“So, you still have that fluffy?” Neil asked, not really interested, just making conversation.
“Yep,” replied Annie, not taking her eyes of the road. “Don’t have any intention of getting rid of him yet.” Short, curt responses were the norm when Annie was driving, so Neil didn’t take it personally. She hated driving almost as much as she hated letting anyone else drive, so tended to fixate on the task at hand. Neil knew it’d help if there was something else to do, though. He’d known her long enough to have figured that out.
“I thought you would’ve given him to a shelter by now or killed him. Didn’t you get him for like one tenth the normal price for a Dashie, even a male?”
“Yeah, the seller was desperate since they couldn’t correct his bad behavior. I’ve got it under control now, though. Took a while but at least he’s not shitting on the floor anymore. I honestly considered just killing him and being done with it or pillowing him and giving up on breeding him but we worked it out.”
“Still…a smartie? You think those dumbasses will ever actually behave? He’s probably just waiting for you to calm down before he starts causing problems again.”
“Like I said, we worked it out. I don’t think he’ll be a problem in the future.”
…
Not Long Ago
…
Dashie cowered in the corner of his pen, hoping that hiding behind his mummah would somehow protect him. He was a bad fluffy! He’d made bad poopies! He was going to get the sorry-box and maybe (he trembled at the idea) the sorry-stick too! He was full of regret, wishing so bad he could go back and change his decision to continue playing instead of running to the litterbox, but now it was too late.
Of course, his attempts at hiding were useless, as his mummah immediately sold him out for the sake of being a good fluffy. As he was dragged out of his hiding spot he heard the part-timer telling him that for hiding he was going to get the sorry-stick, and for the bad poopies he’d get the sorry box. He squeezed his eyes closed, feeling dampness from his tears, and tried not to make scardie-poopies.
He heard the fwooshing sound of the sorry-stick passing through the air, back and forth above him, and he braced himself. He’d seen his brothers and sisters get punished with the sorry-stick, heard them shrieking in pain he couldn’t imagine, but he’d never been a bad babbeh himself. How bad was it going to be? As bad as sorry-hoofsies from mummah? Worse?
He heard the stick change directions, heading for him, and braced himself. He just had to endure, but it was hard when he knew that right after he’d go into the sorry-box. More than anything, he wished he had just been a good babbeh. Then, as the sorry-stick struck him, something magical happened.
…
Present
…
Neil’s heavy boots thumped as he made his way up the path to the door. Annie snickered when one of the stones shifted under his weight and he almost fell. He just grunted, not giving her the satisfaction. If you let Annie get you riled up with her pranks you’d never see the end of it. He’d learned that back in high school.
The two had been friends for as long as they could remember. Despite the obvious cliche, their friendship was purely platonic. Well, that was always going to be the case given that neither of them were the least bit interested in what the other had to offer in that regard. Maybe that was why they’d always been so close, without any tension to complicate things.
They were, in a technical sense, dating, if only because it was mutually beneficial. Their false relationship let them avoid the constant pestering about when they’d get married or have kids that’d started when they left college. In reality, Neil would much rather spend time working on antique clocks, and Annie was a workaholic with no time for relationships.
Of course, they were still quite close, just not in that way, so sometimes they’d stay over if it was easier than going home. They lived on opposite sides of the metropolitan area, so that happened a lot, especially when traffic was bad, which was most of the time. Such was the case today, since Neil’s work had brought him to this side of town.
“Come on,” Annie said, indicating for Neil to follow her to one of the two guest rooms in old, but well-maintained, property she’d inherited from her grandmother.
“Hmm?” Neil responded.
“You wanted to see the fluffy, right?”
“Not really, I honestly don’t care about biotoys or artificial pets or whatever-the-hell we’re supposed to call them now.”
“It’ll be fun, I promise. I need to take care of him before dinner anyway.”
Once in the saferoom, a high-pitched voice called out. “Mummah! Dashie am gud fwuffy today! Nu make bad poopies!”
Annie looked around the saferoom, a grim, almost furious expression Neil had never seen before on her face. Suddenly her eyes seized on a block, slightly out of place. “That’s what you call being good, shitrat?” she growled. “Bring me the sorry-stick.”
“Nuuuu! Nu wan! Pwease, mummah!”
“Annie, what-”
“Shut it. Dashie, bring me the sorry-stick. I’ve told you a thousand times not to leave you toys around the place.”
“Huuhuuhuu! Dashie am sowwy! Nu mean tu weabe toysies awound! Dashie were tuu sweepy and gu sweepies befowe coud cwean toysies! Pwease nu sowwy-stick!” Dashie whined, but obediently got the sorry-stick. Neil recognized it as one of the more popular types, a flat fly-swatter-like design that maximized pain but couldn’t cause injuries unless you went seriously overboard with it.
“It’s just a block, Annie,” he said, trying to make sense of the side of his best friend he’d never seen.
“And he knows better. Dashie, if you don’t hurry up…”
Dashie broke into a run. “Huuhuuhuu! Dashie sowwy! Nu gib mowe huwties! Dashie nu wan!”
Annie’s face took on a sneer as she yanked the sorry-stick out of the sobbing fluffy’s grasp and began viciously striking him. After about a minute of this, she finally stopped, breathing heavily. “Get in the sorry-box. No dinner for you. If you’re good I’ll consider letting you eat after I have dinner. If not you can just go hungry, stupid piece of shit. You should’ve just died like your whore mother.”
Neil just followed Annie out wordlessly as the fluffy, trailing tears and snot, climbed up the inclined ramp and fell into the sorry-box, collapsing in the bottom and blurting out apologies. “Dashie am sowwy! Dashie am wowstest fwuffy ebah! Pwease, mummah, wub Dashie! Dashie nu wan be bad fwuffy! Onwy wan wub!”
…
“Okay, what the hell? I thought you-”
“Neil, listen. When I need your opinion on raising a fluffy, I’ll ask for it, okay? It was this or the meatgrinder, which do you think he prefers?”
“No wonder he misbehaves! Fluffies need care, not whatever that was! It was just a block, Annie. If you’re going to treat him like this you might as well just kill him and get it done already.”
“I told you, I know what I’m doing. Let’s just drop it, okay?”
Neil fell silent, eating in quiet. What the hell? He’d heard that fluffies could bring out the worst in people, but until now Annie had shown nothing but care for the creatures. Had Dashie been that bad as to change her behavior that much? What could a fluffy do to deserve that kind of treatment?
They finished eating, and Annie stood up, gesturing for Neil to follow her back to the saferoom. He balked, and she rolled her eyes. “Come on. If you leave like this you’ll have entirely the wrong idea.”
…
As they entered the saferoom once again Neil heard Dashie sobbing in the sorry-box. “Huuhuuhuu! Wowstest tummeh-owwies! Nu wike sowwy-box! Wan nummies! Nee’ make peepees! Pwease, mummah, Dashie pwomise wiww be gud!”
Annie silently walked up to the sorry-box and pulled the helpless fluffy out by his scruff, drawing a wail of “BAD UPSIES!” and another torrent of tears. Dropping the colt in the litterbox she gave him a slap with the sorry-stick. “Do you business. If you make a mess I’m not going to be happy.”
Dashie complied, looking up at Annie with tears in his eyes. “Dashie make good peepees! Dashie am gud fwuffy nao? Mummah no hate Dashie?”
Annie didn’t take that well, beginning to beat the cowering fluffy once again. “Good? What part of you is good? Fuck you, Dashie. I wish I’d never bought you. You belong in the meat grinder with the rest of your worthless fucking family. You don’t deserve love, do you understand? You’re just my punching bag until I get tired of you, pillow you, and toss you in the gutter for the ferals to enf to death.”
“Nuuuuu! Nu wan! Pwease, mummah! Dashie nu nyo wut du wong bu’ nu wiww 'gain! Huuhuuhuu! Dashie am sowwy! Nu mowe huwties! Nu mowe! NU MOWE!”
Annie responded by grabbing the colt, forcing his face closer and closer to the newly-damp section of litter. “You want dinner? Well, here’s your dinner. Eat it all or I’ll cut your nu-nus off and make you eat those instead.”
Neil finally stopped hesitating. He’d been willing to assume Annie knew what she was doing, but this was far too far. There was punishment, and then there was abuse, and this clearly crossed the line. He was about to pull her away from Dashie when the colt made a strange sigh and said, in a perfectly normal voice, “Banana.”
Annie released the colt immediately and stepped away. “Damn, Dashie, really making me work for it. You hungry?”
“Dashie wan nummies, pwease, mummah. Tank 'ou.”
“Okay. It’s sketties day, but if you want-”
“Sketties am gud. Hewwo, nice mistuh. Am nyu daddeh?”
“No, I’m…what the fuck just happened?”
Annie winced, rolling her shoulder. “Damn, my arm’s tired. Dashie, next time we’re going to have to skip the sorry-stick. I’ll try to find something else, but that’s too much work.” Her composure finally cracked and she started giggling maniacally. “The look on your face!” she chortled. “Hell, Neil, I’ve never seen you so worked up! That was great!”
Neil couldn’t find words, and Annie finally took pity on him. “Dashie here likes it rough, really rough. He gets off on it, and boy was life miserable until I figured that out. He’d make messes every day to get punished. Now we’ve figured something out, though. Isn’t that right, Dashie?”
“Dashie am gud an’ mummah gib huwties,” Dashie explained through a mouth full of kibble. “Dashie wub sowwy-stick an’ sowwy-box. Num peepees am tuu much, tho, mummah.”
“See? I know what I’m doing, Neil. Now I just need to figure out how the hell we’re going to breed him without traumatizing the mare…”
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I need more of this genre. This pleases me immensely.
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