking at an Arby’s Classic Roast Beef Sandwich ®, but without the cheese and oozing blood from countless micro-lacerations. A layer of skin had almost completely been ground off the mare’s hindquarters, and what remained hung from her living body in ragged, bloody strips. Her tail was reduced to a few long, scraggling threads of hair hanging on her rump by a scrap of meat.
The mare, weeping and still muzzled, tried desperately to hug her own ass. She tottered around in a circle, dripping blood all the while, before finally flopping over onto her side. She pulled what was left of her tail inward, clutching it against her belly in a fetal position. The man watched the pathetic sight for a while. It was so amusing, watching the mare rise and fall as she took in shuddering breaths through her nose and expelled them as abortive, muffled wails.
A chirping sound drew the man’s attention. Right, the foals. He had almost forgotten.