Ultimatum, Part 2 (Turboencabulator)

Ultimatum, Part 2

By: Turboencabulator

Joe vigorously whisked together a Caesar dressing in the bottom of a bowl, listening on a baby
monitor as Clover sang a tinnitus-inducing song to the babies developing in her. Half of it was
from a program off the fluffy-centric channels her fluffy-specific TV displayed, and the other
half was somehow more inane. He made a mental note to get rid of that television when this was
all over. Reese was more interested in books, which suited Joe just fine.

After making the salad, he moved a portion into Clover’s bowl and delicately seasoned it with a
sedative, before a glance at the back of the counter made him pause.

A bottle of vodka stood there, and while Joe hated drinking, he kept it around just in case he
found a reason for it. Vodka sauce was a favorite of Clover’s, it turned out, so it hung around
on the back of the counter. Something about it caught his mind, and he turned the idea of it
over in his head as he took the salad in to Clover’s playroom.

She was already ballooning, her teats starting to get fat, and of course lightly speckled with
feces. Joe still had no idea why Clover was so much more flatulent than other fluffies, but he
supposed it was just another quirk.

“Daddeeeeeee!” She shouted, wiggling happily in her new Mummah-Rest™ bed. Marked down from an MSRP of $49.99 to six bucks when the consumer safety reports came out. “Babbies have

He smiled and set the salad down, gently putting a hand on her tummy. “Really? Can you tell how
many babies?”

One little thump on his palm later and he paused, thinking. Did the babies deserve this? What
would he do if he decided to let her have children?

“DUMMY! GIB NUMMIES!” Clover screeched, smacking his hand with her forehooves. In a flash his
concerns evaporated, and he booped her lightly on the nose, a fake smile plastered to his face.

“Now Clover. That’s not nice.” He said, sliding the bowl to her and standing up.

Clover wasn’t even registering he was talking to her. She noisily sucked down the salad,
grumbling about how she was going to make bestest babies even without sketty. It had taken a
few explanations that spaghetti was good when babies were already a few days on milk, not when
they were inside her, but it mostly stuck.

He picked up the empty bowl, fighting the urge to kick her into the wall like a soccer ball, and
went out, letting her get back to the nonsense song directed at her babies.

Joe closed the door and a thought pinged in his head. A quick trip to the laptop and some
research later and Joe found himself with a twisted smile on his face. He grabbed the bottle of
vodka and some other supplies, then waited for the sound of Clover sleeping.

Soon she was out, and Joe slipped in her room, crouching down by her. A quick flick on the teat
and she didn’t even react. Out like a light.

A spray of throat-numb from Joe’s last on-and-off girlfriend and a hose was down Clover’s
throat, just far enough, according to the internet, to be in her stomach. A dose of vodka was
poured down, and then the hose was withdrawn.

Joe left as quietly as he had come in, grinning to himself. He’d never seen what fetal alcohol
syndrome looked like in fluffies.

Reese was working through a basic picture book while Joe reviewed submissions for a short-story
contest. His boss had the brainwave that maybe open submissions for publishing in a collection
would bring some new blood into the mix. Almost all of it was garbage, but Joe didn’t mind, he
chewed through the submissions, one eye on Clover in her saferoom. She was due any day now, and
a combination of vodka and some choice drugs for abusers had left her feeling tired, and a
little nauseous, but she just put that down to first-time mummahing. After Joe had let her
think she came up with the idea.

Reese was already a young adult, and had gotten the hang of very basic words, though the ones
with irregular spelling would trip him up. He bounced and played with some of the toys but Joe
would often find him sitting at the bay window in the library, staring out and lost in his
imagination. He seemed to like books about the sea and sailing, even though he was deadly
afraid of water in almost every form except the shower, which he would prance and bounce and
kick around in.

A little grumble made Joe turn and look. Reese was on a page with a sailing ship being blown by
a strong wind, sailing through the Caribbean islands. Little splotches of color denoting men
were in the rigging and on the decks.

A flip-flip-flip of his tail and Joe knew Reese was thinking about going sailing again. He
watched as Reese stared at the image, then slowly drifted off into his own little world,
staring at the carpet.

A screech in one earbud made him jump a little, and then calmly got up. “Reese, bud, I’m going
to go check on the bad fluffy and then bring up some grapes. Green or purple?”

“Ooh puwpwe, daddeh.” Reese said, perking up immediately.

Then as Joe went out and closed the door, he heard it again.


Clover was in the throes of childbirth. Joe pulled out a folding chair and sat down, watching
her, arms crossed.

“Alright, Clover. Let’s see these good babies.” He said, grinning internally.

“EEEE BIGGEST POOPIES!” Clover screeched, feeling the cramping spasms of labor like a
sledgehammer to her stomach.

Even from his vantage point Joe could see the colorful little blobs drop out one by one,
slightly blood-streaked from the journey outwards. None of them were correctly developed, and
none were breathing. Only one looked to be the right size to be considered mature, though the
complete lack of snout and eyelids removed that possibility.

Finally, Clover finished, laying on her side and panting heavily. Eventually she perked her
head up.

“Babbehs? Babbehs qwiet.” She said, getting up with a wince. “Babbehs nu be quiet, chiwpie

Then she turned and saw her brood, mangled, deformed, and dead. She screamed, backing up,
unable to take her eyes from the greyed-over gaze of the largest corpse.

Joe theatrically sighed. “I thought you were going to be a good mother.” He said, taking out a
small garbage bag and a pair of gloves. “You were saying you were going to give me good babies
to show how good a mother you were.”

“B-babbehs, nuuu.” Clover said, falling on her rear and letting out a few dribbles of shit,
shivering, still unable to take her eyes away.

“And you can’t even get near them.”

With a slow, methodical pace, Joe gathered up the litter of corpses and disposed of them,
putting the bag to one side. He leaned on his knees, and made a show of appearing to be

“Clover, did you lie to me?”

“Nu! Daddeh, nu, Cwovew nu wie, wan hab bestest-bestes babbies fow daddeh!” She said, getting
up with a wet sucking sound. “Pwease, nee’ hab babbies. Fow daddeh.” She added after.

Joe got up and took the bag of bodies and chair with him. “I’ll think about this, Clover. You
rest. I’ll be back when I’ve decided what to do with you.”

He closed the saferoom door, and listened as Clover called for him, kicking against the door
and begging not to be thrown out. Grinning, he listened for a bit, and then walked out with the
bag of babies to the back alleyway.

A peep came from the bag. Joe lifted it and listened, hearing a weak, ragged peeping sound.

Winding up, he slammed the bag against the brick wall of his garage, then listened again,
before dropping the bag in a trash bin and going back inside, grabbing a bowl of mixed grapes,
and heading upstairs.

Clover sulked in the dirty old bed that she now slept in. Her daddy said she could try again,
but she was a bad fluffy for having bad babies. She looked around the unfinished basement room, lit by a single weak yellow bulb, and sniffled.

She had her toysies still, and she had a litterbox which she always used now, no little
fake ‘accidents’ when daddy made her mad anymore. She couldn’t risk it. The one upside was now her food was nummier and actually tasted like sketties a little bit.

Then there was a flash, and a roll of thunder, and Clover bolted for the litterbox, barely
making it before she evacuated herself in fear. She huu-huu’d quietly, looking up at the
window in the room. The sky outside was dark and cloudy, framed by the bushes in the yard,
bereft of their leaves as winter came on.

She listened to the rain begin to tap-tap-tap against the window as she pulled every blanket
and stuffie toy she had in her new room onto her bed, making a safe, warm hidey-spot to burrow
into and be safe from the rain, and the thunder, and the lightning.

Safe from things outside.

A little glimmer of hope washed through her as she plowed under the pile of cheap cloth and
toys, until only her rear end poked out. She was going to get another chance to have
babies. She had to do better, she had to have really, really perfectly bestest goodest babies.

With a shimmy-wiggle of her rear a layer of cloth fell down, covering her completely, and she
started to drift off. The faces of her stillborn litter, her daddy’s obvious disappointment and
sadness, and the thought of being outside drifted through what little imagination she
possessed, until she was asleep.

Joe took a long, cathartic day completely de-Clovering the ground floor. Every toy, hoofprint,
and shit-stain was moved, washed, cleaned, and de-scented. Her toys he cast down into the
unfinished room next to the laundry area, since her stink would never be out of them. The
saferoom was no longer necessary, since Reese was so well behaved, and could manage to get up
the stairs at night on his own. He was still working on getting down the stairs, but that was
coming along in its own time.

Eventually Joe settled on converting the saferoom into a little music area. When he got Clover
he put his bass away, since the rumbling tone scared her no matter how he tried to explain
it. He looked around the now-empty saferoom, and with a grimace tore down the old, sickeningly
happy poster over the window, letting fresh light in.

The beige carpet was stained horribly, the brown and more brown becoming entirely too apparent in the natural light. There were even little fan-shaped mist stains on the base of the
wallpaper where little farts had sprayed aerosolized shit on the wall. Joe looked around,
feeling vaguely nauseous, as he realized Clover had sharted on the entire perimeter of the
room, to make her room truly her own.

He left the room quickly, closing the door with a sharp click, and breathed quietly, focusing
on the nausea, pushing it down. The fresh air of the hallway was helping.

Reese trotted over, looking up at Joe. “Daddeh? U tay?”

“Yeah bud.” Joe said, scooping up Reese and taking out his phone. “Just a really really stinky
room. I’m gunna call to get it cleaned.”

Joe and Reese relaxed on the couch, and while Joe dialled a number, and Reese giggled and
bounced around on the plush cushions, the thunder rolled in, the sky darkened, and a fluffy in
the basement curled up and thought about having children.

“Yeah we’re gunna need to do all new drywall and padding in here.” Kallie said, writing out an
estimate. “I’ve done some work in my time. First job where the fluffy did all the damage

“I didn’t even know she was doing that.” Joe said, with an air of vague embarrassment. “She
would have the occasional accident, but that’s normal with domestics.”

“Y’all’d be surprised how sneaky they can get.” Kallie muttered, then slid over the estimate
sheet. “Had one that wouldn’t eat radishes, so they hid 'em in an air vent. The insect damage
was incredible.”

Joe looked it over, registered the price, and immediately wrote out a cheque. “Well she’s no
longer here. New one’s far better behaved.”

“I’m sorry, lose her?” Kallie said, blinking at the lack of reaction to being handed a two
grand remodeling estimate.

“She wanted babies.” Joe said, and let it hang. Kallie nodded, understandingly, and called in
the new job.

May looked down at the young tan stallion on the exam table as he nervously shifted from hoof
to hoof, trying to avoid settling his nuts on the cold steel. Joe sheepishly waited in a chair.

“Well Reese seems to be generally healthy, if a bit battle-worn.” May said, glancing over his
torn ear. “And coming close to breeding age.”

After a moment Joe realized what she was insinuating, and shook his head, then sat up. “I uh,
rescued Reese after some herd bullies tried to force him into the road in front of my car. He
and I sort of just clicked.”

A pause, with May watching Joe closely, he continued. “Just him and me.”

May nodded, relaxing, and filled out some forms. “Right, we’re going to need to chip him, do
you want him fixed?”

Joe shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll need to, he’s very, ah, intelligent. And calm.”

“That’ll be an extra fee, but alright.” May said, and handed over a clipboard before pulling
out a chipping gun and popping Reese in the shoulder without warning.

Reese yelped and scrabbled on the slick steel surface, but May gently held him in
place. “Relax, relax, it’s done. Just a surprise.”

With a grumble Reese settled, then asked. “Pwease put down, nee’ wittabawks.”

May deposited him on the floor and Reese trotted over to the covered auto-litter and stepped

“You’re right, he is well behaved.” She said, looking the chipping gun over. “Most fluffies get
this and it’s upside-down fountain time.”

“Neawwy was.” Reese said, from inside the litterbox.

A few days later Joe was out jogging, getting himself ready for the second stage. He couldn’t
go back to Craig, after having said the children were stillborn Flare wouldn’t consider trying

His pack was empty, the library returns he had put in there long delivered, and the lack of
weight made his shoulders feel strange. After considering, he detoured and headed for a small
local shop and grabbed a few goodies. The weight restored, he jogged on, heading home, but
paused at the mouth of the alley going behind the shop.

A dirty, wall-eyed stallion was staring straight up at the sky, vigorously making sweet, sweet
thrusting romance to a rotten XXL burrito, announcing his conquest with a gurgly, grunty
rhythm of enf-enf-enf-enf sounds.

With a shudder, the stallion’s hips bucked down into the burrito, smearing rotting beans and
semen over the cracked concrete, screaming to the sky a heavily distorted “GOO FEEES!”

The cogs turned in Joe’s head as he watched the stallion look around, oblivious, then spot the
other end of the ruined burrito. In a moment he was back to fully erect and was working his
mojo once again, a blissful delirium over his face as he stared up at the sky. Mostly. His eyes
got more wall-eyed the further into the burrito he plowed.

Looking around, Joe spotted a bucket and quickly snatched it up, scooping the stallion in and
covering its head with a discarded Chinese food box.

“EEEEE WHEE FWWEE GUUUU!” The stallion screeched, turning its head blindly to try and look

“Sorry, what?” Joe asked, before realizing he was trying to hold a conversation with a
broke-brained fluffy.

The stallion immediately sighed, and asked, “Whee fwee gu?” Before resuming its struggles.

“Wh… oh.” Joe said, and took a guess. “It’s nighttime, so you’ve gone to sleep?”

The feral stopped struggling, and with many a humm and grumble deliberated. Then
with a loud honk of agreement immediately fell asleep, snoring like a cartoon character.

With a momentary sigh of exasperation Joe jogged on, with a backpack of snacks and a bucket
full of stupid.

Reese wrinkled his nose at the awful stink coming off Joe as he put down his pack on the
kitchen counter.

“Daddeh, why u smeww wike owd hewd?” Reese asked, tilting his head.

“Oh, I stopped by McPeel’s Deli and there was a really weird feral.” Joe said, taking tins and
wrapped packages out of his pack. “Got something special for later.”

Reese looked up as Joe waggled a tin of dolmas, confused. “Wut dat?”

“These are human food called ‘dolma’, from Greece.” Joe said. “Remember the Fates and
Prometheus from that book of legends?”

With a little wiggle and nodding, Reese bounced in place. “Gweek food? An otay fow fwuffies?”

Joe chuckled and set the can down. “Yup, we’ll have some of those with dinner.”

Reese bucked happily and trotted off, continuing his exploration and acclimation to the ground
floor. Joe noted he had already figured out how to push a footstool over to get up on the big
bay window and flop down in the sun. The clouds were rolling in again, and Joe was silently
glad he had taken his run when he had. The intermittent rain was supposed to get more constant
for a few days, and off in the horizon he could already see black storm clouds. The gentle grey
rains were past, and now came the storm.

The derped stallion played in the tub, splashing and droning on about ‘waug wawew’, which Joe
surmised was ‘warm water’. He managed to get the stallion clean enough, and after a once over,
appeared to be intact. Joe did need to remove all the bath toys after the stallion had
attempted to mount basically all of them in turn, but the fluffy didn’t seem to miss them.

A quick blow-dry and Joe quietly put a cloth bag on the feral’s head, prompting it to fall
asleep standing up. With care, Joe snuck out of the bathroom, past where Reese was playing
Reader Rabbit, and down to the garage.

Over the past few days Joe had put together a little fluffy workshop out in the garage, since
he didn’t want to risk having his newfound hobby anywhere Reese might get into things. With a
minor amount of awkwardness, Joe put the feral on his back, watching as the fluffy immediately
curled up like a baby, tail folded up over his belly and legs folded together on top.

It would be adorable if it hadn’t still been sporting a throbbing erection.

After a quick read of a handbook he had snagged at the Fluff-Mart, Joe began preparing the
stallion, filling syringes with vitamin and nutrient mixes, an electrolyte solution, and
finally some good old hormones. Not that the stallion needed any, but Joe wanted to be
sure. After the round of injections, Joe rolled the stallion to his side, and opened a safe in
the wall, taking out a small vial.

The green-and-blue label sported the Alenix double-helix logo, and was marked as a controlled
substance. How the Fluff-mart had gotten it, Joe wasn’t sure, but he also wasn’t going to ask
since he had really wanted it. He glanced up at the ceiling as a roll of thunder rippled
overhead, then turned back to the vial. The name on the label was about four syllables longer
than Joe felt comfortable trying to pronounce, but Martin had explained it to him.

A quick shot in an adult fluffy and it would weaken or paralyze most of the muscles, but leave
breathing and cardio alone. It lasted a while, but was one of the few safe drugs that you could
give a fluffy for anything near medical use. Joe took the time to carefully calculate the
dosage for Clover and filled a syringe, capping it carefully and tucking it in the breast
pocket of his shirt.

He picked up the feral, keeping the bag securely on his head, and crept downstairs into the
basement. The finished part was mostly storage, but Joe was considering moving the garage
fluffing space down here. He found his enjoyment of the abuse increasing, though he told
himself it was only for fluffies that deserved it. Checking a monitor, he saw that Clover was
buried in her pile of blankets, only the end of one of her hind legs poking out from the mound,
and the tip of her tail.

Joe kicked off his shoes and silently crept over to the door to her room.

Clover was drifting a little, though she still shivered when the thunder made its big boomies
outside. She had shifted her bed to the corner furthest from the window, and had come to the
decision she would need to convince her daddy to hide the outside. It made her feel nervous.

She had almost gotten to sleep when her hiney-tush felt cold. She grumbled, wiggling her butt
and kicking with one leg to try and get the blankets back in a good position, when there was a
sharp pinch on her bum, making her eep and jump. After a moment the owwie went away, and Clover grumbled.

Then something grabbed her hind legs and pulled her halfway out of her mound, before letting
her go. She tried to shout and kick but she could only sluggishly gurgle and fart. This
confused her, it was like she was in a bad dream. But she was awake, wasn’t she?

Something snuffled her special place. She immediately wanted to scream and kick and protest but
all she could hear was a strangely warped giggling, and then she felt a stallion mount her, and
begin to vigorously give her bad special-huggies.

But she couldn’t move. She couldn’t scream or kick, and her one attempt at sorry-poopies
produced swamp gas. She remembered being good and using the litterbox before bed, so she truely was defenseless, screaming inside her head.

Joe watched from a laptop as the feral made a beeline for Clover’s presented posterior, and
after a moment to identify the correct hole, practically jumped on her and got to thrusting. He
looked at a clock, decided that he could leave them for a few hours, and went upstairs to where
Reese was waiting by the playroom door.

“Daddeh? Wut da big fing in dewe?” Reese asked, pointing to Joe’s beat up old bass guitar and

“That’s one of the things humans use to make music.” Joe said, going in and sitting down on the
floor, plugging in the bass and resting it across his lap. “This is an electric bass. It makes
the low notes in a lot of music you’ve heard.”

Reese watched as Joe took a moment to tune it, then turned on the amp and played a jazzy funk
bassline, though rather inexpertly. The diminutive pony immediately got up and leaned against the amp.

“Do it again daddeh.” Reese said, and giggled as the vibrations shook him gently while Joe
played. “Eeheheeee tickwes.”

Joe played on, showing Reese around the parts of the guitar. In the basement, Clover wailed and
sobbed in paralyzed silence as the loud monster came back, the thunder rolled overhead, and the
rape continued.

Sunny Acres Shelter was just open in the morning when a completely ordinary looking man walked in, a carrier in his hand and a bemused expression on his face.

“Hi there, can I help you?” Sandra asked, freshly post-coffee and pre-being-pooped-on.

The man set the carrier down and laughed once. “Yeah uh. I need to surrender this fluffy? He’s
kind of a special case.”

Sandra peered in and saw a heavily derped, but reasonably good looking stallion laying down,
looking a bit dazed even for a derped fluffy.

“Is this an abuse-related surrender?” Sandra asked, a serious tone creeping into her voice.

“Abuse?” The man asked, looking genuinely confused. “Oh the- yeah, no, he was like this when I
got him. I inherited him from a friend who was moving to a no-fluffies-allowed apartment and
uh, well he decided to mount my mare. And a shoe, the television remote, a stuffed toy, you get
the idea.”

Sandra laughed once, her mood lightening immediately. “Oh boy, yeah, that happens with males if they’re derped young once in a while. Did your friend have this fluffy chipped?”

“I’m not sure, I don’t think so.” The man said, then frowned. “Come to think of it I don’t know if
he had him fixed or not either.”

“Oh boy, looks like you might be getting more fluffies anyways.” Sandra said, looking back into
the carrier. “He seems a bit out of it.”

“Children’s Benadryl.” He said, with a sigh. “He literally won’t stop trying to mount things
without it.”

“Fair enough. We’ll take care of him.” Sandra said, opening the carrier and lifting the
stallion out. “Did you bathe him?”

“Yeah my mare was, uh, unhappy about being taken advantage of.” The man said, with a wince.

Sandra knowingly nodded and helped the man fill out the paperwork, before putting the stallion
in a wall cage for new fluffies and letting him settle. She picked up a phone and dialed a
number written on a post-it stuck to the underside.

“Hi, Jeff? Sandy over at the shelter. Someone brought in another unchipped stallion. Already
derped and permanently horny. You want one to replace that breeder you lost?”

Clover woke up, her special place sore, and cried to herself quietly. She hadn’t had bad
special-huggies before, and the teevee said they were bad-bad things, but this wasn’t just
bad-bad. This was worstest feelings.

Then, as her head cleared and she pulled herself weakly from her pile of blankets, she felt a
warm tingle in her belly, and she cheered up right away.

She had the mummah-feeling again.


Shame Joe never had Clover meet the horny moron that gave her her new foals. But I can see a lot of fun psychological abuse in future for the shitting mare


Feel bad for Clover at this point, she seems like she is almost there and is trying to behave. Hopefully this is what it takes to fix her, even if the odds are against me.


Joe in a few months


Feel sad on that one surviving foal Joe have to kill it :cold_sweat: as no other mare that can feed it. Then again I could expect it would be a runt if it survived?

That vodka sure did its job on her foals too🤔


Will this one be continuing any time soon? I’ve been binge reading your fics and they’re great, but this one is my favourite!

1 Like

Yes, I’ll be continuing most of my series, I just had the misfortune of suffering a computer crash recently. Got my everything back up now though.