THE ABUSIVE BREEDER (PART 2)
By FoalOut4
I am an abusive breeder, but one who cares about the quality of my product. Only shit factories, bad colored foals, and foals who turn smarty end up in my torture basement. The rest get the sound treatment of an expert breeder, me.
The past few months I’ve sold an incredible amount of foals, thanks in large part to the glaring great reviews I continue to get from people who purchase my well behaved quality products.
This morning, two of my basement playmates passed away. Sasha the shit factory mare (a one-eyed red unicorn), and her bloated constipated pillow foal (with a toothpick shoved up its ass), her “wastest babbeh”.
I arrived downstairs to the wails of Sasha to “pwease wet babbeh make poopies, huuu huuu huuu, babbeh am sickies!” The bloated little pillow foal was gasping for breath, near death, the septic damage finally taking its last stage toll. In between screams, the foal would rapidly chirp and peep and belt out “babbeh nee ma’ poopies!” over and over.
I picked up the dying foal in my hands, and it SCREEEEE’D when I brushed against its tummy.
“Baby, do you want to make poopies?”
The dying foal weakly nodded its head, gasping for breath, and repeated “chirp babbeh nee ma’ poopies peep”.
In full view of Sasha, I pressed three of my fingers against its bloated stomach. Just barely touching it caused the foal to scream and squirm around in pain. Sasha was bawling.
I then pressed down HARD on the foal’s bloated stomach, as hard as I possibly could. The foal’s eyes bugged out and it screamed and screamed as loud as it could, SCREEEEEs and EEEEEs rang out constantly.
I then wrapped my entire hand around its stomach area, and squeezed with all my might, until its bloated stomach had completely busted open, and its days old shit was running down my hand.
The foal continued to scream in agony, as Sasha wailed and asked “why huwt aww Sasha wittew babbehs? Huu Huu.” I tossed the torn open, much lighter foal down in front of her, as it continued to writhe in agony, near death. Won’t be long before it expires at this rate.
As she watched the foal’s last moments on the cold basement floor, I stepped behind her, pulled a wrapped up sheet around her neck, and strangled her to death.
Her eyes bugged out as her tongue stuck out, as I slowly strangled the life out of her, her last foal writhing in its last moments of agony on the cold basement floor.
As I strangled her to death, the geek in me realized how much it reminded me of Jabba’s death in Return of the Jedi, two lazy useless fat fucks with their tongues wagging wildly out of their mouths, about to expire forever.
I whispered into her ear, “You failed your babies”, as she started to lose consciousness for the final time. Soon after she lost consciousness, her foal’s screams greatly weakened, and it soon took its last breath on the floor and was forever still.
I leaned down in front of the dead foal, its dead eyes staring at nothing, its mouth frozen in a dead scream, and yelled at it,
“NEE MA’ POOPIES! NEE MA’ POOPIES! NEE MA’ POOPIES!” And laughed for a good minute and a half.
About a week later, I got a new three strike shit factory to play with in the basement. Ashlynn. A black pegasus mare with red fluff. 3 out of her 5 litters here have been bad colored foals.
Her latest litter of five being ALL bad colors. What a way to hit the third and final strike to tortureville.
I told her to promise her foals that she would always give them plenty of miwkies, so they would grow up big and strong. She smiled at me, and then looked down and smiled at her chirping foals. She cooed at her newborns, telling them that she would always give them plenty of miwkies, and about how much she loved them.
As usual, I let her nurse, coo at, and give huggies and wuv to her newborn foals for the first three days of their life. They squirmed around in her fluff, endlessly chirping and peeping, flailing their little hooves in all directions.
I watched on the video feed as her newborn foals suckled her crotch tits, kneaded them, and chirped and peeped happily in contentment whenever they detached, happy and full of their mummah’s miwkies.
I watched as she cooed at them, played with them, hugged them, loved them, let them sleep on her fluff, cleaned their bad poopies from her fluff with her tongue, etc.
Then on the close of the third day, I led her into my basement with the promise of sketties.
I placed her in an isolated pen. A pen with a thick-glassed hamster fish tank in the middle, and a bargain bin blanket, food dish, and water bottle laying around in the rest of the pen.
I placed the five foals inside of the hamster fish tank, and closed up the top. There are no wood chips, shavings, bedding, or ANYTHING inside of the hamster fish tank. Its bare inside, just cold glass at the bottom.
The five foals instictively start chirping and peeping in discomfort for their mother’s warmth, growing increasingly uncomfortable and afraid. Ashlynn grows increasingly concerned and she tells me that her babbehs are “scawed!”
Ashlynn quickly started asking me to take her babies out of the hamster fish tank and give her babies to her, and said that they are “cowd an awone” in the fish tank cage, and that her “babbehs awe tu wittew, nee to be wif mummah”.
I shook my head, and left the room, despite her yelling at me to give her babies to her.
I returned twice each day to feed them a single dropper of milk per foal, ignoring the pleas of the mother. Normally it takes 4 or 5 refills of the dropper to satisfy a newborn foal’s hunger. But satisfying their hunger isn’t my goal, slowly starving them to death is.
I use a milk formula that is designed for foals who misbehave. It is nutritious, but tastes like spoiled sour milk! It is torture for these little foals, that the only nourishment they get tastes like rotting sour milk. But they are so hungry they rapidly drink it down.
As soon as they drain the dropper, they instictively start chirping and peeping in a way to let you know that they are still hungry babies and need more. Only, they aren’t getting more.
Without any nourishment, these foals would be dead in three days. With two dropper servings of bad tasting nutritious milk a day, 12 hours apart, they should last maybe five or six days, barely.
Each passing day they constantly (all waking hours) bellow out their instictive ‘starving baby’ series of chirps and peeps, designed to let their mother know they are starving and desperately need miwkies. Their mother’s own instict tears her apart emotionally as she hears it, but is powerless to feed them.
She hears their instrictive cries, and it drives her crazy, but she can’t feed them.
Each day, she pounds the thick-glass with her hooves, to no avail. Begs her babies to come to her, and begs me to give her babies to her for miwkies. I always ignore her pleas, and pretend she doesn’t exist.
You can see their ribs showing more and more each day, they become more and more emaciated with each passing day, their instinctive ‘starvation mode’ chirps and peeps becoming louder and more desparate with each passing day, all to no avail.
I notice that more and more of their own liquid shit disappears each day. Undoubtably, since the foals are starving to death, they have been forcing themselves to consume their own liquid shit in order to survive.
I can really feel the “huggies and wuv” vibe emanating from these starving disgusting foals.
On the sixth day, I come down to the basement, and find all of the starving foals giving off a creepy yawning motion with their mouths, repeatedly.
This is the final stage of starvation. They are all heavily emaciated at this point. Their mother a bawling mess crying for her babies.
I tell their mother “You have failed your babies. You broke your promise. You are a horrible mother! You didn’t give them enough miwkies to grow big and strong.”
I take each of them out of the hamster fish tank, all of them incredibly weak from starvation, and decide they should go out in pain.
I start whacking each of them with sorry sticks, over and over, maliciously, watching them scream, writhe, squirm, and cry.
Their mother is in hysterics, screaming for me to stop hurting her babies, and to give them to her for “huggies, wuv, an miwkies”.
I grab some sandpaper and and rub it against their sensitive hooves until their hooves are worn completely away, just bloody stumps. The foals scream and cry, their little legs flailing aimlessly around.
I take out a razor and start slicing their skin, making them bleed, giving them all sorts of cuts on their emaciated bodies. Then I pour lemon juice and salt all over them.
Despite how weak and near death they are, they sure can scream!
Their mother watches all of this, and is powerless to save them. Crying the entire time, with her arms out in a huggies pose, begging for me to give them back to her, because “dey tu wittew, nee be wif mummah!”
These foals should be seeing and talking by now, but due to severe malnutrition, they are still weakened chirpy foals, not even their eyes have opened yet.
I take out a thumbtack and insert it into each of their closed eyes, taking each eye out, man did they fucking scream!
I ended up feeding them both of their own eyes! Of course, having no teeth, three of them choked to death on their own eyes. They squirmed around in great panic as they realized they couldn’t breathe. Wildly flailing about until they lose consciousness forever. Their mother watched the entire thing, and bawled relentlessly.
The other two foals however, somehow swallowed their eyes whole. They survived being force fed their own eyes.
The two foals who somehow didn’t choke to death, I decided to feed miwkies … until they die.
I got the same nasty sour milk tasting formula, filled up a dropper, and fed them. Then repeated the process, again, and again.
After a few droppers, each foal started instictively bellowing out happy chirps and peeps to let their mummah know they are now happy, content, and full of miwkies, and didn’t need anymore right now.
So, I forced the next dropper of miwkies down their throat! Again, again, and AGAIN! Until their emaciated bellies literally burst with miwkies!
The two foals screamed until they died of a burst stomach. Their mother a mental basket case the entire time, knowing she failed her foals.
I placed all five foals into her pen, and let her try in vain to hug them back to life, gleefully knowing it will have no effect.
She continued to hug and cry over her dead foals for the next several days, even as they started to rot and smell horrible. She didn’t care, huggies and wuv cures everything, right?
I finally took their corpses away from her, and she screamed at me that she wanted her babies back.
It was then that I told her, “You silly mare, huwties an fowevew sweepies awe gud fow babbehs!”
I have a plan, and this will be fun if I can get it to work. I wonder if I can truly convince her that hurties and forever sleepies are good for her babies. I’ll need to breed her again, maybe with a feral this time, and see if I can get her to harm her own foals, convinced that it is “gud fow babbehs”.