author:shem-ha death pest_control peters_pest_problems torture

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...-- PREFACE --...

Had another idea, trying to do it a bit differently, this time with more verbose narration. Compared to my previous story, this one is a bit more graphic in terms of horrible things that happen to wild, invasive fluffies.

Introduced some improvements to consistency, otherwise, if you've read the previous version, feel free to jump to part III.

...-- I --...

I woke up just like I wake up on any typical day. After all, why would this day be any different than many days before? Life on the farm is hard work, even with everything technology has to offer. But the scenic views, the homegrown food and the lazy winter days more than make up for it.

So I cracked some eggs from my own chickens, set four strips of bacon next to them and toasted some bread. I didn't bake the bread, nor did I have pigs, they were from the grocery store, everything has its limits after all.

And so as I sat by my kitchen table, the first signs of the problem reached my ears. I could swear someone was talking... in my vegetable garden. Probably the damn kids got in there to play some pranks or steal some rhubarb, I thought, oh so innocently.

Thus, I opened the window, intending to tell them to get off my property, and my heart sank to my stomach.

"Appew find bestestest nummies for hewd."

"Peep! Cheep!"

"Babbehs no cwy, mummah num da nummies fow bestest miwkies."

"Cheep, Cheeeeeep!"

I closed the window, and cold sweat started running down my brow.

Oh fuck, oh shit, oh fuck, what do I do? I thought to myself in a panic, looking around. Grabbing my gardening shoes, I took off for the door. Once out, I took hold of a shovel I propped up against the fence and opened the little fence gate to my personal vegetable garden. This was MY food, I took a lot of care and effort to grow the things I liked. No stinking skittle-pony is going to get it.

"What the heck do you think you are doing?"

I asked the two technicolour abominations, a mare and stallion pair, no doubt, with their offsprings on the mare's back, just adding to how horribly unnatural the little science monsters looked.

"Go away poopie mistuh! Appew am..."

I didn't let it finish. I bonked it right on the side of the head with the flat side of my shovel, judging by the sound, it was enough to snap its neck, and it flopped to the side.

"Actually, that was a rhetorical question."

The mare looked at me with panicked eyes, trying to bolt it for a hole in the fence, or rather a place where a shorter plank left enough room for her to squeeze through.

"Nu! Speshuw fwem! Dandawion sabe babbehs!"

"PEEP!"

"CHEEEP!"

"CHIRP!"

I reached down and before the sluggish thing could get through, grabbed her by the neck and pulled her back into my little garden, holding her up by the neck. Her foals fell to the grass, two of them crying while the other one remained oddly silent. I pressed my fingers into the vermin's windpipe and held her at arms reach, until well after she stopped struggling.

A few quick stomps silenced the foals, and I quickly added them to my compost pit before storming into the shed. I needed chicken wire to reinforce my precious vegetable garden, after all, where there are three fluffies, there are more fluffies.

...--...

After the perimeter of my lovely veggie garden was fortified against the rainbow menace, I began investigating.

How did they even get into my property? It's not like it was fenced off particularly tightly, but they had to have come from somewhere. Just in case, I took my BB gun, the shovel and a burlap sack. Might have a use for them in case I encounter any more of the vermin.

It didn't take me long to notice a commotion near one of the chicken coops. A very out of place blob of neon purple was chasing one of my hens.

"Come pway with Gwape, fwappy munstah!"

It screamed. I took aim and fired at its side. Immediately it stopped yelling and running, instead curling up, as the plastic ball took the wind out of it and probably broke a few ribs as well.

"Hurk... khhhhrkkkk..."

I walked up to it, picked it up and threw it in the sack after quickly giving its head the good old hundred-eighty. It was a colt. The mother was most likely nearby and with her more of them. Shit shit shit, this wasn't looking good.

I noticed the chickens oddly avoiding one of the coops, so I took a peek inside and there, right in the straw a while nest. Mother and children, all sleeping in a nice little pile. I carefully entered the coop and closed the door behind me. Though the door was fairly low, inside, I had enough room to straighten myself out. After all, I came here regularly to collect eggs, it had to be comfortable for that kind of job.

Unfortunately, it seemed they noticed me coming. They woke up and gawked at me for a moment before desperately trying to escape... but they had no place to go, so they just ran into the walls, scraping their hooves against them. Since there wasn't enough room to swing my shovel, I reached out for them one by one and sent them to whatever abominable eldritch god brought these horrid things into existence. The mother came last, screaming the whole time about her "bestest babbehs". She was the hardest to catch, trying to buck and bite at my hand, but once I grabbed her by the mane and pulled her up, there was nothing she could do. Grabbing her by the tail, I smacked her head against the floor. An audible crack signalled the end of the mares life, and I shoved the devil's pez dispenser into my sack, along with her children.

The compost pit would later have some new visitors, but I feared this was far from over.

Maybe... maybe I should take one alive. They could speak, if only just barely... The thought ran through my mind, but for the moment, I stormed out of the coop, scaring my own chickens. In the distance, I could see several more technicolour dots racing to my cornfield. My eyes followed them, gazing at what laid beyond the corn... the forest... of course. They had to come from there.

...-- II --...

Last night, after I finished making my compost pit look like an unhappy accident at the crayon factory, I set up some snares. Today I looked through the traps.

First one had a dead stallion in it. Somehow the dumb thing managed to get its neck in the loop and then chocked itself out while trying to run away from the trap.

The second one was empty.

But as they sometimes say, third time's a charm. I found myself a horrified mare curled around a cluster of foals, like cotton candy wrapped around a handful of skittles.

She looked at me with wide-open eyes, filled with hope and sparkles.

"Mistah hewp Chewwy?" she asked. "Chewwy hoofie hewt. Wowst owies."

I got my sack and shrugged, bagging the mare and her foals among their desperate screams. I took them to the tool shed.

...--...

"Mistah wet Chewwy go! Wet babbehs go!"

"Not until you answer some questions."

"Chewwy nu answew meanie munstah!"

"Oh, we'll see about that."

I loomed over the mare, now strapped to a little stump I used for splitting wood. Mostly in winter, for that authentic fireplace feel. Her foals were chirping up a storm in a bucket nearby, well, three of them. The stupid thing killed one of her own children while trying to kick her way out of the sack as if that would ever work.

"Babbehs nu wowwy. Mummah sabe babbehs. Mummah teww meanie munstah to go away."

"Oh, you're going to tell me to go away?"

"Yu! Go away meanie munstah."

"No."

The mare looked at me dumbfounded, the gears in her head slowly clicking behind her oversized, vacuous eyes.

"Pwease?" she tried, cocking her head.

"No."

She huffed at me and wiggled on the stump.

"Chewwy wiww gib mienie munstah wowst owies wif huffies."

"Look, listen here you ungodly, technicolour insult to genetic engineering. I need to know where your herd came from, is it the forest?"

"Chewwy no teww!"

"Chewwy no teww, huh?" I mocked her, bringing out an old gas stove. What I planned to do will likely stink the shed up for days to come but... well... if I didn't find a way to get rid of them, soon everything would stink of fluffy shit. And that's a kind of rancid in its own class.

Lighting the stove, I took a metal poker and set it against the side of the stove, so the tip can start heating up while I shove my hand in a heat resistant glove.

The mare looked at the stove with fear, the reflection of the flames dancing in her big eyes.

"Munstah gib Chewwy buwny owies... Chewwy nee am bwave. Hewd nee Chewwy am bwave," she murmured to herself, breathing heavily.

"Oh, nah, I'm not gonna do anything to you. Yet..." Reaching into the bucket, I pulled out one of her foals and grabbed it tight, steadying it.

"CHEEP! PEEP! PEEP! CHIRP!"

"A fine little colt you have here, Chewwy," I gave it a little squeeze, coaxing even more panicked noises out of the small, delicate thing. "Would be a horrible shame if something happened to it, a real shame."

"Nu... pwease nu!"

"But I'm afraid I can't have your children breading even more vermin," threatening her, I wrapped my fingers around the grip of the poker, giving her time to consider what I intended to do. "Still awfully horrible if something were to happen to it..."

"Nu! SCREEEEEE! NU! WEAVE BABBEH AWONE, MEANIE MUNSTAH!"

"Awfully, awfully horrible," I repeated, moving the poker towards it underdeveloped genitals. The foal seemed to know something terrible was coming and intensified its efforts to somehow get away. Utterly futile efforts. It cried loudly as it could feel the approaching heat of the poker, but there was nothing either it, or its mother, could do.

I didn't expect something so small could scream so loudly. And when I took the poker away, it just continued crying and screaming.

I looked at the mare again.

"Awfully horrible, just the worst."

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" it wailed with each breath, each subsequent scream becoming raspier as its voice gave out.

"Babbeh! Mustah wegwet! Mummah big munstah wowst owies. Wowstest wowstest owies!"

"So, in the forest? Somewhere else?" Fuck I was so not good at this whole torturing for information shit, rattled through my head. I thought she'd give in just from the threats. For the moment, I sat the foal down in front of its mother, letting her drink in its suffering.

"CHEWWY!"

I whipped my head around to see another little bit of rainbow that descended down to Earth to make it a worst, more shit and vermin filled place.

"SPESHUW FWEM, SABE CHEWWY!"

"DUN WOWWY CHEWWY. TUWIP GIB MUNSTAH DA HUWTIEST OWIES," and then the mad lad charged at me with its stubby little horn. It hurt a bit when he crashed against my shin.

"Ow! The fuck?" I reached down and picked him up the scruff of his neck. He puffed his cheeks up and tried to swing his rump around, probably to shit all over my pants.

"Nope!" I declared, slamming it headfirst into the bucket. "Guess we have another candidate for fixing," I announce, turning to the mare and grabbing the poker again. By this time it already cooled down, but not enough where me pressing it against the stallions testicles wouldn't hurt. Which is precisely what I proceeded to do.

"GRMPHHHHHHHHH!" came from the bucket, where the stallion was screaming its lungs out straight into its children.

"NUUUUUU! SPESHUW FWEM! BABBEHS!"

"Well, that definitely wasn't enough." I set the metal rod back against the gas stove and squat down in front of the tied mare. The foal was left gasping and panting, not having the strength to scream anymore. It only gasped and bucket lightly, writhing on the cold, hard floor.

"So... in the forest?"

She gave me a spiteful glare. Which I'm sure would have looked impressive, if she wasn't a fluffy and thus about as threatening as an enraged pillow.

"NU TEWW!"

"Well, alright," with a shrug, I continued to wait for the poker to get hot. Then, I picked it up the poker and began bringing it closer towards the stallion's rear, still stuck in the bucket.

"YU! FOWEST! HEWD IN FOWEST!" she screamed.

"Yeah, I figured," I replied, absentmindedly bringing the hot metal down on the stallion's testicles, burning the left, then the right.

"HWRGBLLLLLHEEEEEE!" came a muffled noise from the bucket. I tipped it over and shook the stallion out. Finding that, while I was cauterising his lumps, the damn thing used one of its children as a bit gag.

"Wow, that's... fucked up," I blinked a few times in disbelief and shrugged. "In any case, you can go." The stallion curled up into a ball, protecting his scorched testicles with his tail. I turned off the stove, untied the mare and left the shed, watching her run away without her "speshuw fwem" and "babbehs" like the cowardly, disgusting creature she was. Ugh... the stench in there was making me sick.

...-- III --...

Having spent the night ordering industrial-strength anti-fluffy solutions, I woke up the next day later than usual. When I walked out to survey my yard, I was surprised to see the stallion I administered a botched castration yesterday. He was lying close to the shed, crying, while two more fluffies continued to kick at him.

"Hey, what the fuck are you philosophical zombies doing?" I yelled, extending my hand towards the scene, to accentuate my question.

"Da munstah!" cried one of them.

"Wun!" concluded the other and both of them bolted for the cornfield and towards the forest.

I walked over to the beaten and bruised fluffy.

"Hu... hu... huuuu..." it cried, clutching something. "Hu... hu..."

As I approached, he only curled up protectively around something.

"Hu hu... huuuuu..."

"What the heck?"

"Am pwotect babbehs, huuu... hu... go away munstah."

"No I mean, why the heck did the other ambulate extra-large skittles beat your sorry ass up."

"Huuu... huuu... Chewwy towd hewd fwuffy towd munstah whewe hewd be. Now fwuffy no habe hewd. No habe speshuw fwem. No habe speshuw wumps. No habe miwkies fow babbehs. Huuu hu huu... huuu... hu hu huuu..."

"Well, sounds tough." I shrugged and reached out for the little abomination, grabbing it by the scruff of the neck. It tried to protectively cling to the foals, but they all got left on the ground. Two dead, one killed by the mother, another bitten to death by the father. The third one was still wheezing, it was the one who's testicles I scorched. The last one was still very much alive, chirping and peeing madly.

"N-nu babbehs! Babbehs wun!"

"CHEEP! CHIRP! CHIRP! PEEP!"

I took him to the shed and found some rope, quickly trying a harness around its body. He didn't even protest anymore, hanging limply in my grasp as I did the deed. I took the fluffy to the forest's edge, picking out a tree and hurling him over a low hanging branch.

"WAAAAAH!"

It screamed as it dangled from the branch.

"So, you're going to be my new fluffy repellant."

"NU WAN AM WEPEWWANT!"

"You don't have anything to say in the matter."

I left him hanging from the tree, crying and periodically yelling for his herd to save him. I returned to where I left the foals—the two living curling up pathetically with their dead siblings. Well... nothing personal kiddos, but...

I found myself a few nice, straight twigs and sharpened them. Grabbing the first living foal, I aligned the sharpened end of my stick with its anus and pushed. The scream was short and cut off roughly as I must have hit some internal organs, ending its life. It didn't matter. I took the second one and did the same, it didn't even scream or protest, but then again I did burn his balls off, and I figured the poor thing was at the end of the line anyway.

Armed with four foals on a stick, I want back to the forest, planting them in the ground every few meters. It's going to be a few days before a proper solution arrives. And if I had to build a palisade out of fluffy corpses before its here, let it be so.

No skittle-pony is going to rummage in my crops, in particular my vegetable garden. I thought to myself, planting the final foal in the ground.

...-- IV --...

The next day I was calmly whacking some weed with my trusty weed whacker, when suddenly, I caught some horrible neon colours in the periphery of my vision. I turned the mower off and turned around.

"Dewe da munstah."

"Munstah gon get wowst owies."

"Fwuffy gib big hewties."

"Oh, what the shit? You three and what army?"

They didn't answer, simply charging at me, I revved up the weed whacker and...

...--...

Letting the water run over me, I heaven in the shower.

So much blood, shit and urine. Everywhere.

What the actual fuck?

Why do they basically explode when you weed whack them?

It was everywhere, on the grass, on the fence, on my shed...

Just how much shit can you fit inside a single skittle-pony?

What worse it was on my clothing and on my face.

Oh god, I think it got in my mouth...

"HUUURK HAAAAAGHR... WURGHBLORGHGLORH!"

I threw up in the shower, again.

Oh god, but it was in my mouth...

The images of what happened ran through my mind again. The moment the whackers wire started biting into the first one, its curt scream as it started falling apart like a rotten pumpkin, exploding with blood and guts everywhere. The other two, trying to stop and run away, my mouth open in horror. The swing of the device catching the other two, their desperate screams as it shaved the flesh of their bones. Then, the wafting stench of blood and rancid manure filling my nostrils as I felt the first moist globs of flesh and filth on my face and hands.

I need a therapist. The thought flashed through my mind. Or else I might forever have flashbacks to Shitnam.

...-- V --...
Uploader Shem-ha,
Tags author:shem-ha death pest_control peters_pest_problems torture
Source
Unknown
Locked No
Parent None
Rating Explicit

Comments

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Anonymous1: More visceral, i commented on the last post, you have the oppourtunity and i know you can go deeper.
- Reply
Anonymous2: @Anonymous: This is some good writing, Anon, kindly vent your desire for mindless frothing torture shit somewhere else. It's already visceral as fuck.

Most abuse authors have the protagonist just wading through storms of shit and gore without comment or effect, so I appreciate that this is one of the ones to really drive home how fucking gross these fragile things can be.
- Reply
Shem-ha: I might or I might not go deeper. But whatever I will do, I'll do on my own terms, at my own pace and in the direction I want to take it.
- Reply
Anonymous3: Hopefully Cherry the lying cowardly blame shifting bitch gets what she deserves.