The Discount Bin: Two can be as bad as one. (By:Kersploosh)

Fluffporium had made a name for itself for how it only sold well behaved fully trained fluffies. Not a single complaint was ever filed against them for selling a smarty by accident, or returns made for a fluffy not being properly trained. While the fluffies themselves made a tidy profit, having parents/nurse fluffs that did all the training for the staff saved a ton of money on staff, the real money makers were all the supplies people bought. Food, toys, safe room supplies, and grooming items were always in one person’s shopping cart or another’s. Not to mention the basic punishment items needed to correct bad behavior. It had everything a fluffy owner could ask for.

The one thing no one asked was what happened to the foals that didn’t sell before reaching three months, or were too ugly/damaged to be put on regular display. Most people didn’t care, and the few that would actually care just assumed they were euthanized like at a shelter. This wasn’t the case. In a separate building called Abuse Central, there was the discount bin. Fluffies here were treated just as well as the one’s in the main store, but chances of finding a good home was almost zero.

You see, abusers loved to get fluffies that were happy and full of hope before plunging them into hell, and the Fluffporium fluffies basically only knew happiness their entire lives. While the fluffies were cheaper, the quality was just as good when it came to their emotional inflation. Sure, some abusers would spend a couple hundred for a good colored alicorn foal to torture on camera for internet clout, but most abusers would rather spend that money on new torture implements.

That was Abuse Central’s main goal, to supply abusers with their tools of destruction and despair. Litterpal kits, extra sorry sticks, pain boxes, sprays that made fluffies bald, and even flufficide for people trying to just clear out an infestation on their property were a handful of the products on sale. If you thought that the normal stuff sold well, then the abuse supply sales would make your head explode. Some may wonder why the fluffies never caught on that they were abuse toys, but that was simple enough. The fluffies were kept in a separate soundproof room in the back. They were only ever taken out when sold, and were placed in a carrying box to prevent them from seeing the horrors that awaited them.

Today was going to be the worst day ever for a pair of siblings. Even though to their little brains, it was the best day ever. A teenager who looked to be trying to be trying to hide his identity was here looking to buy a fluffy and saw that there was a two for one deal with the purchase fifty dollars in abuse supplies. The teen handed the money, filled out the ownership registry, and left seventy-four dollars poorer.

The pair were ecstatically chattering away as the boy made his way home. All the stories of saferooms with toys and delicious nummies filled their tiny brains. They were so happy and go lucky that it almost made the boy sick, but it would all be worth it soon. As he walked into the house and shut the door, the foals’ happy babbling started to intensify. The basement door felt heavy as he opened it and walked down to the area he had prepared. He sat the box down in the small pen he had set up and opened it. Two small weanling fluffies stepped out.

One was a unicorn colt with puke green fluff and a rust brown mane. The other was a snow white pegasus filly with a light blue mane. It wasn’t apparent why she was in the discount bin at first, but the teen had been informed it was because she was “damaged goods”. Apparently the mother had thrown a tantrum when they tried to take her “bestest baby” away and accidentally stomped this one’s leg. It wasn’t bad enough to require amputation, but it was enough to give her a permanent limp. Still, it didn’t get the filly’s spirits down as she was as happy as a fluffy could be.

All the light from their eyes almost faded as they saw the sparse pen in the stuffy basement. The floor was hard concrete with a cheap bed and a single block. It was like being a child and finding out santa wasn’t real by the mall santa being arrested for molesting kids. Next to it was was a second pen that made their little mouths drool. In it was a padded flooring, loads of toys, a soft bed, and a bowl that the teen emptied a can of cheap spaghetti into.

“Ok, here’s the deal, either both of you can live in this bad pen or one of you can live in the good pen.”

The two looked at each other then at the boy, “Buh daddeh, why nu both hab gud sweepy pwace an nummies?”

“Yesh, wan gud nummies an toysies!” The little filly chirped in.

“Because I make the rules. You can either follow them or be bad fluffies.” The mention of being bad fluffies sent a chill down the siblings’ spines. When their mummah decided to pick a secret favorite, she was beaten mercilessly and pillowed as they watched. Then she was forced to watch as her favorite was drowned in front of her. Neither one of them saw her again after that. She was taken to the bad mummah room for the rest of her days. “So, what is it going to be?”

The colt looked at his sister and then to his new owner, “wah babbeh hab tu du su sissy can hab nice pwacey?”

Ah altruism, this brought a small smile to the teen’s face. That smile was quickly wiped away as the filly spoke, “YESH! Babbeh wan nicey pwace! Nu wan bad pen.” Deep down this filly was selfish, probably from pampering she got after her leg was hurt. She wasn’t so bad as to have smarty syndrome, but getting whatever she wanted clearly had an impact on her.

“Well that’s simple, the one of you that goes in the good pen has to give the other one forever sleepies.” The colt’s mood instantly changed, but the pegasus just looked at him.

“Sowwy-bwuddah, buh babbeh desewb gud homsies.”

“B-buh nu wan gu fowebah sweepies,” he wailed.

“Well, then you have to give her forever sleepies first.” Then an idea hit him. “Or, in your case all you have to do is break her legs. She gets to live and you get the nice place.”

At first the foal just continued to cry, but then his sister hit him. “Why sissy hit fwuffy? Am gud fwuffy.”

“Jus’ gu fowebah sweepies dummeh. Daddeh say nee’ tu su fwuffy can hab wha’ fwuffy desewb.” What she didn’t expect was for that to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. In one swift motion, he bit down onto her left wing and ripped it out. “SCREEEEEEE! FWUFFY NEE’ WI-” Not caring for his fratricidal sibling anymore, he cut off her screaming by bucking her in the throat. As she coughed and sputtered, she tripped and fell on her side. While she was trying to right herself, he brother began to stomp her legs again and again. After he was finished, she was reduced to a gibbering cheeping mess.

As the colt placed his hoof on her skull and started to press. The teen stopped him and picked him up. “Good job, little guy.” He gave the colt a few scritches behind the ears and the little foal started to coo. “Look’s like you’ve earned the good pen and a name.”

“Babbeh can hab namsies?!”

“Yes, I think I’ll call you Max.”

“Max wub namsies! Tank ‘ou daddeh!” The foal then began to cry, “why sissy hab tu be meanie?”

“Because she is a bad selfish fluffy,” he gives the colt a small smile, “and soon she will get everything she actually deserves. Now eat your skettis and be a good boy.” With that, the teen sat Max down in the good pen and watched him scurry over to the food dish. The filly watched with tears in her eyes, not realizing that she was responsible for her own misery. “Now as for you,” the filly soon found herself hoisted up by the scruff of her neck, “you get to live in the good pen too.” Her eyes started to sparkle with hope, despite all the pain she was in.

Soon she found herself on the nearby table while her new daddy got some weird things out of the bag he brought in with them. One thing she did recognize was a sorry stick, but it was barbed with little hooks designed to catch and tear out fluff. “First, you need a few hits from the sorry stick for being a selfish brat. I’d say about ten.” Before she could protest, he started the beatings. Each hit tore out more and more of her fluff. All the while she was screaming bloody murder. Her brother just ignored her pleas for his help, as she was dead to him.

“Pwease…” huff “stop…" huff “huwties.” Luckily for her, the beating was over. Unlucky for her, it was about to get so much worse. Without saying a word, he fished out the My first pillowfluff kit. Inside was everything he needed to pillow the foal. He grabbed the razor and started to cut off the fluff on her legs and the base of her tail. “NU! NU TAKE PWETTY FWUFF!” She started to flail around, “OWWIES! Why weggies gib huwties?”

“Because your leggies hate you for being a selfish cunt.”

“Nuuhuuhuu! Weggies pwease nu hate babbeh. Am gud babbeh!” He just rolled hi eyes and got out the heated shears and plugged them in. While they warmed up, he began dislocating the filly’s legs. “SCREEEEEE!” Her screams filled the room, if it wasn’t soundproofed already by his brother, the cops might come due to a noise complaint. Once the legs were all dislocated, he placed the shears over her front left leg. The heated metal singed her fleshh as it got close, prompting complaints of “buwnie huwties” before they were replaced by screams of “NU TAKE WEGGIES!” as the first leg was severed.

During this Max moved to the litter box so his scaredy poopies didn’t become bad poopies. The teenager noticed this and made a mental note of his good behavior. Soon the other three legs were severed from he filly’s body and he slathered all the stumps with instant heal gel. He then loosely bandaged the wounds before moving on to the tail. For sanitary reasons, docking her tail was a requirement. Before she could even beg, the tail was severed, slathered, and bandaged.

He then popped her down in the pillow bed by the litter box. He then placed a water bottle and food dish in front of her and filled the dish with Abuse co. punishment kibble. It had all of the nutrients she needed with a taste that even a starving person with no tongue would turn their nose up at. Max had long sense fallen asleep, the sedative laced spaghetti was more than enough to ensure that he was out cold. The initial plan was for one fluffy to kill the other, then pillow the survivor as they slept and do the whole “their leggies ran away because they were a bad fluffy” routine. However, this change of plans could potentially yield more fun. The only thing more miserable than one pillow fluff was having two that blamed each other for their misfortunes.

Max awoke hours later and tried to stretch his legs. It took him a moment to realize that they were gone and now he was staring at his sister in the face. He tried to scream, but his daddeh had muted him in his sleep. The screaming as she was pillowed had effectively done the same to his sister. Now they both sat in silence, scowling at each other. Their owner only appeared once a day to feed and water them, and occasionally torture them. This was their lives now, just like an average human adult there was nothing but bitter hatred and loneliness.


This kid is going places. Same can’t be said for the shitrats. :stuck_out_tongue:


So the kid is getting a preview of his future? Recreating his parent’s relationship with pets?


Props to you, kid. Enjoy this godlike feeling, while you can, because it’s as good as you’ll ever get.


Love that last line.

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hes going into a toilet because nerds like this only get swirlies

Huh. Interesting mechanic of breaking their family dynamic before torturing them. Although it would probably more fun if you slowly pillow Max and put his part beside the Filly each and every time and put Spaghetti sauce on both the legs and the Filly’s facee before waking both fluffies.

Then watch the hate flow. Each time that you treat max while Punishing the Filly (Who I now Dubbed as Cunt ["Cunt wub new namsies, Munstah Daddeh "])

Then once you pillowed both of them fully, remove their fluff and pretend that you forgot which fluffy is which and punish one over the other randomly.