The Mill 17 [By MostlyNeutralbox]

Chapter 17

Adam sighed as the code came in. Code FB. Foal bullying. This was something they didn’t want to have to deal with. The nurse mares were supposed to take care of any bullying and behavior issues…but sometimes a foal was just too much of a little sh-t to behave, and got too sneaky for the nurse mares to catch. Adam could understand. There were far more foals than nurse mares…they couldn’t keep an eye on all of them.

Now a foal had gotten caught, and hopefully the victim wasn’t hurt too bad. Foals were such delicate creatures…if one got bullied enough, they could end up depressed…and the best life they could hope for was as a breeding mare. They couldn’t sell depressed fluffies like some common mill. The Mill here had high standards. Fantastic colors AND attitudes. Potty trained, and modified on orders. If they were looking for a quick buck, they wouldn’t last long. They’d be out of business like all the other warehouse breeders have come and gone.

He made his way into the foal room, which had a lot more commotion than normal. And a lot more shit. Apparently the foal had tried hard to do sorry poopies on the group. The brave nurse mare had protected the foals. Adam normally wouldn’t describe a fluffy as brave…but this one was a cut above the rest. She had shimmering brown fur, and had given the maximum amount of litters. She’d always been one of the best behaved fluffies they’d had. Adam patted her head. “You’re a good fluffy, N22.” He said. He had been sent to retrieve the foal, while his companion came with cleaning supplies to clean the room and fluffies. Adam found the perpetrator and victim right away. The victim was cheeping, likely from sorry hoofsies. He was curled in a tight ball, reduced to peeps. The fluffy was brown on brown without being offensively so. The reason he was here…he had a genuine cutie mark. Born with it, in fact. It made him valuable despite the coloring.

The bully…was bright red with an orange and yellow mane. Ah. A fire theme. Those were generally popular with young boys. Unfortunately this fluffy had puffed cheeks, and looked utterly unrepentant. He was obviously the one who sorry pooped, as his ass and the backs of his legs were covered in shit.

“Alright. You’re going to boot camp.” Adam said. Normally The Mill wouldn’t even bother with foals this bad, but they were trying something out. Reform camp. Attempts to reform bad fluffies to good ones. To see if they could reverse or reduce smarty syndrome. Either way, they were taken out of the main pool so they could not be sold. Now…they would either shape up or die. Adam was excited that he got to watch. All the employees got to watch, since they were considering streaming the training and having a deal with FluffTV. They wanted to see if it was too boring for humans, or entertaining enough for fluffies. Adam figured he could show it to Pablo and Ruth if he liked it enough.

For now…he had some cleaning to do. And a way to hold the unrepentant bully. He picked up the little one by the scruff of his neck.

“Bad upsies! Put cowt downsies, dummeh!” He yelled, trying to give sorry poopies. He’d used up most of his sorry poopies, so only a little dribble came out.

Adam gave the foal a little shake and found what he was looking for. A clear plastic cup. He put the foal in it. It was narrow enough that he had to be on his hind legs.

“Wet fwuffy oud, meanie waww!” The colt batted on the walls of the plastic cup. Adam smirked and put it under the faucet. He turned it on, and put in enough water to cover the back hooves of the foal.

“SCREEEEEEE! NUUUUU! WAWA BAD FO FWUFFFY! SCREEEEEE! SCREEEE!” The colt scrambled, trying to escape the cup with more fervor. His hooves got no new purchase on the slick plastic walls. He looked at Adam, now streaming tears. “Pwease wet oudies? Fwuffy sowwy!” He pleaded.

“No you’re not. But you will be.” Adam said.

He placed the cup on the table. “Alright, foals. The ones who got dirty, come here for cleanies.” He said. He had a plastic tub by him. He couldn’t tell them they were getting a bath or they’d all scramble and even more foals would get dirty. “You too, N22.” He said. The nurse mare came over, knowing she had to set a good example for the foals. He picked her up and set her on the counter next to the sink. “Upsies.” He said in a falsely cheerful voice, but the mare liked it, wiggling her arms. “Stay right there.” He told her, and gathered up the foals who were dirtied. A few quick swipes with an antibacterial wipe got rid of dirty hoof prints and the worst of the poopies. As for the rest of the cleaning and disinfecting…that was someone else’s job. He only got paid to deal with the fluffies.

He had the fluffies in the clear tub. “Alright little ones…cleanies means you get a bath.” He said. He paused, and was not disappointed by their reactions.

“SCREEEEEEE!” A collective scream went up, and the little foals shit and pissed themselves running around in a panic, bumping into each other. Luckily none of the fluffies on the floor heard thanks to poor hearing. Poor senses in general, really. They rarely knew they were being talked about unless addressed directly. Much like the children they were meant to be companions to. In fact, they didn’t even seem to notice the panicking fluffies up on the counter.

N22 tried to calm down the fluffies, but they were too panicked.

“Just let them tire themselves out.” Adam said. It didn’t take long until the foals were exhausted, but still scared, their bodies heaving or shaking.

“There’s nothing to be scared of, foals. Baths are nice. N22 will show you.” Adam said. He had the warm water running, but didn’t bother to plug the tub up. He gave his gloves a quick rinse, and got N22. He placed her in the tub, and ran the shower head attachment over the front of her, avoiding her snout unless he had to. He was gentle with the washing, dislodging poopies, making N22 coo. “See? Nice baths.” He said. The foals were watching, still full of fear, but no longer panicking. They took their cues from their nurse mares, and this one was enjoying her bath. Truthfully she was probably one of the few fluffies that didn’t have a problem with baths. That was something breeders were trying to work for; no aquaphobia.

Unfortunately Adam doubted this would be possible. The fear of water was more of a safety mechanism, like human phobias of snakes and spiders. Water provided a danger of them. Their fluff would become waterlogged and they would drown. They could not swim in the slightest. Therefore they were programmed to avoid it. Ironic, considering they were so accident prone and ready to die in every other way. Still, having the rare non aquaphobic fluffy certainly helped his headache.

After washing N22, he set her on the drying rack. It was porous foam that allowed it to drain quickly. He wrapped her in a soft and fluffy absorbent towel. She did look cute like this, her tongue poking out in a little ‘blep’. He moved onto the first foal. He found one that was absolutely caked with fluffy sh-t. He didn’t know if it was from the initial blast or the ensuing panic…or both. Either way, he grabbed the shaking fluffy and ran them under the water. He heard a breathless ‘huuuhuuuu…” Finally he was seeing the pattern… pink with electric blue spots and a striped mane. He wasn’t sure if the foal was a colt or a filly until he was washing their neither regions and heard

“Pwease nu touwch speshul pwace, mista.”

Ah. A filly. “I need to clean you, little filly. Sh…er, fluffy poopies aren’t good to have on you.” Adam replied, but was more careful not to touch anywhere he didn’t have to. After the investigation of the molester, or the ‘Foal F-cker’ as most referred to him as, the cameras were being watched more carefully, as well as troubled foals. Adam finished rinsing her off, and dried her with small pats of the towel. He opened N22’s towel so the filly could get huggies from the nurse mare.

Next Adam grabbed another dirty fluffy. He ran them under the water, and the fluffy remembered they were panicking and started to flail. A stream of piss coming out from them. A colt from the direction of it. “Wawa….bad fo….fwuffy!” The colt had screamed himself out earlier and was breathless in his yelling.

“No its not. The water isn’t hurting you.” Adam said, hiding his exasperation. He dealt with this day in and day out. Just the other day, Pablo and Ruth had panicked seeing Adam in the bath, thinking he needed help. He saw the colt’s color come through. Dazzling white with a silver mane…and a silver horn and hooves. Nice. He wondered if he was related to the white colt with a royal blue mane, hooves, and horn. Traits like that usually ran in the family. He was sure to clean up that fur, since white was hard to take care of. The pains of taking care of a white dog pertained to fluffies as well. They needed to be bathed frequently or they’d look dirty and unkempt.” He finished with him, and dried him off, leaving him to run to N22.

“Fwuffy had baff!” He said, forgetting how afraid he was.

“Yus! Cowt su bwave!” N22 said, just as she’d said to the filly. She gave him a hug.

Next…Adam snatched up a fluffy foal that was trying to run away from his hand. Better to get the runners in while the box was still more full. He ran them under the water

“SCREEEEEEEEEEE! SCREEEEEEEE! SCREEEEEE! SCREEEE!”

Apparently the foal was like a little siren. It startled Adam so much he almost dropped the foal. He sighed, and used a tiny rubber band to keep the foal’s mouth shut. He just had to be careful in bathing. He knew he’d need something for his headache after that. Glancing over at the rest of the room, a few foals had looked over at the noise, but since it stopped, they were more interested in toys and friends. One lavender foal with an indigo mane and literally sparkling eyes asked “Fwiend otay?”

Adam nodded. “Your friend just had a little scare. Go back to playing.” That was enough for the foal who nodded and went back to playing ball with friends.

Adam turned back to the task of bathing. “You’re not hurt. It’s just water.” He told the foal. He rinsed their front and checked…they were a colt. He tapped the foal’s snout. “You’ll stop screaming if I take this off?” He asked when the colt had stopped wiggling. It slowly nodded. Adam took off the rubber band and the colt could breathe easier.

“Nu wike wawa.” He sniffled.

“You don’t like smelling not pretty either, do you?” Adam asked, and the foal nodded. He had to move the tail back so he could rinse the fluffy better. He was making sure he got all the sh-t off…

“Nu wook at nu-nu stick…” the colt whimpered.

“I can assure you, I am not.” Adam said in a dry, deadpan voice. “I’m making sure I got all the poopies out of your pretty fur.” The fluffy colt was a nice cream color with a white mane and tail. It reminded him of vanilla. If they could name the foals, it’d be easier to identify them, but fluffies got the most excited over their first name. Apparently people wanted that joy for themselves to give the foal the first name. Some of the mares had tried a while ago and were punished for naming the foals prematurely. Not that they even know who’s name was who’s. They just knew they were named. They’d also bragged when they were talkie foals and caused jealousy problems.

Finally the little foal was clean, and Adam was drying him.

Soon he found a little bit of a problem. A cowardly fluffy that kept hiding behind other foals and pushing others forward so they wouldn’t choose the hider. He snatched that one up using his superior human intellect and thumbs.

“Nuuuu! Nu take fwuffy! Am gud! Am gud! Nu need baff!” The foal tried to lick themselves clean, only succeeding in getting sh-t on their tongue, and spitting it out. “Nu taste pwetty…”

Adam rolled his eyes and washed the foal, seeing it was a colt. He cleaned up rather well, being yellow with lighter yellow starbursts. His mane was black, which might have caused him problems if the yellow was less saturated. He looked like a bumblebee with starbursts. Unfortunately this colt was not going to make it easy. He struggled despite being held by the scruff. Adam didn’t release him, not in the mood for chasing a foal all over the sink with the shower head. He instead let the foal dangle as he washed him, ignoring the pitiful sniffling until he dried him off.

The next foal Adam got was a filly. He knew this because she told him.

“Hewwo, mista! Am fiwwy! Wuv toys an huggies an fwiens, an baww”

On and on and on she went. Adam tuned her out as he washed her.

“Eeeee! Nu wike! Nu wike wawa ow sowwy stick ow sowwy box ow”

Adam was now considering all those and more. She may just end up as a breeder since it was hard to sell a chatterbox. She had good colors too. She was robin’s egg blue with light yellow and pink spots. Really, she was a perfect Easter fluff. But she just…. Wouldn’t. Shut. Up!

The rest of the fluffies had either accepted their fate or cried their way through the bathing. Adam was more excited for what was to come. Finally the soiled foals were all dried, and Adam returned them to the floor. All but the troublemaker in the cup. The foals dispersed, N22 being the only one to look back at the trapped foal who’d been crying his eyes out the whole time.

“You did well, N22. Him being mean isn’t your fault. Some fluffies are just like that. We’re going to try to fix him, and take his bad out.” He reassured N22. She made him softer for some reason. No, he was not going to go for a regular fluffy. He already had his angora fluffs.

He happily walked to the new training yard, gently shaking the cup occasionally to make water slosh on the bully fluff.

“Huuuhuuu…nu wike. Nu wike!”

“The worst is yet to come.” Adam promised, and took him out…to see class was going to start soon. There were fluffies of various ages, all looking pissy. They were in varying stages of smarty syndrome, and the instructor…well, he looked like a drill sergeant. He had on camouflage shorts, a shirt, and a cap over shaved grey hair. He had a stern looking face and a name tag called him ‘Sg. Pain’.

“Uh…” Adam had questions. Many questions. “I have…many questions…”

“Smarty goes over there.” He said in a loud voice, stern and lightly accented from the south.

Adam was quick to obey. “So, all the stuff…”

“I was in the army, boy, but seeing as this is not a uniform, I am allowed to take this title. Yes, my last name is Pain. I’m actually an actor. I can indeed train a fluffy, and I saw how sergeants train their men. I’ll sort them off.” He spoke in a softer tone to Adam.

The smarty pens were all one fluffy cages. It looked like they had to listen to a lecture first.

Adam stepped back, and out of the camera’s frame to see how this went.

“And…rolling.” The cameraman said, hitting the record button.

Sergeant Pain looked at the detestable creatures. “SMARTIES! ATTEN-SHUN!” He bellowed, a surprisingly deep voice.

Most of the fluffies promptly shit themselves from the loud voice.

“Nu wike woud noisies!” “Meanie!” “Kwiet!” Came the replies from the various fluffies.

“If you shit you WILL clean it up!” The man yelled. The smarties looked at him in disbelief, so St. Pain went to the left most cage, and shoved the fluffy’s face in the shit. “YOU WILL EAT THAT SHIT!” He bellowed at the fluffy.

The fluffy, who found himself unable to breathe, tried to pull away.

“EAT! THE! SHIT!” The man yelled, and the fluffy finally got the message, eating himself out of the predicament. By the end, his face was a mess of tears and smeared fluffy poo…but the cage was clean. “You will all clean your shit. I will KNOW when you do.” He said, and moved onto the next fluffy, pushing his face into the poo. The fluffy’s nostril’s flared. Apparently he was a defiant one, even his face being shoved into his shit was not enough to break him. Sg. Pain grinned in a sinister way. “Oh, we got a live one, huh?” He reached to his belt, and whipped out…an extendable sorry stick. This one had small bumps on it ‘for extra owies’ the commercial so claimed. The ad for that particular sorry stick and price showed up on the sidebar briefly before Sg. Pain brought down the stick on the fluffy’s back and flank repeatedly. He laughed, almost maniacally, which made several other fluffies shit in horror. A good amount of them began to clean up after themselves.

Sg. Pain knew what he was doing. He was waiting for this. A defiant one that he could escalate on to make the other fluffies realize what he was capable of.

“MUMMAH!” The beaten fluffy screamed, his mouth cleared away. “SABE FWUFFY!”

“Your mummah ain’t saving you! She dropped you off here for being such a horrible fluffy!” The man yelled at the fluffy.

“Wiar!” The smarty protested.

“Your mummahs and daddehs left you in MY care! You are LESS than the shit you eat! You are horrible wastes of spaces!” Sg. Pain yelled. “This is your last chance! Horrible fluffies like you will either become good fluffies or you will get FOREVER SLEEPIES!” The Sg. yelled at them. That sobered up some of the fluffies. This was their last chance. They would die if they didn’t reform. Most of the fluffies sent here were from people who tried to spoil a fluffy a bit, and now regretted it. Not a lot of hugboxers, as they usually added to the issue of smarties. These ones were from high paying customers, or had such pretty colors.

The newly smartied foal had eaten his excrement, and was teary eyed. “Babbeh su sowwy! Babbeh nu wan be smawty! Wet smarty gu back to fwiends?” The red foal begged.

Sg. Pain took out the smarty stick and thwacked the side of the cage, a loud noise produced from the metal and metal. The foal screeeed and peed himself.

“You are NOT reformed! And you will clean up that pee!” The drill sergeant boomed.

The foal sniffled pitifully before lapping it up. “Nu smeww pwetty….” He cried.

“That is all the food you will get until tomorrow! Until then, you will listen to what good fluffies do!” He pressed play on his phone. It was connected to a Bluetooth speaker that had a specially made lecture. This had a female voice that was stern, and told them what good fluffies did and did not do.

“Good fluffies DO NOT beg. Good fluffies ASK for what they want. If mummah or daddeh say no, it means no. Only bratty, friendless fluffies demand things.”

“Good fluffies DO NOT make poopies or peepees on the floor. Good fluffies make poopies and peepees in the litter box. Only gross fluffies live in their own filth.”

“Good fluffies DO NOT yell. Good fluffies ask quietly. No fluffy wants to be around a loud fluffy.”

The messages went on. Adam was surprised by the general effectiveness of this lesson. The fluffies had a taste of pain now, and knew it was either obey, or get hurt. They had to listen to the lessons they knew already. Now it was to be drilled into his head. Adam looked forward to watching the rest later. But for now…he had to get back to work.

(I’m thinking of making a few chapters the prequel. How the Mill was before it became a big company.)

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It would be very interesting to see how the mill used to before it got its big break. :slight_smile:

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Good to see more of this.

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I’m excited to read more about the mill and the fluffy bootcamp- you’ve got a great way of balancing the industrial sadbox with moments of brightness.

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I’m enjoying this series. Still. Its great :slight_smile:

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