The American Dream (Part 30) by DreamMLP

“Bestest babbeh! Nu take bestest babbeh!” Your mummah had called out to you.

You never saw her again.

The human carrying you entered a new room, one lined with cages. Each containing a whining young fluffy.

“Wet fwuffy out pwease!”

“Huu nu wike sowwy boxie…”

“Dummeh hoomin! ‘Ou wet smawty out nao!”

He opened one of them, tossing you in with a squeal.

“Wai put bestest babbeh in sowwy boxie?” You asked him.

He ignored you, and left.

For the next few months you sat in the box. Every day a hoomin would come by, tossing a handful of pellets into your cage, maybe even refilling your water bottle. With the solid walls to the sides you couldn’t talk to the fluffies next to you, you were all alone.

Then one day, the hoomins stopped at your cage.

“This one, she looks old enough.”

They opened your cage, grabbing you by your fluff.

“Bad upsies! Nu wike!”

“Yellow and pink. I think she’s the offspring of that milkbag in the foal room.”

“The one that asshat dropped off promising alicorns? What a waste.”

“This one’s good enough though, let’s get her ready.”

They took you to a platform with four holes, putting one of your legs through each.

“Guess what?” One of the men said.


In a second flat, all four of your leggies were gone.

“How many times are you gonna play that joke, Dylan? It’s just dumb at this point.”

Once they cleaned and dressed all four of your wounds, they lifted you over a trash can, punching you in the stomach. A volley of hard shit landed below you.


“Your name’s not Barbie anymore fella, it’s U8-1, and I think it’s time to shut you up.”

Once your tongue was gone, all you could do was sit there. Tears were running down your fluff, but for the hoomins, this was just another day. They tossed you into a bin, and in it you cried as they tossed in another filly, about the same age as you, and then another, and another.

Each of you were sobbing as they lifted you and took you to your new home. You closed your eyes, scared of the noises, the distressed calls of what seemed like a hundred mares. You were yanked up once again, and placed on a round table. On it were straps enough for four mares, you occupying the first.

Once you were in place, the man put a tube in your mouth, and another in your poopie place. Strapping them both down, he gave a tug, making sure everything was tight. Still teary-eyed, you felt something enter your special place, and eject something. Around you only the groans and sobs of a hundred others could be heard. A hundred others just like you.

You never ate nummies again, instead everything entered your mouth through the tube. You never made poopies again, everything exited through the tube. Days of sobbing later, you noticed you were beginning to grow. Instincts began to act.


You had tummeh babbehs. Finally, after everything you’d been through, you had something to look forward to.

As the month went by you tried your best to sing to them, mostly in your head. You loved these tummeh babbehs, and once they were out you couldn’t wait to give them lickie cleanies and their first milkies. They were the only thing you had, the only thing to look forward to.


The day at last came, it would be painful, you knew, but worth it. For several minutes you strained and pushed to bring them into the world. This was your happiest moment since you got here, it couldn’t go wrong.





Four babbehs, all safe and chirping.

But you never saw them.

You attempted to turn yourself, but your leggies were gone, you were strapped down. Huu babbehs nee’ miwkies! You could hear their faint chirping behind you. That only made you struggle more. Babbehs! BABBEHS! MUMMAH COMIN! But hard as you pulled, hard as you tried, you couldn’t.

A hoomin came by, you called out to him, asking for help, but only muffles reached deaf ears. He disappeared, and you could hear him picking something up, the chirping increased.


You could hear the hoomin roll his cart away. They were gone. Your babbehs. You hadn’t seen them, you’d never know what they looked like, you’d never give them milkies or huggies. You thrashed in your straps. This was supposed to be your happiest moment.

You’d have another day like this, and another, and another. More than you could count. In another six weeks you’d birth another litter. In 8 weeks the manager would order all the breeder’s eyes blindfolded. In 3 months they’d be sewn shut. In 2 years you’d break down, unable to take any more. Years from then, you’d know the sweet release. But until then, you were here. A foal making machine.

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So this is another part of a story?


This one’s a continuation from part 20, revealing what happened to Barbie


Ok got it I re-read it… thanks. Well their goes that bestesh and her mother.


The sadbox of fluffy mills.


I think we havent seen that asshole Hunk yet right? He got seperated from Dream last I read.

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He may come back, not soon, but he’s still kicking.


Gad want that brat get the worst of it all, he is the reason all this shits happens.

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This chapter was satisfying as fuck :relieved: