Note: as advised by @Bloodyboots, I’m including a brief warning to say that this story contains the fairly prolific use of a specific slur, that being ‘F-GG-T’. It’s an abuse story, expect bad things to happen within, the use of slurs included.
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It had been a full month since the Gauntlet had been hosted. That wasn’t exactly unusual, but the last time it had been hosted, the entire building had caught on fire. Nobody had been hurt, but it had shut down the entire operation temporarily. Nobody had expected it to be up and running again so soon, but sure enough, they got their email invitations as usual during the final week of the month.
‘SATURDAY NIGHT, SAME TIME - ALL NEW LOCATION, ALL NEW COURSES!!!’
The address followed, and so, on the last Saturday of the month, numerous strangers filed into a bar they had never been inside before, and one by one, creaked down the stairs into the basement.
There, the Gauntlet was already setup.
The Gauntlet was a monthly contest hosted by a mysterious organisation who had no known name. They hosted the game and allowed guests to place bets during it, which resulted in the organisation itself making a decent amount of money, enough at least to keep the Gauntlet running for another month.
‘The Gauntlet’ itself involved fluffy ponies. They rounded up strays and runaways that were healthy enough to compete, and then put them through ‘courses’, which consisted of a variety of obstacles and tortures.
The winning fluffy was granted freedom. The failures were tossed into a dumpster and left for dead.
As the room filled with people, black-suited men with notepads and cash-boxes slithered among the crowd, taking bets and collecting wagers from almost everyone there.
The event was also streamed live online, but betting was only available to those who put in a physical appearance. Part of that was because the physical attendees knew in advance which fluffies were going to compete, while it was kept a surprise for the online viewers to build suspense and add to the drama.
Finally, as the clocks hit 10pm, the Gauntlet was ready to begin.
“Goo-oo-ood evening ladies and gentlemen!” The announcer began, his voice booming around the room through various amplifiers. He himself was located in another room, ensuring the online stream was running smoothly while he spoke.
“Welcome back to our monthly meet-up for ‘The Gauntlet!’” The audience cheered and whooped. "I know some of you were a little worried that we were gone for good, after our last little endeavour with the flamethrower. Who knew fluffy ponies burned so well?"
The audience laughed.
“But anyway, we’ve got our new location all setup and ready to go, and we’ve even got a brand new course built to celebrate it, and this time, there shouldn’t be any arson… at least, we didn’t intend for any, but you never know with fluffies!”
The audience laughed again.
“Now, if you could all make your way to the course, we’ll begin soon.”
In the center of the room there was an area that was separated from the rest of the room by a waist-high wire fence. Inside it was a large cuboid object which was covered by a black sheet. All that was visible under it were four small rectangular boxes, each big enough to contain a single adult fluffy pony, with a white plastic floor and clear perspex walls.
This was the new course.
“We won’t give away what’s in store this time, but we’ve decided to take things back to something a little simpler. No moving parts, no mechanisms, nothing like that. Just good old fashioned torture.”
The audience clapped.
"Within this course, our fluffy contestants will be pushed to breaking point, to the very limits of their endurance and pain tolerance. There’s only one question: are they FLUFF enough?!"
The audience roared at the mention of the game’s slogan. The bet-takers were still sifting among the crowd, but two more staff-members in dark clothing had emerged from somewhere, each one carrying a standard pet-carrier in either hand, totalling four fluffies for the game.
“First up, we ha-a-ave…” The announcer bellowed, pausing for drama. “FREAK!!!”
The first box opened and Freak was dumped out into his starting box (which was identical to the box execpt it didn’t have a ceiling). Freak was a gray unicorn with a bright red mane and tail, but thanks to the actions of a previous owner, his horn was missing.
“As you may note,” The announcer continued. “Freak had a little bit of an accident and, well… let’s just say he’s got something to compensate for now.”
The audience laughed. Freak knew the people were all laughing at him, and curled up, covering his eyes in the vain hope that if he couldn’t see them, then they weren’t really there.
“Second, we’ve go-o-ot…” The announcer began again as another box was grabbed. “WINKY!!!”
The box was opened and a dark green earthie tumbled out. He picked himself up, shook himself off, and looked around. It was then that the audience learned why he was called ‘Winky’.
“Poor little WInky got a little careless one day, and misplaced his left eye.” The announcer said, in mock sadness. “Now that eye is permanently closed. But hey, at least he’s still got half a chance to win!”
Again, the audience guffawed at Winky’s misfortune.
“Next up, we’ve go-o-ot… TURD!!!”
The box was opened and a small shit-brown pegasus was dumped out in a heap, already crying and sobbing.
“Poor little Turd, she’s had it rough. Still, with a crap-colored coat and shit for brains, you can’t really expect much, can you?”
Turd never even looked up, she just lay where she was, quietly sobbing.
“And last but not least, as an extra special treat, we have…” A drum-roll began as the final box was readied. “FAGGOT!!!”
The box opened and a bright pink earthie landed with an ‘OOF!’ in the starting box. He immediately leapt to his feet, puffed out his cheeks, and snorted.
“WET SMAWTY GU DUMMEH HOOMANS!” He snapped and hissed.
“Feisty little one, ain’t he?” The announcer continued, his amplified voice drowning out anything Faggot tried to say. “As you no doubt heard, little Faggot is a Smarty. Of course, that wasn’t helping him much when he found him. Apparently his pretty pink coloring makes a lot of fluffies think he’s a pretty little girly-girl, we even found a couple of toughies ‘taking turns’ with him!”
Smarty huffed again, but it looked almost as if he was blushing.
“AM NU A DUMMEH MAWE! AM SMAWTY!”
“Yeah, yeah… whatever you say, Faggot.” The announcer ended.
With all four contestants in their boxes, the round was almost ready to begin. The betting was closed, no more money was taken, everything was ready.
Then the black sheet was pulled away by a man in a black wifebeater, and the full ‘course’ was revealed.
A long rectangular box, which was divided up into four different lanes with perspex partitions, one lane for each fluffy. Each lane had identical obstacles setup along the way, all at the same places, ensuring that every fluffy would go through the same tortures on the path to their freedom.
“At the sound of the gun,” The announcer explained. “The boxes will open, and each fluffy will attempt to make it to the end of the course. If they don’t want to move, don’t worry, we’ll make sure they do.”
The man in the wifebeater stepped forwards and held up a basic stungun. Standard stuff for defending yourself against predators and rapists… but absolute torture to a sensitive little fluffy pony.
“The fluffies have all been briefed on what’s at stake here.” The announcer continued. “They all know that if they win, they get to go free and never have to come back. But if they lose… they go in the trash where they belong.”
“NU! NU TWASHIES!”
“HUHUHU! WAN MUMMAH!”
“NU WIKE!”
“DUMMEHS WET FAGGOT G- SMAWTY! NU FAGGOT, SMAWTY!!!”
The man in the wifebeater reached into his other pocket and withdrew a brightly coloured toy gun, loaded with caps. The room went quiet as he held it high in the air, to the point that even the four fluffies noticed something was going on. They turned and looked at the man, the gun held aloft… before he turned and lowered it, pointing it into their boxes, almost directly at them, which made them all tremble and shiver.
“Three… two… one…” The announcer called.
BANG!!!
A sharp smell of gunpowder filled the room, and the four starting boxes opened at the press of a switch.
Unfortunately, each of the fluffies had been so startled by the gunshot, they hadn’t actually realised they now had a way out. So, as the first few 'boo’s began, the man in the wifebeater stepped forwards and jabbed at Faggot with the stungun.
“SCREEEEEE!” He yelped as his limbs spasmed in all directions, alerting the others to his suffering. They were only separated by perspex walls, they were all perfectly able to see Faggot howling in pain, his eyes wide, his body twitching, steaming urine spurting out of his tiny dick at sporadic intervals.
The man let go of Faggot and let him slump to the ground, wheezing in agony in a pool of his own piss, but still alive… then he turned to look at Turd in the next box.
“EEP! N-NU HUWTIES FOW TUWD! TUWD A GUD FWUFFEH!!” She squeaked, and bolted out of her box. Winky and Freak, realising they’d be next with Turd gone, followed suit quickly after.
“And they’re off… about damn time.” The announcer said, as the three fluffies staggered and stumbled their way into the course.
“Turd has reached the first obstacle!” He called, as the small brown fluffy made her way through the course.
She had stopped in front of a patch of thumb-tacks, which had been placed upside-down across the arena and glued into place, their gleaming metal spikes pointing upwards sinisterly. They were carefully placed so there was no visible floor between them, and they stretched forward for a full fifteen inches. The only way forwards was to walk over the pins.
By now, Freak and Winky had caught up to Turd and were having the same problem. Going forward would obviously result in pain… but staying behind meant pain too! What sort of a choice was that?!
“Uh oh,” The announcer began again. “It appears our contestants are too scared to keep going! And you know what that means!”
The man in the black wifebeater stepped up again, readying the stungun. The three fluffies saw it, saw the electricity crackling between it’s silver fangs, and simultaneously shrieked.
Turd bolted forwards, her eyes still locked on the stungun, but very quickly forgot it was even there as she felt the searing pain of pins stabbing into all four of her tiny, soft hooves.
“EEP! OWIES! OUCHIES! HUWTIES! HEWP!” Turd squeaked, tears pouring from her eyes again as she wobbled in place, desperately wanting to pull the pins out of her feet but knowing that the only way to do that would mean creating all new wounds.
In the lane next to her, Winky was having the same problem. He had plonked his first two hooves down, felt the pain, and was now too scared to move forwards, his front legs trembling in pain.
Freak had saw it all and knew he was in for the same, so braced himself for the pain before lunging forwards, his hooves pounding into the pins as he galloped across the full length of the obstacle. The audience whooped and cheered for him, which spurred him on even more, despite the awful pain. It seemed like Freak was going to make it… then it all went wrong.
One thumb-tack hadn’t been properly glued down, and when Freak’s hoof lifted away from it… it pulled the thumb-tack up from the floor and left it embedded in his front left hoof. When he brought his hoof down again, it landed on the embedded thumb-tack, pushing it in all over again, into an already-existing wound.
“SCREEEE! FWEAK HAB WOWSTEST HUWTIES IN HOOFSY!!!” Freak screamed, stumbling over the end of the obstacle and crashing to the floor on his side, openly sobbing as blood seeped out of his injured hoof.
“Get the fuck up, Freak!” One of the audience shouted, causing Freak to cry even harder.
Faggot, meanwhile, had only just gotten up again after being stunned by the zap from the stungun. Most of the audience were shouting at him, having bet on him to win… but he was the only fluffy still left in his starting box.
He shakily got up, and then jumped slightly as he realised how far ahead the other fluffies were.
“WHA?! WHY DUMMEHS WUN 'WAY FWOM SMAWTY?! SMAWTY GUN TEACH DEM A WESSON!!!”
Faggot took off at a stumbling, jelly-legged sprint, staggering and wobbling his way towards the thumb-tack field, stopping just in time before crashing directly into it.
“Look at that! Our latecomer Faggot has finally decided to join the others! But is he able to catch up?”
Faggot ignored the announcer and glared at the thumb-tacks. He was smart, he could tell from how sharp they looked at they must hurt… along with all the crying and droplets of blood he could see in the other fluffies lanes.
Smarty stepped back, braced himself, then ran forwards and jumped, launching himself into the air on his tiny, wobbly legs. For a moment he hung in the air, genuinely thinking he was going to clear the entire field of thumb-tacks… then he fell, dropping like a stone, and landing with a ‘THUMP’ on top of them all, directly on his stomach, legs and genitalia.
“SCREEEEE! SMAWTY H-HAB O-O-OWIES!!” He wailed, struggling to move as the numerous pins digging into his limbs and guts held him completely still, leaving him unable to get any purchase.
Once more the audience booed. This isn’t what they’d been betting for!
Winky had finally started crossing the thumb-tacks, going slowly but carefully, after having seen what’d happened to Freak when he tried to run. Freak was still lying on his side, crying profusely about the pain in his leg, and Turd had only just made it to the end and was gratefully stepping onto the cold, smooth plastic floor of the rest of the course.
Turd sat down for a moment, whimpering and sobbing from the pain in her hooves, but she didn’t have long to rest as the crowd suddenly started cheering. She looked… and saw that Winky had made it too! Not only that, but he wasn’t even stopping for a rest! He was still going!
“NU! NU WAN BE A WOO-SAH!!!” Turd cried, jumping up and scrambling to catch up with Winky, who was still steaming ahead.
Freak heard the commotion, opened his blurry, tear-filled eyes and saw what Turd had seen, with the added insult of the ‘poopie’ mare being ahead of him too.
“Nu- owies! Wait fow- owies! Fow Fweak- owies!” Freak babbled as he tried to run to catch up, but found running with a tack still stuck in his front left hoof was a lot harder than it sounded.
Meanwhile, Faggot was still lying on the thumb-tacks.
“HUH-HUH-HEWP!!!” He screamed, agony coursing through his body.
“Well, you know the rules, everyone.” The announcer said with a sigh. “If a fluffy gets stuck, we’ll help them out, if only to keep things interesting.”
The man in the wifebeater grabbed Faggot by his head and, with a sickening sound of metal sliding out of flesh, pulled him up. The individual pins hadn’t done much damage, but there had been a lot of them. Quantity over quality, Faggot was in a lot of pain, and left a polkadot trail of blood droplets all over the pins. The man dropped Faggot just beyond the pins, letting him land with an ‘OOF’ on the hard plastic floor where he shakily got to his feet again.
While Faggot was struggling to stay upright on his bleeding legs, Turd and Winky had already reached the second obstacle.
A ceiling (made of a large solid block of clear perspex) had been added to the course, but it was low, lower than a fluffy could comfortably stand under. The only way forwards was to crouch and crawl, shuffling forwards an inch at a time. This wouldn’t be so bad, in theory… except that under the ‘ceiling’, worked into the plastic floor at various intervals, were numerous shards and chunks of broken glass for them to crawl over, dragging their bodies against it.
While Turd and Winky were once again debating what was worse, this pain or the other pain that they’d receive for not moving, Freak had managed to catch up, still hobbling along on his bleeding, limpy leg. Freak, blinded by pain and motivated by desperation, surged forwards without even pausing to think. He ducked under the clear perspex ceiling and wriggled his way forwards… until the first piece of glass sliced in his belly.
“OWIE! FWEAK HAB BIG HUWTIES IN TUMMY!!!” He squealed, attempting to wriggle backwards, but only succeeding in cutting himself on another piece of glass. “OWIES! OWIE-OWIE-OWIES!!!”
Faggot was staggering closer every second, and Turd decided to just go for it as well. She ducked down and pushed herself under the perspex ceiling, trying her best to keep her belly away from the glass, but to no avail. With every tiny movement forwards, she felt new lacerations tearing themselves open in the sensitive skin of her belly, and some even on her legs too as she pushed and wriggled forwards.
Winky shut his one good eye and followed suit, resigning himself to the inevitable agony and powering through it as best he could.
Faggot, meanwhile, had begun galloping forwards, didn’t see the perspex ceiling and slammed straight into it head first with a ‘WHAM’, dazing himself from the impact.
“Oh, that had to hurt!” The announcer jeered. “I’d just like to remind everybody that all bets are final, and cannot be altered once the Gauntlet has begun. If you placed a bet on Faggot, well… you may not be smart but at least you’re pretty.”
Some of the crowd laughed, the rest of it seethed in embarrassed anger as Faggot’s tongue fell out of his mouth, his eyes looking in different directions as he babbled incoherently to himself.
Back in the tunnels, Turd, Freak and Winky were making equal progress, slowly hauling themselves over the slivers and shards of razor-sharp glass. As if pins in their hooves hadn’t been bad enough, now they all had numerous gouges and cuts across their legs and bellies. Each fluffy was now bleeding across the course, leaving slick streaks and trails of blood as they struggled their way forwards. They were still very much alive, but every movement was agony.
Finally, they made it through. Winky emerged first, tears pouring down his face but not a peep escaping his mouth as he hauled himself free of the torture. He got out and wobbled as he stood upright, his legs trembling from all the pain they’d gone through, threatening to give out at any moment. Freak was next, having noticed the others pulling ahead slightly and fighting his way forwards with renewed vigor… however he still had a tack stuck in his hoof, which was still causing him and endless amount of pain.
Lastly, Turd crawled free, wheezing and gasping, her face completely soaked with tears and snot from ceaseless crying. All she wanted to do was curl up and cry forever, but she knew that wouldn’t do her any good. She had to win!
Turd, Freak and Winky all limped, hobbled and struggled their way forwards, travelling on wobbling legs and bleeding feet, until they made it to the third obstacle.
At a glance, it just looked like a large, segmented basin of murky off-white water, but the announcer returned to fill the audience in.
“Now those of you who enjoy a good cocktail may already know what this is, but for those who don’t… the liquid in those tubs is none other than Grade-A, premium quality, freshly-squeezed… lemon juice.”
The audience exploded into cackling and clapping. The Gauntlet always knew how to mix it up.
The fluffies, not aware of what awaited them, each staggered towards the edge of the course’s floor and plunged into the pools of lemon juice.
The reaction was instantaneous.
“SCREEE!!!”
“BUWNY HUWTIES! HEWP!!!”
“OWIE-OWIE-OWIES!!!”
Freak, Turd and Winky flailed and thrashed around in their lemon juice baths, their open wounds surging with fresh agony. All along their legs, feet and stomachs, they felt nothing but blinding pain, making it hard for them to even stand up, let alone move. Winky actually tipped forwards, his face almost hitting the surface of the acidic liquid, until he remembered that water (of any kind) was bad for fluffies and quickly righted himself, staggering his way forwards on limbs filled with pinpricks of excruciating pain.
Faggot, meanwhile, had woken up as the crowd shouted abuse at him, and had finally struggled his way into the tunnel. He’d made it about halfway through before getting completely stuck on a shard of glass, which had embedded itself in his rear leg. He pulled himself forward as much as he possibly could, and with a sudden, violent ripping sound, he pulled himself free… leaving most of his hoof attached to the shard of glass.
“And that’s why we host the Gauntlet, everybody!” The announcer said, the online stream zooming in close on a slow-mo replay of Faggot’s hoof being violently ripped from his body as he dragged himself fowards.
Freak, Turd and Winky had finally made it to the end of their lemon juice baths. The basins themselves were only about a foot long, but it had felt like miles for them. One by one they hauled themselves out, except for Freak who was still unable to put any weight on his front left hoof, and ended up slowly slithering his way out of the lemon juice, pulling himself up with his good hoof as his heavy wet fluff tried to pull him back in until he finally flopped down onto the plastic floor amidst a pool of acidic fruit juice.
There, ahead of the trio, lay the final challenge. A simple piece of upward sloping ground, tilted at a 30 degree angle. An easy climb to make for any fluffy.
Turd and Freak both set off for it, both desperate to win, and plodded onto the slope… before quickly realising what the obstacle actually was.
The slopes were coated in a thin layer of lubricant, the standard stuff used to grease machinery. Completely clear, but very slippery, especially on a smooth, hard surface like the plastic that the course floor was made out of.
With an almost cartoonish quality, Turd’s hooves slipped and slid all over the slick plastic, sending her sliding on her belly down to the bottom of the slope. Freak soon followed, tripping over his own slippery hooves and landing in a heap of his own limbs.
By now, Winky had caught up and was looking at the slick, glistening slope, worrying about how to climb it. He’d seen Turd and Freak come crashing down, and could see them now, lying as sobbing, grease-covered heaps of matted fur and bloodstains.
Winky put his two front hooves on the slope but couldn’t find any purchase. They immediately slipped right off of the slick plastic surface. He tried again, but to no avail. The ‘slope’ may as well have been vertical, it was completely impassable to them.
From behind him, Winky heard a watery crash, followed by a shriek. He turned and saw Faggot had just landed face-first in the lemon juice bath, and was currently thrashing and flailing in blinding pain.
Winky was running out of time. Already Turd and Freak were picking themselves up for another attempt, and Winky had no intention of letting them win if it meant he had to lose. Winky leapt up at the slope, scrabbling desperately at it like Turd and Freak had done before, but slid back down just as they had done, coating his hooves and belly with grease.
Winky was about to try again, when he got an idea.
For maybe the first time in history, a fluffy pony had actually thought of something smart.
Winky got up and threw himself at the slope again, this time landing on his belly, which was soon completely covered in grease, then he got up and plodded away from the slope, walking backwards down the course (as the lanes were too narrow to turn around properly). When he had backed up all the way to the lemon juice, he stopped, braced himself, then took off at a run, galloping down the length of the course, his slick hooves slipping and sliding as he ran, threatening to ruin everything if he lost balance for even a moment.
But he kept on, his greasy hooves pounding against the smooth plastic of the course, until he reached the bottom of the slope…
And then he dived.
Winky hit the ground, his momentum propelling him forwards on his grease-coated belly, carrying up up the slick slope and just reaching the top, at which point his stubby hooves scrabbled for the surface, finally gaining some actual purchase on the hard plastic ground. With a heave he dragged the rest of his body up, his rear legs kicking and flailing wildly as he finally reached the top.
"And the winner is… WINKY!!!" The announcer shouted.
Most of the audience roared in anger and disgust, shouting vile abuse at Faggot, Freak and Turd for having lost, while a small percentage was cheering for Winky coming out on top after all. Winky was grabbed by the mane and violently pulled up out of the course, being held up in the air by the man in the wifebeater as the crowed roared and shouted.
Winky hated it, and let out a small trickle of fearful urine. As the announcer commented on another successful Gauntlet, the man carried Winky to the stairs, leading him up and out through a back door.
With a thud, Winky was dropped onto the cold concrete, where hel ooked around with his one good eye. He was in an alleyway, it was filthy and it smelled, and a cold wind blew through, battering his wet fluff and making him shiver.
“Whu-whu-wha Winky do nao?” He asked timidly. The man shrugged.
“Whatever you want. You’re free again. Go find your herd I guess. Not my problem.”
He turned back and closed the door, leaving Winky in the alley.
Five minutes later he returned, this time carrying Turd, Faggot and Freak all stuffed under one arm. At first, Winky thought the man had come to adopt him and take him home… but he soon realised that wasn’t the case, as the man stepped right past him, opened up a dumpster, and with a shriek from the fluffies, hurled them all inside.
Faggot landed face first in a shit-filled diaper, Freak landed on top of him and Turd landed on a crushed soda can, the jagged edges of which dug into her open wounds and let them bled anew. Before they had any time to cry out for help, the dumpster lid slammed down on top of them, trapping them in the stinking, filthy, silent darkness.
The man turned to walk back to the bar and saw Winky staring up at him with his single eye.
“Oh. You’re still here.” The man said. Winky nodded, trembling in the cold. “…do you want to go back to the Gauntlet or something?”
“Wha?! Nu-u-u!” Winky screamed, covering his eyes with his hooves.
“Then fuck off already. God, you things are stupid.” The man said, trudging back inside and slamming the door.
Winky was left alone in the alleyway, the squeaking cries of the three loser fluffies only just audible from within the dumpster. Winky wanted to help them, but knew he couldn’t. He wanted to find someone who could, but knew nobody else would care.
Winky sat there, alone in the alley, and cried into his hooves.
What exactly had he won, anyway?
