amputation feral foal impending_abuse plain_abuse_nothing_more pt.5 sketties


Plain Abuse. Nothing More. Pt.5

Owwies... su many owwies... why munstah daddeh gib wowses owwies??

am... am gud fwuffy...


nu feew weggies... nu feew speciaw wumps... smeww booboo juice aww obah da pwace...


an... heaw wittwe chirpeh babbeh... whewe am babbeh? fwuffy wiww hewp babbeh...



nu wowwy babbeh, wiww gib huggies an make huwties gu way...

ouuu... nu can make wawkies...

... bu make bad poopies...


an peepees...


wuh? nee hewp chirpeh babbeh!

... why see pwaces am dawkies? am dawkie times awweady?


see pwaces am wittwe nao?


am... su tiwed...


... su...





"Alright, time to deal with you."

You shut the door behind you, satisfied with how your fluffies have calmed down from your... your...

Anyways, as you were coaxing and handfeeding them, you had figured out why neither mother was crying over the foal you stepped on. As it turns out, it belonged to the mother of that pissy bestest baby. The father didn't even seem that hung up over it. You saw him prodding at his special friend with concern, but she either waved it off or even got annoyed at him. Eventually, he gave up - makes you wonder how long he's had to put up with her...

Back to the present: you approach the red, orange, and brown fluffy that lay listlessly in your sink, with an also red, but mainly purple foal a few inches away. The stallion's legs stuck out in odd directions, it's stomach was severely bruised and swolen... and it's face... You look at it's face, but it doesn't move to return your gaze. Right as you spoke, what remained of it's scrawny and deformed genitalia spurted out a spitful of scaredy peepees. You try to stifle a chuckle - you fail.

"Wh-why munstah hoomin waugh? Fwuff- *kaff* fwuffy hab bigges an w-wowses huwties ebah..."

"Listen up you little shit, you made me look bad in front of all the other fluffies. Do you know how long I had to spend telling each and every one that their daddy would give them lots of 'huggies and love'? The mothers forced me to say this to all their foals as well! Jesus..."


"I'd turn you into a litterpal, but you're FAR too bad of a fluffy to even be that, so I'll be doing something else to you."

"... weave... *hak* fwuffy awone..."

"Oh don't you worry... you won't have to see me for much longer."

Before this one is taken care of, you wanted to at least treat the foal first. Reaching towards the towel rack, you lay a rag on the countertop and place the silent foal on it. Extremely tired out from malnutrition and its injury, its eyes remain shut and it's body jerks as if it were chirping, but just didn't have the energy to even do that. You gauge the damages that your heel inflicted... you could probably amputate its hind legs and prop its body up to allow the rest of its rear to heal. Part of you wanted to off it here and now, but remembering what you read about "munstah babbehs", you saw potential here.

Of the various fluffy items you had purchased, foal formula was one of them. The half gallon container sat near the fluffy pen you set up, covered in condensation. You peel the safety seal off, pour a rough four/five ounces into a small porcelain bowl, and heat it for a minute. Shortly after you open the microwave door, you notice movement out of the corner of your eye - the foal has started wiggling about on the rag, having picked up on the scent of heavenly milkies. It's mouth open and closes without making a sound, as if it's anticipating a caring mother to lovingly nudge it towards its crotchboobs, whispering 'hewe babbeh, hab miwkies tu grow big an stwong!' You shudder. It quickly stops.

Upon close inspection, it was still small enough to be completely enclosed in your hand, but visually it was also obviously larger than a newborn. Upon the rag reeking of its bodily waste, it's lower half lay unmoving while the front legs had gotten more vigorous in their swaying while the head moved about, desperately seeking where the smell of milkies was coming from.

You take your thumb and index fingers to pick it up at its midsection, causing it to flail even more wildly before quickly drooping back down as you lower its head into the warmed bowl. As it isn't wired to lap, but to suckle, it's mouth resembled how fish eat, rapidly opening and closing to take in as much as possible.

The stallion softly 'huu-huu'ed' as the only other sound in your kitchen was the light splattering of formula. With a shallow puddle left in the bowl, the foal pushes its hooves against your fingers in an attempt to bring itself closer, even if just a little. Sucks to suck - you lay the energized foal back onto the rag as it starts to chirp in distress. From a nearby drawer, you reach for a knife and place your fingers around the foal's hind legs that were rendered useless, pressing them closer together.


The knife drops through the smushed flesh like half-warm butter, slightly resisted by its soft bones but clearing everything else. Though you expected to see blood flow out of the cuts, you find that a soft, deep red layer of flesh had developed closer to the foal's body. A few droplets of blood ooze through, but otherwise this is a testament to how efficient fluffies blood cells are at clotting and healing. For once, you're impressed by something a fluffy has done.

It doesn't seem to be in more pain, but it does notice that it just became a lot lighter, evidenced by how its efforts to move about were renewed. You watch it in silence... its chirps become more shrill as it struggles onward... the empty bowl sits inches away... minutes pass... the empty bowl sits slightly fewer inches away... it's almost near the edge of the rag...

You pull out another handtowel, pick up the foal, and place it onto the clean rag - there's an betrayed twinge to its chirping. Carrying the amputee, you then take it to your bathroom and place it near the sink. You then grab your headphones and put them on before you try to clean off its fur as much as possible.

Warm water trickles out from the sink onto the squirming foal as you repeat a gentler version of your foal cleaning from their first bath. It's mouth stayed open throughout the process, but if it was chirping, you didn't hear it. Onto a third dang towel, you place the foal and let the weight of its soggy fur hold it down. To make sure it's completely safe from getting itself killed, you then put the towel into a tall bowl, leaving it in your bedroom. You watch it chirp and cheep, shivering from the dampness. It's back stumps have already started growing fur, and its movements still look healthier than before. It should be fine. For now.

Returning to the kitchen, you lookback into the sink to see that the stallion has curled up, struggling to suckle a limp hoof. He won't be hurting for much longer... You retrieve all of the remaining fluffy food products - treats, kibble, and especially: sketty mix. Just for fun, you toss an apple shaped gummy treat into the sink. You hear a soft, but shocked 'am nummies?' from it. Gotta keep him going just for a bit longer. Now it's time to start dinner.

Rotund, rosy-cheeked fluffies were printed on the packaging, wearing chef's hats or holding ladles with their mouths. You read the box description...

"New Hasbio-Certified 'EZ Sketty' (TM) is here to bring the DELICIOUS flavor of tomatoes and basil* to your kitchen!

Simply add the sketty mix to any pasta or grain dish to INSTANTLY make your fluffies drool and beg for more!

*Product does not contain real tomato or real basil; your fluffy may experience nausea, flu-like symptoms, increased libido, or other side-effects; if your fluffy displays these effects, contact your local veterinarian's office immediately."

At the bottom, a parody Chef Boyardee in a fluffy form grinned, with the caption 'Fank ou fow choosin EZ Sketties!' written.

If the fluffy-ized designs didn't get your blood boiling already, this final line did. But... something within you felt... tired... Regardless, you wouldn't be boiling blood, but water.

After a few minutes, the filled pot was on its way to a boil. You slide out a generous serving of angel hair noodles from its container to eventually cook in the water. Meanwhile, the stallion smacked its lips on the delicious 'soft an siwwy appwe nummy!' You walk over to the sink, and it freezes mid-chew when it sees you.

"I'm making sketties, would you like to have some?"

"! Nu wan munstah daddeh's sketties!"

"You sure? You can have all of it!"

"... nu... wan..."

It's eyes drooped as it fantasized about the nectar of fluffies, how the pasta's warmth wafts into its nose, how its taste makes every single dopamine receptor in its laughably inefficient brain open up for maximum joy.

"Come on, a little sketties never hurt any fluffy, right?"

"O... otay! Wan aww sketties!"

"Sure thing! You can even be in the pot!"


Even though fluffies aren't naturally carnivorous, you personally loved to add some protein to your pasta. But you weren't intending on wasting money on quality meat - no, you already had some right here. It won't be too much longer until the water is at a boil, but you don't need that much time. You look back at the fluffy, staring into space with its mouth agape, drooling at the sides.

The fluffy doesn't have that much time, anyway.
Uploader KripL,
Tags amputation feral foal impending_abuse plain_abuse_nothing_more pt.5 sketties
Locked No
Parent None
Rating Questionable


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KripL: Thanks to whoever has been following these. Not sure how much longer this will keep going, but if there's anything you'd want to see feel free to let me know
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Anonymous1: good shit man, we'd love to see this reach its full conclusion
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BuzzsawMD: this been a good read so far really enjoying it
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BlackerTheBewwy: I love where this is going, sure hope that the stallion tastes good for the other fluffies.
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milkshakers: Only request would be seeing the mare and her 'bestes babbeh' suffer, but I'm enjoying it all.
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Anonymous2: I'd love to see a scenario where the yellow foal gets fed so much milk it slowly dies of obesity.
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Anonymous3: absolutely fwikin mazin' daddeh!