It was six months since Matt had adopted Thingy, and everything was still going great. He’d started taking Thingy to the local fluffy-park every week, comfortable that Thingy was aware that other fluffies didn’t understand his more unusual desires and wouldn’t make any embarassing comments to them. He’d also introduced Thingy to one of his best friends, with whom he had a mutual agreement that if anything sudden ever happened to either of them, the other would dispose of their porn stash and other less reputable possessions. Once Danny had stopped laughing about the “gay painslut fluffy”, he’d promised to give Thingy a good home.
For the three month anniversary, he’d invited one of his cyber partners to come and visit him and got her to give Thingy a Prince Albert. She was only licensed to practice on humans, but fluffy shape and size in the relevant parts wasn’t all that different, and she understood that anesthesia wouldn’t be required or appreciated. But for the six month anniversary, he wanted to fulfil something else Thingy had confessed to him. There was no way he’d do it himself, quite apart from the moral and taste issues there was no way he was letting his cock anywhere near a fluffy’s ass, even with the thickest possible condom.
He visited the least reputable of the fluffy breeding facilities within driving distance. The real hell-holes had been shut down by federal law a few years ago, after investigative journalists exposed a bunch of sickos in New Hampshire who were even letting abusers pay to torture fluffies on the premises. But this place was known for selling fluffies to research facilities and the military, who probably weren’t doing hugboxy things to them.
Matt strolled round the showroom, relieved that the foals on display looked a little subdued and hopeful of being bought, but not traumatised. He paid attention to the staff in the room, noticing a guy with a nametag saying “Barry” who seemed particularly indifferent to the fluffies, not abusive but never showing any affection.
Matt walked over to Barry and quietly asked “Any chance I can have a stallion?”
Barry glared at him. “No way! Our stallions aren’t for sale, and we aren’t letting any backyard breeder hire one, if that’s what you’re gonna ask.”
Matt put on as much charm as he could. “No, I don’t want to breed fluffies. Thing is, I’ve got a pet fluffy mare. She’s been fixed, but she’s still going on and on about wanting a special friend and special huggies. So I was wondering, have you got a real asshole fuckboy stallion, the kind that’ll enf anything you put in front of him and basically thinks mares are cum-dumpsters? I was wondering about a bit of aversion therapy.”
Barry grinned. “Oh yeah, I get you. You want Zeus. Great color, great coat, great conformation. Trouble is when he was a foal the people raising him let him know how valuable he was, gave him one fuck of a superiority complex. He’s got good genes, but such a crap personality we can only put him to the tough old mares who don’t scare easily and can give as good as they get, or the ones who are so fuck-crazy they don’t care.”
In exchange for the promise of a very large cash payment, Barry agreed to deliver Zeus to Matt’s house for an afternoon. Barry wasn’t too happy about letting Matt take Zeus into the safe-room without him accompanying.
“OK, OK. But I’ll be listening outside, and if I hear one unhappy noise out of him, I’ll be straight in.”
Matt led Zeus into the safe-room. Thingy was in one of his favorite restraint devices, a Doktor Mongola Leggy Loser slow-pillowing device with the tightness set to 3, the most painful level possible without drawing blood. Matt had applied a ballgag, but he could understand the scared but deeply excited noises Thingy made when he saw Zeus, a big alicorn stallion with a white mane and deep blue fluff, tipped with white that made him look like a breaking wave when he moved.
“There you go Zeus”, Matt said. “Do your thing.”
Zeus looked between Matt and Thingy with bemusement.
“Dat nu am mawe.”
“Come on Zeus”, Matt said, “Good feels are good feels, surely. I heard you don’t give much of a shit about how you get them.”
Zeus looked really worried. “Yes, but Zeus nu wan gib bad enfies to stawwion. If Zeus get bad enfies in poopie-pwace, Zeus am wan d… go fowevah sweepies. No wan gib heawt-huwties dat bad to stawwion.”
Matt sighed, but couldn’t help feeling touched by Zeus’s vestigial morals. Oh well, it would do Thingy good to have another lesson in how fantasies couldn’t always happen exactly the way he wanted them in real life. He unstrapped the gag from Thingy, who promptly started appealing to Zeus.
“Fingy weawwy weawwy wan be Zeus’s enfeh stawwion! Wan big pwetteh meaneh monsteh stawwion gib bestest wowstest sowwy enfehs! Pwease pwease pwease!”
Zeus looked at Matt with a “nothing will shock me ever again” expression, then jumped on Thingy and started enfing him with a force that would have worried Matt, if he hadn’t already regularly worked Thingy’s ass with much bigger and nastier toys to his thorough enjoyment.
“Zeus gib Fingy bestest sowwy enfehs evah!”
Zeus seemed to get into the role expected of him, and slapped Thingy round the head.
“Dummeh enfeh fwuffeh shut up! Zeus get good feews how Zeus wan.”
Thingy’s eyelids drooped halfway down in bliss.
A couple of weeks later, Matt’s phone rang.
“What the fuck kind of sickass shit did you and Barry do with Zeus? Now I got eight fucking stud stallions all asking if they can have a go with the ‘enfie stallion with the bestest tightest poopie place’!”
Matt cursed himself. He should have known Zeus was the kiss and tell type.
Note: The Doktor Mongola Leggy Loser is created by @BFM101
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