The Responsible Breeder: The Abuse Addict, by: Transcendenz
A man skulked around the room, clad in clothes so black, you could barely tell blood stained across his body. On top of his face laid a mask imprinted with a skull. He was in his moment. He held the life of his victim in his hands
A terrified grey fluffy unicorn fluffy with a blue mane lay strapped down to the table. It’s body covered with cuts and burns. It was desperately pleading for its life after three hours of agonising torture.
“N-N-NUUU HUWT hic FWUFFY. HUUUUU! FWUFFIES AM FOW HUGGIES AN WUV!!”
“SILENCE! You are mine to do with what I please! I bought you and I want to hurt you!”
CRACK
The man wrapped the broomstick off the fluffies back with a spine shattering force. The fluffy chirped in agony before it’s mewling died down. The man chose the opportunity to gloat.
“DOWN HERE I AM GOD! YOU CANNOT COMMAND ME!”
The man stood proud as he waited for the fluffy’s eventual begging to return.
And waited…
And waited…
A silence hung heavily in the air. The man stopped and breathed heavily as he slowly walked over to the fluffy. He removed the black leather glove for his hand and put his forefingers on the neck of the fluffy, checking for a pulse. No pulse was returned back. The man’s felt his anger boil up immediately as his “toy” refused to give him the pleasure of it’s suffering.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck. YOU CANNOT DIE. I AM THE MASTER OF THIS DOMAIN. WAKE UP. GODDAMN IT. FUCK YOU. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK YOU”
The man threw the stick down in a rage and ripped off his mask. A young man, Barely out of his teens, breathed heavily. He screamed at the lifeless corpse again
“THIS WAS MY DAY OFF. YOU SELFISH LITTLE PRICK!”
He ripped off the straps holding down the deceased fluffy, and flung it hard at a trash can across the room. It missed, only serving to embolden his anger further.
“Fuck!” He stomped off in a rage. He took his phone out. It was only the afternoon. That was OK. He could get another one. He could go back to the store and get another…
You are the “responsible” breeder. You have made your award winning business on selling well kept, well trained fluffies to whoever wants to buy them. Well, local award. It still counts. You instill your fluffies with love and confidence to try create a better environment for them and create a business for yourself. You like your fluffies and they like you.
You had just had a busy Saturday afternoon. Sales almost cleared out your foal pens today. You sold a record Twenty two foals to what you hoped would be loving new homes. All but one that you try to forget. Ten adults too. Not as good as the time that Sorority party planner cleared out your adult pens but you didn’t ask questions on that. What the hell would they do with all those fluffies anyway? You have tons of paperwork to do so it’s best not to think about that.
You sit at your desk as you enter the details of each customer. Every purchase must be logged on the state register for controlling the numbers of fluffies. You notice an email from one of your regular customers and feel a lump in your throat. “Urgent. Need to come in soon. Need new fluffy”. You sigh. One of those fluffies you sold was to a regular abuser you deal with. Dave. That asshole broke his “toy” too quick again.
You knew Dave. He was your typical edgy teenager at first. The edgy slogan sweatshirt and the loud nu-metal, years after its sell by date, out of his Dodge Neon filled with edgy bumper stickers usually gave it away. Came in almost weekly to buy a cheap foal off you when you started out. You tried not to care, but you knew whatever one you sold usually went to a horrible death as he loved to gloat about how much he loved abuse.
Dave could only afford bad colors who wouldn’t make it due to your lack of resources. You hated it, but regular customers were keeping the place alive. And they still do. Dave is an arrogant asswipe who doesn’t even deserve the arrogance he carries as he takes pride in his outward love of abuse. He’s one of the ones you point out when the FBI agents pop in for a chat as a potential risk. And the less you had to deal with him, the better. Abuse customers are better when they are quiet about it. As you grew your business, your prices got steeper and your care got significantly better. Your foals and adult fluffies were getting expensive over time as Dave’s tastes “matured” and he became more picky.
Dave didn’t like it. He was an office working man now. He dropped the nu-metal. He drove a bog standard company car. He didn’t have the time he used to have for abuse but you knew he needed it, he craved it. He wanted to break them down. He almost saw your care as a challenge. He didn’t even want to pick up a feral from the park and felt it “beneath” him. It was almost as if he was addicted to your product. Every two weeks he dropped the money on a premium fluffy. No accessories. He demanded colors. “I don’t want a brown shitrat that looks like a turd! I want one that thinks it’s going to a loving home!” he would exclaim. $50 to $100 per fluffy he paid. Just to kill it. Just for a thrill. Just to hold their life in his hands like an executioner.
You try not to judge normally. It biases your salesmanship. You know the different types of abuser. Some use abuse as a relief from the resentment in their life. Some project their rage at their own lives onto the fluffy. Some just want it to suffer as much as they do in their own life. Those usually break the quickest and regret their abusing ways when confronted with reality.
But Some want to make them suffer for sadistic pleasure. Some out of a narcissistic need to feel stronger than another species. You don’t try to understand them. If they want to abuse. There’s something wrong and evil with them. Full stop.
But Dave, Dave just wanted to feel powerful. To hold a life in his hands and snuff it out. He got his highs from taking lives. You can’t stop that, only keep notes on him you pass to the FBI when they visit you for their usual chat and keep tabs on the abusers. “Better fluffies than humans”, they dryly remark as they take your notes.
You respond back and tell Dave you are open to 5pm today but he’s to be quiet when he comes in.
Dave arrived with only thirty minutes to closing time. He wore only generic metal band t-shirt, jeans and steel toed boots. You smirked as you imagined him as a white collar office guy. “The foal you sold to me this morning broke almost instantly” he complained upon entering the store. You half expected a half torn foal thrown into your hands. Thankfully he spared you and the poor victim that indignity.
You retorted back with your usual spiel to abusers trying to take advantage of you. “You know they are fragile. No refunds on damaged goods”. You wish you didn’t have to say “Damaged goods”, but Fluffies are a product. A bio toy. Too much attachment, and you’ll never stay open
Dave fumed at you as he looked over to the adult pens. He wasn’t taking chances on his next one. An adult would have a sturdier constitution for his needs. He glared at the fluffies as he decided his next victim. You steel yourself. Your adults have been behaving lately and full of joy and love. You would be sorry to see any of them go to such a hateful home. The only thing you could do is just give them a final moment of happiness. Just that moment, a grey earthy mare with a silver mane trots along joyfully. She’s singing a song about “Pwetty nummies” in a cute but also tone deaf kind of way. Dave stares intently. Almost seething at the Mare’s song she was making up as it trotted along. He declares “I want that one”.
You take her file out of the folder to confirm her price.
Nimbus - Pegasus Type. Bad separation anxiety and socialising as a foal meant she couldn’t be sold. Developed through adolescence. Joyful. Caring. Often forgetful even for a fluffy. Repeated sorry boxings for forgetting where to poop though not malicious, anxiety issues. Constantly nervous and anxious if she thinks she did wrong or is scared. Sings. A lot (Potential irritation). Designer shade of grey and silver mane is extremely valuable at the moment. Would do well as an intermediate owner’s fluffy who can comfort her with noise and anxiety or sell to another breeder who has high standards and is willing to take it slow with her. Alicorn genes in generation line. High grade price. $300
Nimbus. One of the best coloration’s you had in stock. Unfortunately for her, you struck gold with the litter she was in and her unicorn color twin, Cumulus, had developed better behavior and could be trusted with foals. Cumulus never made it to sale as you kept her as a breeder. She was due for her first studding soon. Nimbus had problems. She was never picked out of the foal pen due to her constant anxiety around potential owners. Some extra training and some time in the free range pen calmed her down but she wasn’t a beginners fluffy, neither was she a cheap one with those genes. You hoped to sell her to another breeder but meetings never went well. Some breeders think she’s too “Skittish”. One obvious mill jockey claimed she couldn’t justify buying her because “She’d die of a heart attack once put in the cage”.
“This one’s $300, Dave. But she’s not exactly A-B-U-S-E material” you spell out. You spell because even the fluffies know what the A-word means since some stupid abuse customers talk about it and the fluffies obviously don’t like it. Also why you have a rule to your abuse customers to not talk about abuse in the store.
You try to talk some sense into Dave. “She’s more of a fluffy for experienced owners who might want to breed her once for good colored foals, Dave. Just let it go and come back some other time” you sigh. You know this is a really bad idea on Dave’s part.
You hoped maybe he might back off when he sees the price. He paid $80 this morning for that foal. His budget might be limited to buying a new one and there’s no budget foals available for him.
“Hewwo daddeh! Hewwo nice nistah! Nyu fwend?” Nimbus giggles as she waves her stumpy hoof at you. The rage builds in Dave’s eyes. Nimbus’ very existence on this plane of reality makes him extremely outraged every single second he lays eyes on her.
“I. Dont. Care. I want that fluffy”
“That one’s a designer shade, $300 and I’m not sure she’s what you want. She’s very mentally slight” you start to pitch him out and just get him to go the fuck home. It’s cut off instantly.
Dave immediately puts his hand in his pocket and pulls out three crisp, green hundred dollar notes. “I will give you three hundred bucks. I don’t care. Just give me the goddamn fluffy”
He really wants the fluffy. Dave’s salary can’t even handle this but he’s so pissed off you could sell it for $1000 and he’d pay gladly. $300 is impossible to turn down for you, especially since you have had hard luck selling Nimbus to breeders or owners. Maybe abuse is her unfortunate and unwarranted fate. You frown as you call over the fluffy.
“Nimbus, come on over here. You’re getting a new daddy”
The joy in the little fluffies heart was unbridled as she was informed. She ran and played with the other fluffies, hugging them goodbye. Soon she waddled over, her tail wagging and wings fluttering in excitement. She didn’t know what was coming. She didn’t need to know.
You leave Nimbus on the worktop at the back of the room as you get Dave to sign the ownership forms again. The fluffy coo’s in your arms as you set her down. He passes over the money as you return back to prepare Nimbus for her journey.
“I paid for her, now give me her” Dave fumes, eager to get it done.
“You know the drill. I prepare her and give her a physical. I’ll give her to you when she’s ready” you remind him.
“I need my FIX, man. I want to take IT now. It doesn’t need a physical. I don’t care” Dave fumes as he raises his tone of voice
“You can’t take HER now. You know the rules. No fluffy leaves without an examination”. You childishly match the tone back. You know better but Dave is really on your nerves right now.
“I JUST PAID THREE HUNDRED BUCKS FOR YOUR FAGGOT HUGBOX SHITRAT. I WANT IT NOW! I NEED TO HURT IT NOW” Dave screamed as he almost seemed to reach over for it. His face turning red from fury
“Huuuu-SCAWY!”
“Nu wan!”
“Munstah!”
The fluffies in the pens hide and scatter. Nimbus almost looks terrified and begins to wail on the table behind. The air is filled with the cries of frightened fluffies.
“FLUFFIES. DADDY SAYS STOP” you command. The crying almost ceases immediately as your voice of authority cuts through the air. They were trained for that command even if you never had to use it often. They run off into their various shelters in their pens and form fluffpiles for “Quiet time”, just like you taught them.
You stood at your desk. Looking at the enraged man in the eye. You keep one arm under the desk feeling for the Baseball bat. Just in case it escalates. You only had to do it once but you can do it again.
“Dave. Leave and go sit in the car. If you don’t, I will make you leave and you won’t get this fluffy. I will call the cops, ban you from this store and I will make sure every breeder and shelter worth a damn will never give you a good fluffy again. You will be picking up diseased ferals out of the park or mill fluffies that die as soon as you expose them to fresh air for the rest of your life. Go sit in your car. I will deliver her when she’s ready, if you haven’t even killed her from fright already”
Dave harrumphed as he walked outside to back down. He’d rather have the fluffy than his pride. Sadly, you need that $300 more than your own wounded pride.
You shake from the adrenaline running through you. You don’t often have confrontations, but they imprint on you every time. You walk around to the shaken and sobbing fluffy and take her in your arms. You calm and reassure her as you take her back to the preparation area. She was physically OK. Outside of a small clean after she pissed herself, you dry her off for her final meal.
“You are a good fluffy Nimbus. I want you to remember that. Old daddy loves you very much” you hugged her and tried to calm her down. You poured out a final bowl of spaghetti for the condemned. She sobbed as she munched through her spaghetti out of instinct. You tried to calm her, but she seemed to pull away.
That’s when you knew. She couldn’t even find joy in spaghetti.
Nimbus didn’t even want to look at you.
She avoided your eye contact throughout.
She figured it out from Dave’s screaming.
She knows.
She knows you are giving her straight to the monster.
She knows you are giving her straight to the monster who will torture her, hurt her, and make her suffer for the rest of her short fluffy life.
She knows she is going to die because of you.
She almost feels limp as you put her in the lined box. Ready to be transported to her doom. She barely stirs. You think she’s going to go catatonic. That would be a blessing.
You look in the window. She already has her back to you. Still sobbing quietly in the corner. A small dribble of urine is already forming under her from her fear.
You take the box outside and pass the box wordlessly to the man still steaming in the car. Neither of you want to talk to each other. And that’s just fine with you.
You go and close up. You walk outside before feeding time. You take out a pack of cigarettes, light one up and take a drag. You were responsible for two more fluffy deaths today. One knew you had betrayed her. She despised you. The fluffy you raised to be happy now hated your guts. You are not sure how many more you will ever be responsible for. Your body trembles in grief but you cannot let it get to you. If one doomed fluffy gets to you, they all do.
Dave almost sped home with glee with his new, expensive fluffy pony. That fucking faggot hugbox breeder. If only he handed over the shitrat instantly he wouldn’t be angry and speeding home to try make the most of his spare time. He needed his fix and he was going to make up for it. Forget a weekend. This fluffy was going to be his long term project he thought. He was going to make it last months. Years, even. Pillowfluffing it, getting it raped by a horny stallion hopped up on fluffy viagra and then forcing her to eat the foals. All these delicious possibilities swirled in his mind as he bolted down the road on the way one.
The scared fluffy could even feel the speed as she curled up into a ball, awaiting her own demise
Dave almost kicked down the door trying to get into the house. He grabbed the fluffy out of the box by the mane and slammed her on the restraining table he made. There was no time for theatrics. He needed his fix now and then he would enact his master plan.
“YOU FUCKING SHITRAT” Dave screamed as he tied her down “I PAID THREE HUNDRED BUCKS FOR YOU SO YOU BETTER BE WORTH IT” he screamed in her face
Nimbus only sobbed as she was tied down. Dave took out his various implements of torture. A hammer, a saw, a soldering gun, a curling iron. He was sweating. He was almost there. He was almost about to his fix. He triumphantly declared to the fluffy his intentions
“i’M GONNA HURT YOU REALLY BAD. I DON’T EVEN FUCKING CARE IF YOU ARE A GOOD FLUFFY. YOU DIE WHEN I GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO!”
Dave stood expectantly waiting for an answer
Chirp
The fluffy’s eyes were closed. It’s legs looked like it was trying to move to a foetal position even when it’s body was restrained. Dave stood shocked as the fluffy’s mind closed over and went into pure defense mode.
“L-LOOK AT ME WHEN I’M SPEAKING. RESPOND. TO. ME”
He slapped the fluffy in the face with each punctuation
The fluffy only responded to the pain with one sound
Chiiiiirp. Peep. Peep. Peep
Dave kicked over the stand angrily again. The fluffy mewled in pain on the floor and chirped in distress.It’s back leg bent backwards at an awkward angle.
Three hundred bucks. Three hundred bucks and within minutes it was cheeping like a foal because he scared it back to a foal like state. How could he have power over something that couldn’t talk back? How could he enact a months long plan of torture and misery on something that has had its mind broken. He’s not a faggot hugboxer. He’s not got the time or money to nurse this thing back to heath and break it again. Raise a fluffy? Fuck no! Dave got angry again. This fluffy, it had wasted its time. It has wasted his money. It had waste his LIFE.
The brave fluffy was trying to crawl away as Dave walked over. He angrily stamped on Nimbus with his boot. First, he crushed the rest of its legs by repeatedly stamping on them
The fluffy chirped in distress as it was mercilessly stomped upon and it’s legs shattered
“Three hundred fucking dollars! You fucking weak shitrat!”
Chirp!
Nimbus was struggling to stay alive as Dave picked her up. Her mangled legs dangling in the air.
“Fuck you, I’m not even going to kill you myself”
He marched outside and threw her hard into the trash can. Dave didn’t even care.
After returning inside and sitting on his couch. Dave he buried his head in his hands. He just burned his spare cash on the most expensive fluffy he could. Now he had no more cash for fluffies for months. It didn’t give him the satisfaction of begging for death let alone the months of torture he planned.
He sat down against the wall and grabbed his legs towards him
No more fix for months.
He needed his fix.
You are the responsible breeder. You have just finished up locking up the store and feeding the fluffies their evening meal. A familiar buzz goes off in your pocket as your phone begins to ring. You answer the phone
“YOU COCKSUCKER. YOU SOLD ME A BAD FLUFFY AGAIN. IT JUST BROKE INSTANTLY WHEN I GOT IN”
Dave was clearly unhappy. You reply snappily
“I told you before I don’t want to hear abuse stories”
“YOU MOTHERFUCKER. I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU. YOU BETTER GIVE ME A REFUND. I NEED MY FIX”
“And you would have if you didn’t scare the shit out of it and let it know you were going to kill it you dumb fuck! Don’t come to the store again or I’m calling the cops!”
You hang up the phone and block his number, finally. Fuck that guy. No one threatens you no matter how much money they give you. You immediately call the sheriff’s office to let them know. You’ve helped clean up feral fluffy problems for them in the past, they owe you one. You’ll fire off an email with Dave’s details to every shelter and reputable breeder in the county so they can flag him and never sell him a fluffy again. But it weighs on your mind. You are nervous. You have had threats before from local Hugboxers and abusers. None of those were credible and the ones taking lives for pleasure were doing it to fluffies but you couldn’t let your guard down. You are armed. But you never needed to shoot before.
You go down to the breeder pens. You need to calm down The stallions and mares are yawning and winding down for the day. Some are already in their beds. Some are batting around balls or just milling around with the blocks before they fall asleep. Then you see her.
Cumulus. She is stacking some blocks eagerly. She waves hello as she spots you. You take her out of the pen sit her on your lap
“Wuv huggies fwom daddeh” she babbles in her lap. You could use a comforting hug too considering what you just did to her sister. And now someone wants you dead for it.
The sheriff’s office calls back with the Sheriff himself on the line. They are going to swing by on patrol tonight. Dave is known to them but they don’t think he’ll act. The sherrif even jokes if he could buy a fluffy for his daughter on his way over. It only eases your mind slightly but it still is enough to calm down a little.
Cumulus then asks a question you hoped you never had to hear “Daddeh, where Nimbuws?”
You almost choke back. You didn’t expect her to remember her identical sister. “Nimbus….Nimbus was a very good fluffy. She went away to be a very good fluffy and give lots of hugs”
“Cumuwus wan be gud fwuffy” she yawned as she settled in on your lap.
“I’m sure you will be a good fluffy too” you respond as you pet the fluffy gently.
You look over the breeder sheets and schedule. You jot down cumulus to breed with Mono. He’s gentle and mares like him. Should produce good colors. The fluffy falls asleep, providing a small warm comfort to you as you plan your breeding schedule to be advanced forward.
The show must go on. You have a responsibility to keep the place open.
Nimbus chirped as she sat in the trash. Boo boo juice was leaking out of her body from her shattered and mangled legs. Her ribs were cracked from the fall. She didn’t have long left. The munsta hurt her bad. But when she saw the eyes of the munsta as he threw her outside, she knew she hurt the munsta just as bad. “Wuv sissy…” she croaked as the forever sleep took her pain away for good.
