(Part 1)
Finally, Fluffy finished the bowl of vegetables, leaving only a small pool of watery leftovers at the bottom. By Leonid’s calculations, the shithead had exactly one hour for it’s bowels to digest everything fully, at which point it would be ready to shit.
And Leonid was going to be ready for it too.
“Hey!” He shouted, snapping Fluffy out of it’s post-feasting daze. “How was the food?”
“Not tweats.” Was all Fluffy said, huffing. He proceeded to waddle around the apartment again, stopping every few minutes to catch his breath, before starting up again (usually checking the place he had just checked, either because he had forgotten already or because he wasn’t convinced there was nothing there). He checked the couch, the kitchen, the treadmill (although he kept a safe distance away from it), then back again. Leonid just watched, amused. Finally it waddled up to him. Leonid had counted thirty minutes so far.
“Tweat!” Fluffy snapped at him.
“No.” Leonid replied.
“TWEAT!” Fluffy insisted.
“No.” Leonid said again.
“TWE-”
Leonid’s hand snapped closed around Fluffy’s throat again, lifting it high, high up into the air, so high it almost touched the ceiling… then he took it to the kitchen, and dumped it in the sunk, where it landed with a damp ‘plonk’. Not high enough for any injury, no chance it would die either. It’d just scare it good and proper.
“You fucking stink.” Leonid said.
“TW-”
Leonid turned on the cold tap to full blast, soaking the fluffy pony with a burst of cold water. Fluffy let out a shriek and tried to scramble out of the sink, tiny hooves slipping and sliding against the wet metal, giving them absolutely no purchase whatsoever.
“NO! NO WAWA! WAWA BAD!” Fluffy shrieked, but Leonid ignored the cries. He grabbed Fluffy by the fat face and flipped him over, hosing his belly, sides and ass in turn, before finally shutting off the water. Fluffy had begun letting out more 'huuhuuhuu’s, but it wans’t over yet.
Leonid grabbed the hair-dryer, plugged it into the wall, and turned it on at full power too, blasting the Fluffy with a roaring wave of hot air.
“NUU! NU MUNSTAH! NO HUWT FWUFFY!” It wailed. Leonid briefly mused on how every single Fluffy seemed to have the same words and thoughts programmed in from birth… it was strange, he thought, that the manufacturers wouldn’t have considered making a common hosuehold hair-dryer something they’d be okay with. It’d no doubt caused a LOT of frustrations for people over the years, but for Leonid, it just made it easier to torture the little fuckers.
He shut the hair-dryer off after a few minutes, and made sure the fat wretch was completely dry. He checked his mental countdown again, 50 minutes, give or take. That was soon enough to start.
“Okay.” He said. “Treat time.”
Fluffy was completely out of it. The day had been horrible, and had only gone from worse to worse to bad to worse to more worse! He was confused, he was scared, it was too cold and wet, then it was too hot and dry… now Fluffy was just stunned into confusion.
“Tweat?” He asked, his fat-addled mind slowly awakening again. “Gib tweat now? Tweat! Tweat!”
Leonid smiled, and reached into his pocket, taking out something he had made earlier. These things were a tricky thing to make, but they were the keystone of his entire plan.
He held up a small object, a round ball wrapped in colourful wrapping paper, very much the most stereotypical ‘candy’ anyone could imagine. Every Fluffy, no matter how retarded, would recognise it immediately, either from past experience or seeing them on TV or in books.
Leonid unwrapped the candy slowly, savouring every crinkle of paper, every twist of his hands, making every second feel like an hour to the fat shit in front of him.
Finally, it was unwrapped, and he tore away the paper like a magician revealing an audience member’s chosen card. Beneath the paper, there was a shiny, glossy, gold-coloured toffee, soft to the touch and sugary sweet throughout.
“Tw… tweat. Tweat. Tweat.” Fluffy mumbled, eyes transfixed on the toffee. At long last, after all the demands, the stupid human had finally listened!
“Do you want a treat?” Leonid asked, drawing out each word as much as he could. “Do you? Do you want this soft, sweet, succulant treat?” He asked. Fluffy couldn’t stop looking at it, and held up it’s arms for it, reaching vainly for something held high above it.
“Wan tweat! Tweat!” It demanded, it’s original bratty personality rearing it’s head again.
“Alright then. Here you go. Here’s your TREAT.” He said, putting as much emphasis on the word as he could. “A delicious TREAT! A big tasty special TREAT! A TREAT all for you!”
Finally, he placed the toffee on the edge of the sink, where Fluffy could easily reach it. Without hesitating, the fat shit gobbled it up and swallowed it whole, slurping it down.
Fluffy thought it couldn’t be happier, but Leonid was the happiest one of them all.
The toffee was no ordinary toffee. Before picking up any fluffy, Leonid made sure to have a batch ready in advance. He’d buy a bag of cheap toffees from the store, then using a drill bit, would carve a small hollow inside each one, which he then filled with a special medication he got from his vet friend as part of their deal. With it packed into the toffee, all it then took was melting a small drop or two from another toffee to cover up the hole.
A human might notice the tampering if they were particularly observant, a fluffy pony might too if they possessed at least ten more braincells… but a fat, spoiled brat of a fluffy, miserable and angry from demanding a treat all and being denied, only to now finally be given exactly what they wanted? They wouldn’t barely even look at it, as soon as they could they’d swallow it down. If anything they’d just be annoyed there wasn’t more… but there would be. Leonid had an entire box of them in the fridge, kept nice and cold all day long until he needed them.
And he needed them right when a fluffy pony was full of enough food that it was ready to shit.
“Okay.” Leonid said. “You’ve had some food, and you’ve had PLENTY of time to rest! Time for more RUNNING!” Leonid snarled, holding up his hands like a cartoon monster. Fluffy recoiled and huffed, puffing up his cheeks.
“NU! NU WIKE WUNNIN! FWUFFY HATE WUNNIN!”
“Too bad! Too bad!” Leonid replied in a sing-songy voice, hamming up the ‘scary’ angle as much as he could. “Time for running! Time for more and more running! Time to run UNTIL YOUR FEET BLEED!!!”
“NUUU!!!” Fluffy shouted, stamping it’s feet against the metal sink. “NU WIKE WUNNIN! NU WIKE DUMMEH HOOMAN!!!”
Then, a thought occurred to Fluffy, coincidentally right as it felt a familiar rumbley gurgle in his tummy. The rumbley gurgle meant it was time for poopies!
“NU MOWE WUNNIN! OWE… OWE FWUFFY GIB YOO POOPIES!!!” He announced, proudly sneering at the stupid man.
“Oh no you won’t!” Leonid replied, enjoying his brief moment of theatre. “Because if you do, you’ll be punished! You’ll be made to run FOREVER and EVER and EVER! Do you hear me?! Don’t you DARE make poopies!”
Fluffy’s tummy gave out another rumbley gurgle. This one was bigger, and longer… and worse. Fluffy was getting scared of Leonid, he didn’t want to run again. He didn’t HAVE to make poopies after all, he could just be quiet!
…but Fluffy’s tummy was NOT being quiet. It was gurgling and rumbling and groaning and squelching!
“Fwu… Fwuffy… Fwuffy nee’ make poopies!” He said at last, nervously looking around for a litterbox. He didn’t use one at home, stupid mama just cleaned up after him, but he had seen other fluffies using them on TV. Apparently that was the ‘good place’ to make poopies… and right now, Fluffy was scared enough to really want to find a good place.
“Oh no you don’t!” Leonid shouted back. "I don’t care what you think, you’re not allowed to make poopies in my house! Do you understand that?! Never ever ever!"
“Buh… buh Fwuffy NEE’ make poopies!” Fluffy wailed, his guts violently churning. Why couldn’t this stupid human understand?!
“NO!” Leonid replied. “If you make poopies in this house, you’ll be punished with MORE RUNNING!”
Fluffy panicked. It hated running! Running was the worst thing in the world, second only to no treats! Running was scary and sore and tiring and… and BAD! Fluffy didn’t want to run again! Ever!
Fluffy’s guts let out a gurgle, and he felt a sudden rushing sensation towards his anus. Fluffy clenched himself tight, terrified of retribution if he dared upset the stupid human.
“Fwuf-”
“No! No poopies, or more running!” Leonid snapped one last time, making sure the pathetic little bastard understood the connection between the two.
And then, at last, the fluffy pony couldn’t take it any longer.
It’s anus opened and a torrent of liquid shit poured into the sink, ricocheting back and soaking Fluffy’s cream yellow fur and powder blue tail, positively soaking the animal’s back half with liquid shit. Fluffy let out a squeal and waggled it’s tiny limbs, thinking it was under attack somehow, while simultaneously knowing it was going to be punished for making poopies.
But deep down, Leonid was smiling.
The medication powder in the toffees was a revolutionary thing. ‘Fluff-Lax’, a laxative designed specifically for fluffy ponies, designed to work fast in order to remove any painful blockages. If they’d eaten too much, or eaten something that they couldn’t digest, or some certain type of owner had been getting ‘exploratory’… regardless of how it happened, Fluff-Lax was designed to force a Fluffy to void it’s bowels as rapidly as possible. It worked within minutes, and ejected every single drop of waste inside a fluffy’s body, 100% guaranteed. Not only that, but everything would be squished to liquid first, ensuring a very easy cleanup no matter where you happened to be.
After maybe a full minute of nonstop shitting, Fluffy finally stopped, gasping for breath. He took a brief sniff… and froze.
“What did I say?” Leonid growled at the creature, which looked at him with tears in his eyes.
“Fwuffy… Fwuffy NEE’ make poopies…” He mewled in a desperate defence. It hadn’t been HIS fault! His tummy wouldn’t listen to him! His poopies wouldn’t listen! Fluffy’s POOPIES were bad! But that wasn’t FLUFFY’S fault! He couldn’t be expected to be responsible for his own poopies!!!
Fluffy was snapped back to reality as the cold tap was blasted on again, followed by another burst from the hair-dryer, then it was back to the treadmill for more running, with the string even tighter around his fat gut than before.
After another ten minutes of solid running, Leonid stopped the machine. The fluffy pony had collapsed from exhaustion and stress, and was either fast asleep or in a coma. Frankly, it didn’t really matter.
Leonid rolled the fat bitch back into the cat carrier and shut the door, locking it with a padlock and dumping the blanket over it.
He set about cleaning the sink, which was relatively easy thanks to the Fluff-Lax, then went to sleep himself. It had been a long, hard day… and the next would be just more of the same.
Leonid couldn’t wait.
The next day came and went just like the first. Fluffy woke up on the treadmill and began running the moment the digital display let out a beep. Then a brief lunch of blanched, tasteless vegetables, an ice-cold wash, and another special ‘treat’. Another bout of volcanic shitting, and then back on the treadmill as a punishment for the eruption of liquid shit.
Leonid wasn’t an egotist, but he had to admit, he was proud of his system.
The key to it all was the treats. Every fatass fluffy got that way through greed and gorging. Either a careless owner was over-feeding them, or the fat runts just never learned to stop when they’d had enough, and ate themselves into immobility. Either way, the problem was the same: they learned they got food whenver they wanted, and as such only associated treats with good things. Fluffy pony wants a treat? Fluffy pony gets a treat. Fluffy pony is happy… until fluffy pony wants another treat in five seconds.
So. How do you break a fluffy fatass of it’s eating habits? Simple.
You make it HATE treats.
You convince it that treats are bad for it. That treats don’t taste good, or are yucky. The problem with that, Leonid learned, is that the fat shits figure out that it’s something wrong with the treat itself. Credit to them, they were actually smart enough to figure that part out. If Leonid coated a treat with something gross, it wouldn’t break them, it’d just make them stop eating HIS treats, which defeated the entire point.
They needed to learn that ALL treats were bad. So he had to have treats that LOOKED good and TASTED good, but had some kind of lasting negative effect afterwards, which the fluffies couldn’t blame on the treats themselves.
Thus: the screaming shits.
Every treat he gave a fat fluffy was loaded with Fluff-Lax, ensuring the fluffy pony immediately shit itself. Considering most of them use that as a threat, it felt good to be able to turn it against them. You want to shit all over my place? Good, go ahead, it’ll give me a reason to hurt you more, you dumb animal.
And after a day or two, the stupid wretches would actually figure it out for themselves (most of the time). Just to be sure, Leonid alternated when he gave them the treats, to make certain they only ever connected ‘tasty yummy treat’ with ‘violent shitting followed by torturous exercise punishment’ immediately after.
And so the Pavlovian system would go. After a day or two the fluffies would start nervously eying the treats, and after around day three, they would outright refuse to eat them.
And then… GASP! No violent shitting! No terrible punishment! The fluffy pony had been… good?
But how had it happened? What had changed? Of course… it was the treats! Or rather, the LACK of treats!
And that would drive the lesson home at last.
Treats were BAD. Treats made you sick and got you punished. If a fluffy pony ate a treat, it was going to be VERY unhappy afterwards! A fluffy pony can ONLY be happy if it STOPS EATING TREATS.
Sure enough, by day three, Fluffy had actually not eaten his treat. Good, he had learned the important part… but the fat shit still wasn’t shedding much weight. He was getting better with the treadmill at least, Leonid had been able to have him run for a full ten minutes without the fat little bitch collapsing from the exertion.
But he was going to need to step it up.
Day four. Leonid dumped the fat shit on the treadmill like usual. By now he had stopped demanding treats, but was still furious about the way he was being treated overall, demanding better food, a warmer bed, a nicer bath, etc…
So Leonid was going to really fuck with him today.
Before the fatass woke up, Leonid filled a large basin with water and placed it behind the treadmill. The entire thing was lifted up on bricks, meaning there was a good few inches of space from either end of the treadmill to the ground. Today, Leonid had lifted the treadmill and added one extra brick under the front half, putting it at a slight angle, sloping downards towards the basin of water.
The string wasn’t going to be needed today.
Leonid pressed the display. It beeped. Fluffy woke up and began galloping, but Leonid grabbed it before it got anywhere.
“Hello Fluffy. Ready to run today?”
“Nu! Nu wike wunnin!” He huffed, snorting and twisting around in Leonid’s grip, same as usual.
“Well, too bad, you’re going to have to REALLY run today. You know why?”
He turned the fat fucker around and showed him the basin of water. Deep enough to drown a fluffy for sure. Of course, that wasn’t going to happen, but the lardass didn’t need to know that.
“Wawa!” Fluffy squeaked in fear. “Wawa bad! Nu wan! Nu wan!”
“Too fucking bad!”
Leonid hit the display again and the treadmill started running. Slowly, he lowered Fluffy back towards the treadmill, noting the fat shit’s tubby little legs already galloping before they made contact with the belt. So Leonid dropped the fucker from a few inches up, disorienting him just enough to send him sliding towards the water.
Fluffy seemed to suddenly remember what was awaiting him if he didn’t run, and took off a second later, sprinting on the treadmill, running uphill to avoid a watery grave, all while mumbling to himself in fear.
“Nu! Nu wan wawa! Nu wan! Go 'way wawa! Pwease go 'way!”
Leonid watched, amused that the shithead never thought to just jump OFF the treadmill. By now it had become so conditioned to the string, it figured the only way to survive was to keep running. Pavlov had been a fucking GENIUS.
Five minutes passed. The fucker was still going strong, amazingly. But it wasn’t enough.
“Hey, lardass! Pick up the pace!” Leonid yelled, clapping his hands together.
“Nu! Nu! Nu wanna wun! Nu wike wunnin!” Fluffy whined through pants and gasps.
“Well you’d better get a move on, because it’s going faster!” Leonid said, tapping the display again. Suddenly the treadmill rumbled as the speed increased, and Fluffy gave it his all, fat little legs pounding the plastic treadmill mat as he felt himself inching towards an inevitable drowning.
“Nu! Wawa! Nu! NU! HEWP! HEWP FWUFFY! NU WAN’ WAWA! HEWP!”
Leonid smiled at his work. The fat didn’t show any signs of slowing down, despite his evident exhaustion. He’d started to cry again and his fur was getting soaked from excessive sweating, but he wasn’t giving up yet. Giving up meant death, and somewhere, deep in that fat-crushed piece-of-shit thing fluffy ponies had instead of a brain, there was some kind of survival instinct kicking in. It was telling Fluffy ‘don’t you DARE stop running, fatass!’, and he was actually listening to it. Three days ago, Leonid thought, the shithead would’ve just thrown a tantrum and demanded the water leave, and then would’ve just ended up drowning.
This tantrum-throwing little bitch had, in three days, become almost RATIONAL.
Another five minutes. Ten total. Leonid looked at the sweating, wheezing lump on the treadmill. He was going strong but seemed to be starting to struggle a little, he was tripping a few times and his breathing was VERY laboured.
Leonid smirked, and stopped the treadmill dead.
Fluffy shot off like a rocket, galloping off the treadmill and sailing through the air before landing with a thump on the floor, all sweaty fluff and drippy tears. The fat shit didn’t even seem to realise what had happened, he was lying on his side and his legs were still kicking, like a dog having a ‘running’ dream. Finally he seemed to tire out enough that he stopped moving, and seemed to fall asleep.
Leonid picked up the basin and emptied it, then sat close by Fluffy, watching him sleep. The next step was crucial, he needed to make sure this would work. If not he might need to start all over again from day one.
After about ten minutes of laboured breathing and wheezing, the shithead blinked and looked around.
“Wha… wha happun? Wha wawa?” He mumbled, blearily looking around.
“You did it, buddy!” Leonid said, feigning joy for the filthy sweat-soaked fat little bitch in front of him. “You ran away from the water! You ran so hard and so fast you ran away from it, and now it can’t hurt you!”
Fluffy looked around at the treadmill, and saw the basin of water was, indeed, gone! He had done it after all! His little leggies had carried him to safety! Just like he knew they would all along!
“Fwuffy safe!” Fluffy declared. Leonid smirked at how wrong it was, as he reached into his pocket.
“And since you did so well… how about a treat?” He asked, holding up a familiar paper-wrapped toffee.
The transformation was immediate and unforgettable. Fluffy PANICKED, scrabbling to get away from the treat as quickly as his fat, weary little legs could carry him, whimpering and wheezing with heavy breaths as it tried to crawl to safety.
“Nu! NU! Nu tweats! Nu wan tweats! TWEATS BAD! NU WAN TWEATS! PWEASE NU TWEATS!!!”
The little shit had pushed himself into a corner and had resorted to covering it’s eyes with it’s hooves. Leonid smiled, and pocketed the candy again.
Mission successful. The fatass was now TERRIFIED of treats, and would never eat another one as long as it lived. Now all that remained was a few more harsh exercise regimens, maybe with some more deeper water, and it’d be over before they knew it.
Day five. The shithead was as healthy as he was ever going to get.
Leonid’s cracked bathroom scale told him the fatass was now the standard 5kg of a normal healthy fluffy (well, 4.7, but Leonid wasn’t going to futz about with some minor numbers like that, especially if they made it look like he’d gone too far), meaning it was time to go home. He got one of the vet’s special gummies and hit it in Fluffy’s bowl of vegetables, which he was now devouring like his life depending on it. Well, come to think of it, it did, because he sure as shit wasn’t getting anything else to eat any time soon.
The fatass fell asleep shortly after, and Leonid bundled it back into the cat carrier, blanket and all. One short drive back to the vet’s, a quick knock on the door, and the snoring shithead was handed back over.
Ten minutes later he was sleeping soundly in the vet’s office, curled up into a noticably smaller blob of cream yellow fur with a powder-blue mane. The vet had made a quick call to Mrs Pribble, and she was already on her way.
The vet looked over Fluffy, and had to admit, Leonid was exceptional. The fluffy had no bruises, no cuts, no damaging marks of any kind. Not the slightest bump or bend. All of Leonid’s work had been working the fluffy pony until it was healthier, and it had worked out perfectly.
Nobody would ever guess what kind of hell the creature had gone through for the end result. Not even the vet was entirely sure what sort of things Leonid did, only that they always worked, and nobody ever seemed any the wiser.
The vet’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. They opened it, and found dear old Mrs Pribble waiting anxiously.
“Is it true? Is my little Fluffy ready to come home?” She asked immediately, joy etched across her elderly face. The vet led her in, and held a finger to her lips.
“He’s sleeping, he’s had a long, tiring few days without you. Lots of hard work and exercise, but look!”
She gingerly picked up the sleeping fluffy and placed him on the same digital scale from before, which now registered a pleasant 5kg (well, 4.7kg to be exact).
“Oh, my, that’s wonderful!” Mrs Pribble said, tears in her half-blind eyes. “And he’s absolutely okay? He wasn’t hurt at all?”
“Hurt? Goodness, no! Perish the thought!” The vet replied, smiling warmly. “No, my friend just did what he always does, he worked 'em hard, and you can see the results yourself!”
Stirred by the familiar voices, the fluffy blinked it’s eyes and began to groggily wake up.
“M-wah…? Mum-mm-mah?” He mumbled, struggling to stand up on the table, the sleeping drugs still coursing through his system.
“Yes, darling boy, it’s mama!” Mrs Pribble said, cooing and fussing over the fluffy pony. The vet dug around in their drawer and pulled out one of the gummy candies, hiding it behind their back and tapping Mrs Pribble’s shoulder with their free hand.
“Mrs Pribble? I think you’ll like to see this. We’ve made sure not only that your fluffy is much healthier than before, but will also look out for it’s own health in the future too. Watch.”
They held up the gummy in front of the fluffy’s face. Fluffy’s blurry eyes took a moment to focus on the candy, but eventually realised what it was.
“Hey Fluffy.” The vet asked loudly and clearly. “Do you want a treat?”
As before, the change was immediately noticable.
“Nu… nu tweat… tweats bad… bad fow Fwuffy… nu tweats…” Fluffy wailed pathetically, trying desperately to drag itself away from the offending candy, his movements sluggish and slow from the drugs.
“Oh go on, just one little treat!” The vet pleaded, pushing the gummy candy towards the desperately retreating fluffy pony.
“Nu-hu-hu!” Fluffy wailed, tears in his tiny eyes. “Tweats bad! Tweats bad fow Fwuffy! Nu tweats! Nu tweats! NU TWEATS!!!”
The vet withdrew, tossing the candy into the bin.
“You see?” They said to Mrs Pribble, who was watching in fascination. “Even if you try and FORCE him, he’ll never want to eat another treat again.”
“But then,” Mrs Pribble asked. “What WILL he eat?”
“Simple: vegetables. Good, honest vegetables. Carrots, cucumbers, lettuce, whatever. Just cut it into little chunks for him and he’ll devour it.”
True to their word, the vet produced a small dish of chopped vegetables from their specimen fridge and placed it in front of the trembling, eyes-covered Fluffy. Fluffy sniffed the air for a moment, saw the vegatbles, and scurried over to the bowl, immediately scarfing down the entire lot, right down to licking the bowl clean once it was done.
Mrs Pribble couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Her little Fluffy, just like he was before… but thinner, healthier, and actually WANTING to be thin and healthy!
“Oh my darling baby boy!” Mrs Pribble wailed, picking up the fluffy pony from the table. “I’m so happy you’re alright! Time to go home!”
The fluffy pony buried itself in Mrs Pribble’s arms and was carried out, as the vet smiled.
They loved their job. They loved helping people, and their animals… although fluffy ponies took a special ‘kind’ of help.
Three weeks later, Leonid had another fatass in his apartment, this time an obese mare named Pinky who had, get this: given birth to five foals, while sitting upright, because she was too fat to move. She’d then smothered and crushed all five of them under her bulk, squeezing them out and killing them instantly. She didn’t even know they were dead, she just thought they were hiding from her, which caused her to get angry at them. When her owner lifted her up and saw the carnage of twisted corpses, broken bones and bloodstains mixed with feces, Pinky had snorted that the stupid babies had deserved it for hiding from their mama.
So Pinky’s owner had decided enough was enough. He’d taken Pinky to the vet to have her put down humanely (not because he wanted to spare her any pain, but just because he wanted it done quickly and without any screaming), but the vet had noticed Pinky’s bulk and made him a different offer. She’d get rid of Pinky, he’d never have to see her again, and he could rest assured that she was going to suffer for the rest of her miserable life.
Sure enough, the owner agreed on the spot and strolled right out of the vet’s office immediately afterwards, leaving Pinky to the machinations of Leonid.
And so it was that Pinky found herself on the treadmill, just like Fluffy and so many others before and since him, but with a difference. The others had been there to learn a lesson, their punishments were necessary and important, designed to teach them something. The toffees full of Fluff-Lax were integral to making them connect treats with punishments… but with Pinky, there was no need.
Pinky was there just to suffer.
Leonid had setup the treadmill like always, but had changed one thing. Pinky wasn’t tied to it, but the string was still there, suspending a glistening chocolate donut at the end of the belt. As soon as Pinky saw it, Leonid started the treadmill, causing the fat shit to have to get up and walk… but walking wasn’t enough. Pinky had to start running… but Leonid upped the speed, running still wasn’t enough! Pinky was running and running (well, stumbling and tripping) as much as she could manage but the stupid donut just wasn’t getting any closer!
And Leonid watched.
And Leonid laughed.
The fat pink wretch was struggling to move at all, it’s near-vestigial limbs forced into action for the first time in it’s spoiled, gluttonous life. And it was miserable, and angry, and hated every second of it.
And Leonid laughed.
And Pinky cried.
And Leonid laughed.
And so it would go on, for days and days and days, because no matter how much weight Pinky lost, no matter what she learned, no matter how many times she apologised for crushing her babies with her sickening bulk, she was never going to leave. Her daddy was never coming to take her home.
Because Leonid was her daddy now, and this was her new home.