“Bite down on this”
Daddeh shoves a squishy cylinder towards you.
“Wha? Why Em’wy nee’ num dat?”
“No, no, don’t eat it. Just bite down on it. Trust me it will help with the hurties”
You take the weird cylinder in your mouth and bite down carefully. It feels weird.
You want to respond but with your teeth sunk into the cylinder you only get out an unintelligible noise.
“Okay then, here goes.”
The hurties come quickly and very suddenly and your screams are dampened by the cylinder in your mouth. Remembering what daddeh said, you bite down on it hard and to your astonishment you realize that it does, in fact, alleviate some of the unbearable hurties.
They only get worse though as time goes by and you can feel daddeh cutting through and then ripping off each of your leggies, placing them somewhere out of view. He then applies a paste to each of the stumps which, at first, makes them burn horribly but the burning quickly subsides, taking with it the majority of the hurties.
“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
You don’t answer and spit out the weird cylinder that was in your mouth.
Then you try to move your legs one last time, despite knowing that they’re gone and unsurprisingly, nothing happens.
Where your leggies once were are now bloody stumps, crusted over and smeared in insta-heal gel.
They will never work again.
You can’t help but think of your leggies, think of non-cold-time memories of you jumping around in a field of grassies, rummaging through trash cans to find nummies for you and your tummeh babbehs.
All that will never happen again.
Involuntarily, you start to cry and feel daddehs hand on your back.
“I know you’re sad but trust me, your leg-sickies would’ve spread through your body and given you forever sleepies. You did good.”
Daddehs words do little to reassure you however and you let your head fall to the ground which is now much closer than it was before.
Still masking your face with fake concern, you look at Emily who, despite just having lost her legs, seems pretty quiet, staring blankly at the teethmarked fluffy safe building block that you gave her to bite down on.
“Soo… do you want me to carry you back to your saferoom?”
Your fluffy doesn’t immediately answer but also doesn’t object when you pick her up so you assume she’s just grumpy and you carry her back up to her saferoom.
Her babies don’t immediately recognize Emily and when they do they greet her with confused chirps.
“Chirp? Mu… mummah?”
Emily immediately perks her head up.
Upon seeing their mummah happy, the foals calm down a bit.
“Mummah! Wub! Cheep! Wub mummah!”
You set Emily down in the litterbox and prepare to leave.
“Daddeh? Why put Em’wy in wittah-box? Nu nee do poopies…”
Marvelling at her naive stupidity, you grin.
“Well what if you do need to make poopies? How are you going to get to your litterbox then?”
This makes Emily silent for a few seconds before she looks up at you again.
“Su Em’wy nee stay in poopie wittah box aww time?”
Instead of giving her an answer you smile and shut the door, heading downstairs.
Your smile quickly disappears however when you check your phone while making a bowl of ramen noodles.
There’s a message open.
From your girlfriend.
“Hey babe, I might be back from London sooner than I thought! Work on the project is going well and I might be home in 2 weeks already! I can’t wait to be back! Miss you”
And then a bunch of heart emojis.
She wasn’t supposed to be back for another month!
You truly love your girlfriend but you’d be single in the blink of an eye if she ever found out you’re abusing fluffies for fun.
You quickly reply to her, telling her you miss her too even though you could mentally strangle her right now for messing with your perfectly laid out plans like that.
That leaves you with two options.
Either you speed up the process, or you go about the abuse as planned and just kill and discard of Emily when your girlfriend gets home.
You quickly decide to go with option B when another problem assaults you.
The ramen have gone cold.
The litter under your belly felt weird in the beginning but you’ve gotten used to it, hoping that you’ll be able to sleep over the horrid smell, you lie your head down.
Slowly, you open one eye and see your pointeh babbeh standing in front of you.
You open the other eye as well and get… get up?
Wait, how are you going too feed your babies?
How are you going to feed them?!
Shit, this is bad.
Panic surges through you as you realize that if you’re lying down, your babbehs can’t get to your milkie-place.
Panicking more and more, you wiggle your stumps as hard as you can but that doesn’t help…
Then, you get an idea.
If you could just roll over onto your back then your babbeh could climb onto you.
So, you try rolling onto your back but that doesn’t work without your leggies either.
Meanwhile your babbeh is watching you, trying to figure out what your waiting for.
“Mummah? Cheep! Miwkies! Cheep!”
You’re filled with horror as you realize that your foal is hungry, gnawing at your brain to feed it with its hungry-peeps and you are powerless to do anything, sitting there with a full milkie place.
You think hard.
Yes, that’s it!
Daddeh will come and he’ll help you give your foals milkies!
Oh thank sky-daddeh, your babbehs are saved.
“Yus babbeh, Em’wy knu… Bestest babbeh nee wait fo’ daddeh”
You bust the door open and see Emily lying in her litterbox with her unicorn foal in front of her.
“What’s the matter sweetie?”
Emily nods at her foal.
“Bestest babbeh nee miwkies buh Em’wy nu can gib miwkies… Daddeh hewp?”
This is the part you’ve been eagerly anticipating.
“Look, I’m not always going to be around to help you okay? You’re going to have to look out for your foals yourself!”
Emily stares at you, utterly bewildered.
“Wha? Nu! Daddeh nu unnastan’! Em’wy nu can gib babbeh miwkies! Sob… Pwease hewp daddeh…”
With that you shut the door, ignoring Emilys continued cries for help.
Over the night and the next day, Emily involuntarily starves her foals, devastated by the hungry-chirps that she can’t do anything about. The chirps smash into her small brain, assaulting her instincts to feed her babbehs.
So, time after time Emily tries to roll over on her back, almost breaking her own neck once.
Whenever you come in to feed her now, you get a sick satisfaction out of seeing Emily sob at you, begging you to help her feed her poor, starving babies.
At the end of the next day your fluffies babies have been reduced to small, skinny piles of fluff, still chirping their pathetic little hungry-chirps and making Emily go crazy.
Her little brain can’t handle her babies starving while she lives a life of luxury and when you enter her saferoom in the evening of the day after you pillowed her, she starts screaming and rocking around in the litterbox.
“DADDEEEH! PWEEASE! HEWP BABBEHS! EM’WY DU ANYFING FO’ BABBEHS JUS’ PWEASE HEWP!”
You approach her quietly.
“If you can’t do it yourself you’re a bad mummah. The worst mummah”
Emily hangs her head, sobbing into the litter.
“Em’wy knu… Knu dat am wowstest mummah eba. sob Buh pwease can hewp?”
“Aight fine. Wait here.”
That seems to calm your fluffy down a bit at least and she patiently waits while you get the milkbag machine that you got specifically for this purpose and when you go back inside the saferoom, Emily looks at the device quizzically.
“Wha am dat ting?”
Petting her softly, you put it down in front of her.
“It’ll get your milkies out so I can feed them to your babies.”
Emily looks at you.
“Buh… Hab Miwkie pwace… Why nu can jus wet Em’wy use dat?”
You’ve never thought of that.
You’ve literally never thought of just picking Emily up and letting her babies drink milk that way.
How has that thought never crossed your mind for just a second?
You move your gaze back and forth between the milkbag machine and your fluffy incredulously.
You spent 60 Euros on that stupid thing.
What is wrong with you?
“Oh… uuh… that’s a good point actually. Wow…”
Sneering, Emily cocks her head.
“Daddeh weawwy neba fink ob dat?”
Shit, did you just get outsmarted by a fluffy?
“Alright, we’ll do it your way. Maybe I can return this thing to Saturn tomorrow…”
And so, you carefully pick Emily up and put her three babies in front of her while you set her down vertically, supporting her with one hand.
Immediately the babies recognize Emilies teats and rush to latch on.
The pegasus foal is a bit too late and has to watch his alicorn and unicorn brothers gulp down copious amounts of their mummahs milk.
While her three foals are getting fed, you continue berating Emily about what a bad mother she is and how she doesn’t deserve to have ‘babbehs’.
Unsurprisingly, Emily doesn’t take it too well and starts sobbing, dripping tears on her foals.
With a shit-eating grin, you move your hand away, making Emily topple backwards onto the floor.
“…is why your babies need to go.”
Still grinning, you unceremoniously grab her alicorn.
“Wingeh-pointeh babbeh! Wha daddeh doin? Pwease gib tu mummah… Babbeh tuu widdwe! Nee mummah!”
You laugh and open a box of supplies that you had standing around in the saferoom.
Starting with the alicorn, you squeeze it hard and aim the fountain of shit at Emily. The foal eeeps painfully but that’s nothing in comparison to what it does when you start jabbing it with needles, pushing them far into its sensitive little body.
Emily is horrified at your display of cold abuse and just stares at you before she starts sobbing again and begs you to stop hurting her ‘widdwe babbehs’, promising you she’ll do better at feeding them in the future.
“Nope, you had your chance Emily and now I’m afraid I’ll have to take your foals away”
You’ve now moved on to making small incisions into the alicorns skin, preparing to pour salt into them as the foal screams and squirms in horrible pain.
“Eeeeeep! Chirp! Eeeeep! Mummah! Cheeeeeeep!”
Rocking around vigorously, Emily is still sobbing, begging you to leave her babies alone.
“Em’wy be gud! Huu huu… Em’wy pwomise…”
You ignore her, watching her alicorn foal slowly die from the overwhelming pain. To speed up the process, you take one of the needles embedded in its fluff between two fingers and move it around, scraping its insides out. The foal screams for a bit longer before passing out and dying on the saferoom floor.
For the other two foals, you have even more cruel abuse ideas and you start by lying a heavy book on top of them and watching it slowly crack their ribcages, smushing together their tiny organs.
You’re not finished though and grab the unicorn from under the book.
Listening to the mares broken sobs, you grab a pincer from the box.
You have to twist it around a bit, destroying most of the foals rectum in the process but eventually you manage to get it in and start moving it around, searching for something to grab on to.
Once you have found something, you pull the pincers out, bringing with them a good bit of fleshy red fluffy innards.
Somehow the foal isn’t dead yet.
“Haf… haff… haff…”
You smile reassuringly at the foal and then shove your thumb down its throat, watching it slowly choke to death, eyes bulging and arms flailing.
The third foal flails its arms as well, desperately trying to get out from under the book.
That sick hot sadistic feeling in your stomach is burning more than ever so you decide to torture the foal some more by stretching your arms out towards it ever so slowly, sending it into hysterics as it frantically tries to get away from you.
“Look at youu! You can’t run, you can’t hide, you can’t do…”
You snatch the foal up.
The foal continues to squirm around, fueling your lust for abuse even more.
Meanwile the mare is beyond words, crying and chirping, shaking like a leaf.
Looking the squirming foal in the eyes, you take out a wooden building block.
“Oh look! A blockie! Do you like blockies?”
The foal doesn’t answer so you shake it around a bit.
“DO YOU LIKE BLOCKIES?”
When the foal still doesn’t answer, you drop it onto the floor and look at Emily.
“Hey Emily! Do you want wings?”
“Cuz your wingeh-babbeh kindly offered his up”
Then you walk up to her, her foals bloody wings in hand and hold them up in front of your face.
“You’d look good in them”
Emily doesn’t answer, she doesn’t even look up so you return to her de-winged pegagsus foal, picking up the wooden block.
With the wooden block in hand, you hold the foal down and then smash both its front legs with the block.
“EEEEEEEEEP! CHEEEEEEP! CHIRP!”
Now that the foal is immobilized, you hold the block up above the fluffy and let it go, aiming for it to land millimetres from the foals face.
Still having a flaring lust for torture, you pick up the foal, put it in the palm of your hand and strech your arm out before slowly tilting your hand, smiling at the foal deviously.
The foal, unable to hold on to anything, looks at you in horror as it slowly slides down your hand, aided by the blood from its crushed legs.
When your hand reaches a 60° incline, the foal suddenly falls, screaming and with jedi-worthy reflexes, you catch it before it hits the floor.
And now, for the last straw of abuse against Emiliys foals, you walk up to her, roughly pull her head up by her mane and show her her mutilated baby.
Then, reaching the peak of your adrenaline rush, you bite its head clean off, chewing a few times before swallowing.
THE END of Part 2
Well looks like this is going to turn into a series after all. As I said I wanted to make this my first planned, one-off abuse story but even now I’m barely finished with a third of the plan.
Also am I changing POV too much? Like sometimes I feel like I’m changing too much between The owners and Emilys point of view.