(This is a sequel to ‘Monster Mama’, if you haven’t read that first, you won’t know who Frank or Rosie are)
“DADDEH! HEWP!” Rosie’s voice called across the pet-store.
Frank immediately threw down his newspaper and bolted down the aisles, grateful that it was a slow business day and there were no customers for him to dodge.
“What’s wrong, Rosie?” He asked, skidding to a halt at the pen of fluffy ponies.
“Dat fwuffeh gib owies to babbehs!” Rosie said, pointing a hoof through gaps in the wooden fence that surrounded the pen. Frank looked in, and grimaced.
It was Oscar.
Again.
Oscar had been something of an unusual case. Most of the pet-store’s for-sale fluffies were born and raised in the store, some lived there for their entire lives and were survived by their own litters. But every now and then, there would be an unexpected newcomer.
Some pet owners who had lost interest in them, or felt the need to get rid of their fluffies following some kind of household accident. Once or twice, if the fluffy itself had some good colors or was well-behaved enough, they’d even be picked up off the street and taken to the store to live a happy, healthy, safe life.
But Oscar was an exception.
Ms Wilson (formerly Mrs) had a friend who’s son’s co-worker’s neighbour’s cousin’s father-in-law’s niece had a fluffy pony named Oscar. She’d gotten him as a foal and had raised him as best she could… but the niece in question had been seventeen at the time, and now, after a few years of taking care of Oscar, was going away to college for a year at minimum.
Which meant leaving Oscar behind.
But the simple truth was her family had no interest in caring for the animal, and the niece herself had only considered it a passing interest more than anything… she’d actually found it often more annoying than not.
So the decision was made: Oscar had to go.
And go he did, to Ms Wilson, who was the sole surviving owner of a pet-store that specialised in fluffies. Oscar came in one morning in his pet-carrier, got to know everyone in the pen and was soon let out to play with them.
And so Oscar had become part of the group, fitting in nicely with his bright yellow fluff and his deep purple mane. Most of the other fluffies liked him, even if he did seem a bit snobby at times… but before long, there had been some incidents.
It started when Oscar had been approached by a mare who wanted to be his special-friend. She was a dull and dusty green colour, and Oscar had, in very blunt terms, called her ugly to her face and sent her running away crying.
Of course, Frank had stepped in, but Oscar was difficult to reason with.
Frank had never met Ms Wilson’s friend’s son’s co-worker’s neighbour’s cousin’s father-in-law’s niece, but he began to learn a fair bit about her through Oscar and his perceptions of the world.
According to Oscar, he was the prettiest fluffy who had ever lived, with his gorgeous purple mane and his golden sunny coat. That, he explained, was why he screamed bloody murder when another fluffy, a messy eater, had splashed some kibble juices on his pristine fur.
Not only that, Frank learned, but Oscar also had very high standards for the fluffies he associated with. He told Frank, in the usual fluffy pony babble, that the rest of the fluffies in the pen were all ugly. They either had dull colors in their coats, or had stupid manes, or just plain ugly faces. Their legs were too short, their snouts were too long, their eyes were too big, their wings were too tiny…
Oscar seemed impossible to please, so Frank had attempted to explain to him that his understanding of things wasn’t exactly correct… but that went absolutely nowhere. Then again he hadn’t expected much, since his conversation with Oscar amounted to ‘you’re not as pretty as you think you are, you’re no better than the ugly ones, so stop acting otherwise.’
Naturally, Oscar didn’t listen to that, and continued to insist he was the prettiest fluffy ever.
Frank had given him a time-out in a sorry box for a few hours, then let him back into the pen, on the condition that he apologised to the green mare. Oscar agreed, but his apology wasn’t exactly genuine.
“Oscaw am sowwy fow cawwin’ yoo ugwy. It nu yoo fauwt yoo hab ugwy fwuff n’ a dummeh facesy.” He said to the mare, who was still crying after Oscar’s bitter rejection of her. Of course, his ‘apology’ made her cry all over again, and Oscar spent the entire night in the sorry box for that.
He was let out the next morning, and came out absolutely filthy from his own shit and piss. After that he seemed to show some improvement, albeit only technically.
Frank noticed that Oscar wasn’t insulting other fluffies anymore… but only because he wasn’t actually talking to any of them at all. He just kept himself to himself, played by himself, ate silently, and never seemed to pay any real attention to the other fluffies.
But hey, Frank considered it a win. As long as he wasn’t actively causing trouble, he could do whatever the fuck he wanted.
Then, after a week of relative peace, it happened again.
A dark blue mare and a sand-brown stallion had decided to have special-huggies together, only for Oscar to interrupt them, mid-enf of all things, with a hoof to the male’s face. When Frank asked what the fuck he was doing, Oscar explained thusly:
“Dem fwuff colows aww wwong! Bwue mawe an’ poopie stawwion gonna make ugwy babbehs! Ugwy babbehs awe nu gud babbehs, nu gud fow nuffin’! Nu waste time wif dummeh ugwy babbehs, mawe hab speshul-huggies wif a pwetty stawwion instead! Den hab goodest, pwettiest babbehs!”
Another trip to the sorry box. Frank considered letting him out after a few hours, only to discover that the mare and stallion had broken up after Oscar’s intervention, actually having listened to him and, of all things, agreed with him.
“Nu wan make ugwy bad babbehs…” The stallion sobbed, crying into his fluffy hooves as his sudden ex already prompted some other stallions if they wanted to be her special-friend instead.
Oscar spent another full night in the sorry-box, and once more came out resigned and miserable after having spent the night forced to stand upright in a pool of his own feces and urine.
Frank then made it very clear to him: Oscar’s snobby, obnoxious, arrogant and entitled attitude needed to be gone for good. If Frank heard even one whisper of him calling other fluffies ugly or trying to dictate who should be with who to create the prettiest babies or not… he was going to make sure that Oscar regretted it once and for all.
Oscar was dumped back into the pen shortly after, but Frank was a cautious man. He went online and made some preparations, just in case Oscar misbehaved. And once again, for about a week or so things went fine, mostly since Oscar was sulking for most of it… then it happened.
As it always seemed to fucking happen in Ms Wilson’s pet-store, it happened with a mare giving birth.
Frank had come over to keep an eye on things and help out when necessary, while his own alicorn fluffy Rosie peeped through the fence with nervous eyes, until finally all the foals were born. A full litter of five, and all in varying colors. No alicorns, but Frank hadn’t needed to worry about that anyway… not after last time.
He’d left mama alone to clean her babies and had left after everything seemed fine… but Rosie hadn’t. Rosie had stayed by the fence and kept an eye on everything, just in case.
And sure enough, something went wrong, and she immediately screamed for Frank to come and help.
What Frank saw, in the pen, was Oscar up to his usual bullshit, but worse than ever before.
He had waddled over to the mama and her five newborn foals, had apparently looked them over and decided they weren’t worth the effort of raising, due to being ‘ugly’.
“Dis a dummeh bad babbeh,” He argued, kicking one of the foals away from mama’s embrace and resting his hoof on it’s head. “Wook at it’s ugwy colows! Dis ugwy babbeh nebah gonna get a nyu homesy! Stoopid fwuffies don’t unna’stan! Ugwy babbehs gud fow nuffin…”
He raised his hoof.
“Nuffin but owies!”
Frank snatched Oscar up before he could bring his hoof back down again.
“EEP! BAD UPSIES!” He squealed. Frank checked that the mother had reclaimed her stray foal, and was giving it an extra gentle, but extra warm hug to make up for it’s momentary separation. With that taken care of, he swivelled his eyes back around to look at Oscar.
“Oscar. What the fuck are you doing?” He hissed. The fluffies in the pen squeaked about ‘bad wowds’, but otherwise remained silent, watching and waiting to see what happened next.
“Hrmph!” Oscar snorted. “Dummeh babbehs bown ugwy! Nee’ biggest owies! Den make new, bettah babbehs in bettah colows! Colows wike Oscaw’s! Pwetty colows so get nyu homesies!”
“Oscar… I’ve been fair to you. Your last owner was a ditz who thought the only thing that mattered in life was looking pretty, and filled your head with mountains of bullshit about what that meant and why it was so important. Now I’ve tried being fair, I’ve given you warnings and even punished you, but you just refuse to change.”
Frank lifted him higher, holding him up as an example for the rest of the herd to see.
“So now you’re gonna really regret it.”
He glanced down at Rosie, who was glaring up at Oscar.
“Rosie, hon, do me a favor, keep an eye on the others won’t you? Any more trouble, just shout.”
“Otay daddeh!” Rosie replied, nodding her head firmly. It made Frank smile, she looked almost like a little pink soldier.
“Good girl. Now, I’m gonna go teach Oscar a lesson he won’t soon forget.”
Frank carried Oscar through to the grooming room at the back of the pet-store.
It had originally been a large store-room they had simply never needed to use. Every week the fluffies were taken one by one to the staff room and given a basic grooming, which consisted of a cold water wash, a brush and a basic health check (do they have all their teeth, do they have any bruises, are they walking okay, etc…)
But the store-room was closer to the pen, and had more space, so Frank had suggested they turn it into a full-on grooming area for the fluffies. Nothing fancy, no serious equipment or fashion magazines for the fluffies to read while their manes were given a blow-dry, nothing like that. Just some proper tools and chemicals for hair-care, a large basin in the center, and some other odds and ends they needed now and then.
This is where Frank took Oscar, as he placed him in the metal basin used for giving fluffies a bath.
“Oscar, I have a question for you.” Frank asked him. “Who do you think is the prettiest fluffy in the world?”
“Oscaw!” Oscar immediately replied. He hadn’t even needed to think about it.
“Ah, I see.” Frank replied, nodding. “And why is that?”
“Because of fwuff!” Oscar replied, looking at himself as best he could in the limited space of the basin. It was true, his dark purple mane and his vibrant yellow fluff made a striking combo, it was easy to see why someone had bought him, Oscar looked like the kind of fluffy you saw on posters or TV adverts specifically for fluffy pony products and services.
“I thought as much.” Frank replied, reaching into one of the drawers full of grooming equipment and withdrawing something. “So your fluff is what makes you pretty, right?”
“Yus!” Oscar replied brightly. “Oscaw fwuff am pwettiest fwuff ebah!”
“Good, good…” Frank replied, flicking a switch on the device in his hand. It let out a quiet buzzing sound, which grabbed Oscar’s attention fully.
“Because now we’re gonna see how pretty you look without your fluff.”
Before Oscar could react, Frank grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pressed the trimmer into his thick yellow fur, the buzzing sound becoming a roaring drone as it tugged and tore at Oscar’s fluffy body.
“EEP! NU! NU TAKE FWUFF! OSCAW NEE’ FWUFF!!!” He squeaked and squealed, thrashing around in Frank’s grip as the razor ran back and forth across his body.
Of course, the item itself was designed with safety in mind, it was impossible for Oscar to be injured by it, and although Frank found himself wishing that wasn’t the case, it was still for the best. They might just be able to sell Oscar at some point, if he ever learned to behave himself.
And with any luck, that’s exactly what this little experience would help him learn about.
Frank clicked the trimmer off a few minutes later and picked up Oscar properly, letting him look down at the basin he had been standing in. There, in various clumped heaps, was his fluff. Brilliant yellow, dark purple, all scattered and forlorn.
Oscar shivered violently as his suddenly hairless body felt the cold, still air of the room around him. Frank turned a tap, and a small trickle of water came and washed it all away down the drain. Oscar had already been crying from the fear of the trimmer, as well as the horror of losing his fluff, but now, seeing it actually vanishing into the darkness like that… it made him cry all over again.
Frank picked up a hand-mirror, normally used to show fluffies how pretty and clean they were after a bath, to help them remember why bath-time was important for them… but now, it was being used to damage Oscar.
Oscar looked into the mirror, and saw something hideous staring back at him. A fat pig-like creature with a snivelling nose and bulging, tear-filled eyes, wheezing for breath and sniffling as it cried in absolute misery.
Then Oscar realised the creature in the mirror was himself.
“WA-A-AH!” He wailed, thrashing his stubby, hairless legs around wildly. "OSCAW UH-UH-UGWY!!!"
“That’s right.” Frank added, putting Oscar back in the basin. “Now your outside matches your inside.”
Oscar snivelled and snorted for a while, crying and wailing in the basin, until he finally cried himself out and was left whimpering ‘hu-hu-hu’ to himself, eyes clamped shut so he didn’t have to look at how ugly he was in the dull reflection of the basin’s metal walls and floor.
But Frank wasn’t done with him yet.
“Hey, Oscar.” He called, getting Oscar’s attention once more. “Tell me something. Why did you want to kill that foal?”
“Hrmph.” Oscar snorted, shivering all the while. “Dummeh b-babbeh desewbe it! Dummeh b-babbeh hab b-b-bad colows! Stoopid b-babbeh, nu be b-bown wight, stoopid d-d-dummeh…”
Frank had only briefly seen the foal, but it looked fine to him. A soft lilac coat with a fuschia mane, not bad at all. But then again, Frank also liked alicorns, and he knew how fluffy ponies felt about them…
“Oscar, tell me something.” Frank began again. “Do you know why the sorry-stick was invented?”
The shivering fluffy didn’t answer, so he continued. “It was invented because bad fluffies, such as yourself, were always covered in such thick fluff that other punishments simply weren’t plausible. Your dense coat would impede any kind of impacts, and your bodies were too fragile to survive anything more severe. So the sorry-stick was created. A flexible piece of plastic that would act like a whip, slapping into your body to deliver a jolt of pain through the fluff, without actually breaking the skin. Of course, there were many home-made versions that would do far worse things…”
He trailed off, and opened the drawer set into the table, extracting something that was most definitely not a typical sorry-stick.
“…such as this.”
What he held in his hands was, very simply, a common household fly-swatter. Made of cheap, bright yellow plastic, and with the typical mesh pattern on the flattened end. He gave it a few experimental swings in empty space, feeling the way the air lightly pushed back against the flattened end as he moved it.
He watched, noticing that Oscar was following it intently. Evidently he’d made the connection himself, that whatever this yellow thing was, it was going to be his sorry-stick for the evening.
Frank smiled, and swung the fly-swatter down suddenly, slicing it through the air and letting it’s flat end land with a hard ‘SLAP’ against the basin’s wall. Oscar let out a squeak of fear and shuffled backwards from it, but Frank was ready, and quickly swung the fly-swatter behind him, slapping it against the basin’s floor, close enough to Oscar’s prickly, just-shaven skin as to actually waft a small burst of wind against it.
“EEP! NU HUWTIES!” Oscar wailed, starting to cry as he tried to run away from the swatter.
Frank was ready for him though, and pistoned his arm out, grabbing Oscar by the clammy lump of loose skin at the back of his neck.
“Oh no you fucking don’t.” Frank said, dragging him back to the middle of the bench. “For once in your miserable life, you’re going to behave yourself. Understand me, shit for brains? You are going to sit here, and take your punishment like a good boy, or believe me, I’m going to make it so much worse for you.”
Oscar opened his mouth to say something, but Frank didn’t give him the opportunity. Instead, Frank simply pulled his arm back and swung forwards, slicing the fly-swatter through the air and letting it collide with a sharp ‘WHAP’ against Oscar’s shaved buttcheeks.
“EEP! OWIES! BOTTOM OWIES! PWEASE NU MOWE HUWTIES!”
“Cry me a river.” Frank responded.
“PWEASE NU MOWE! OSCAW SOWWY FOW BE MEANIE TO UGWY DUMMEH BABBEHS, NU MEAN IT! UGWY BABBEHS NU DAT BAD AFTER AWW! DUMMEH BABBEHS JUS’ A WIDDWE UGWY!”
Frank grimaced.
This was going to be harder than he thought.
He swung again, slapping the fly-swatter hard against Oscar’s ass and leaving a large red waffle-print square against his sensitive skin. Once again Oscar cried and wailed and sobbed, begging for forgiveness, pleading for freedom, but all while never being able to admit that the ‘ugly babies’ were in fact not ‘ugly babies’ at all.
“Oscar, why did you say that baby was ugly?”
“COS IT UGWY! HAB BAD COLO-”
WHAP
“OWIES! PWEASE NU MOWE HUWTIES!”
“Try again. Do you think that baby is ugly?”
“YUS! UGWY BABBEH HAB BAD CO-”
WHAP
“OW-W-WIES!!!”
Again and again the sorry-slapper thrashed Oscar’s delicate skin, slapping and spanking it’s way across his rear until the entire area was glowing red. Oscar’s shaved face was soaked with tears and snot, as he wheezed and whimpered with every breath.
The sorry-slapping continued for several minutes as Frank tested Oscar again and again, each time getting an inch closer to the answers he wanted.
Finally, Oscar broke.
“BABBEHS NU AM BAD! OSCAW AM BAD!” He wailed, his bright red rear throbbing with pain. “BABBEHS NU UGWY! OSCAW UGWY NAO! HUHUHU! PWEASE NU MOWE SPANKIES!”
Frank smiled and put the fly-swatter down.
“That’s right Oscar. You’re ugly now. You’re ugly because you misbehaved, and your punishment is to be ugly until your fluff grows back. And if you ever try and hurt any other fluffies like you did before, I’ll make you ugly all over again, got it?”
The bald fluffy shivered violently and nodded.
“Good… but there’s just one last thing…” Frank said with a cruel smile.
He walked over to a shelf and picked off a still-sealed Amazon branded cardboard box and tore it open, lifting out the plastic-wrapped contents.
Several minutes later, Oscar was carried back through to the pen. Rosie had stood guard as she had promised to, and saw them coming. She couldn’t contain her giggles at the sight of Oscar, which left the rest of the fluffies in the pen confused and frightened.
“Everybody, Oscar has something to say to you all.” Frank said, lifting him up for them all to see.
…and then the rest of the pen burst out laughing too.
Oscar wasn’t just completely hairless, which meant (to all fluffy pony eyes) that he looked like a complete fucking freak of nature, it was worse than that. In order to keep him warm without his fluff, Frank had provided Oscar with a tight-fitting sweater made from some cheap, itchy wool, the kind of tacky gift people buy for their dogs which leaves them in absolute misery while they have to wear it.
The sweater in question was hot pink and fit snugly around Oscar’s rotund body, cinching tight around his neck and belly, and leaving his rear completely exposed to the bitter, blistering cold of the store’s room-temperature atmosphere. Not only that but the tightness of it only accentuated how chubby Oscar was. All fluffy ponies were chubby (unless they were starving), but their fluff helped hide it. Without it, Oscar was nothing but a fat, bald little freak… and they all knew it.
Frank stood, holding Oscar aloft like Rafiki in ‘The Lion King’ as Oscar weakly struggled in his grip, the entire pen of fluffies cackling and giggling and snorting and wheezing at the sight of Oscar. His fluff was gone, he was wearing an ugly sweater, and best of all, best of all… the cold had caused his penis to shrivel and shrink, making it look absolutely tiny!
After a few minutes of guffawing and cackling, the fluffies in the pen finally needed to catch their breath, which allowed Frank to continue.
“Everyone, listen up. Oscar has somethig to say, isn’t that right, Oscar?” He asked. Oscar fidgeted and wriggled, but couldn’t get free, and finally relented.
“Oscaw am sowwy fow twy huwty babbehs… an’ fow be meany to oddah fwuffehs… Oscaw say yoo ugwy fwuffehs, buh… buh yoo nu ugwy, cos Oscaw am ugwy nao… hu-hu-hu…”
Frank lowered his arms and placed Oscar back in the pen with the others. The fluffies quickly went back to playing, dancing, babbling, etc… but there was a noticable increase in giggling.
Frank kept an eye on them for the rest of the day. As much as it pained him to admit it, Oscar was still his responsibility, and it would be all too easy for some of the other fluffies to start bullying him over his lack of fluff.
Fortunately none of them seemed interested… but that didn’t stop Oscar from being utterly miserable.
The sweater was too tight and itched constantly, his rear half was constantly cold which left him shivering, and his skin was so sensitive from all the spanking that he couldn’t even sit down on the rough hay making up the floor without the sharp edges aggravating his wounds.
Frank watched as the bald, sweater-wearing fluffy waddled aimlessly around the pen, quietly sobbing to itself as it alternated between shivering and stopping to paw at itself in a feeble attempt to scratch it’s many, many itches.
“Daddeh?” Rosie asked from beside him.
“What’s up, hon?”
“Pwease pway wif Wosie?” She asked, nudging a red rubber ball towards him. Frank smiled and picked it up, gently tossing it through the air. It didn’t travel far before hitting the floor and rolling, but Rosie was already on it, stopping it with her hooves and rolling it back to Frank with her nose.
“Hey, Rosie,” Frank asked as he picked up the ball again.
“Yus, daddeh?”
“If you had to think of ‘an ugly fluffy’, what would you think of?”
Rosie sat down and thought for a moment.
“Wosie dunno daddeh, aww fwuffehs awe pwetty!”
“What about Oscar? Is he ugly?”
Rosie thought about it, remembering how he looked, then giggled.
“Nu daddeh, Oscaw wook siwwy, but nu ugwy.”
“Even when he was being mean to other fluffies?”
“Nu, nu ugwy. Dat nu nice but stiww nu ugwy. Why?”
Frank smiled and tossed the ball again.
“No reason, hon. Just making sure of something is all.”
END.