A Change of Heart: Part 21 (Part 1/2)
[Link to Part 20.5](https://www.reddit.com/r/fluffycommunity/comments/jco46w/a_change_of_heart_for_better_and_worse_part_205/)
[Cast of Characters](https://www.reddit.com/r/fluffycommunity/comments/i86orw/a_change_of_heart_for_better_and_worse_dramatis/)
It was maybe 0930, coming towards 1000, when Eric was awoken by a muffled *fwumf*. Opening one eye tentatively, he saw a seemingly giant nose and a mass of grey, black, and white fur.
“We’ve talked about this,” he grumbled. Despite being slightly north of fifty pounds (a little overweight, but Eric was bad about giving his dogs table scraps), Togo still thought he was a lap dog. actually, all four of them did.
*Swish, swish, swish, swish*. He heard Togo’s poofy tail rasping across the comforter. Yep, he was in one of “those” moods. Togo inched closer. Eric rolled over and felt his front paws on his back, grumbling something incoherent that probably was along the lines of “let me sleep you damn dog.”
Nothing for it: Togo kept inching up until his nose was millimeters from Eric’s face, his hot breath blowing in his owner’s nose. Dog breath is NOT one of the things any person…any sane person, anyway (and of course Eric wasn’t one of those by any definition)…wants in their face.
“Fine, I’m up, I’m up,” Eric grumbled, getting a happy bark and a wiggle from Togo in reply. He smiled—it was hard to stay mad at any animal for him…
That thought stopped him in his tracks. *Not hard to stay mad at Cobalt and crew*, he mused darkly. Rousting the rest of the dogs, he completed his morning routine and went down to check on Sammy, Dread, and the rest. Or he would have, had Davis not set them up in the (now gate-less, and with Fluffy Door) back yard.
Turning, he glared at the “holding cell” where Lucy lived. Seeing her reflection in the glass, he smirked as she backed up, hiding behind her growing foals. Her bestest was noticeably bigger than the rest, courtesy of the double allotment of milk she gave him daily. No doubt he’d go smarty—he’d need to be separated from his siblings before long to combat that.
“I told you what would happen if you kept doing that,” Eric reminded, and slammed open the door. Tears flew down Lucy’s face as she was spanked five times, then roughly put back in her cage. Filling her food and water, he left her. He’d have to change the cleaning date from once a week to once every couple days: that pen was getting *rank*.
As he made breakfast, his phone buzzed. Typical, the railroad needed him. Okay, he WAS the owner and CEO of a conglomerate, and he was on the extra board, but still…
The memories of what he’d done the previous night flashed through his mind over and over as he ate, idly munching toast and coffee. He still enjoyed what he’d done: hell, it excited him even now. But…another part was truly disturbed. And what worried him more was the fact that he was more annoyed by the railroad taking away his fun time with Carrot than anything else.
Well, he could fix that: the final act of the abuse orgy would be the crown jewel. He’d have to sacrifice a couple good foals, probably, but it would be worth it. Or maybe…
\* \* \* \* \* \*
That day passed cold, hungry, and terrifying for the surviving fluffs in the little workshop of horrors. Carrot, the only undamaged mare left, stood terrified into silence, desperately hugging her belly as she listened to the sobs and wails of the rest of the surviving mares.
Pastel was, to put it quite simply, in her own world—essentially enfed into delirium, and driven insane by the dual traumas of losing her foals (that she apparently “loved” despite the evidence to the contrary) and being …well, raped. She honestly thought she was having the same foals she lost again, and was singing to them, even using their names. Ashley and the rest were sobbing, even as the younger ones were excited about the babies in their tummies. Rainbow, for her part, was singing away in her sorry box, thinking she was pregnant again. It would be perfect for Eric to destroy her that much more.
Elsewhere, Firecracker was still off in his own pen, blissfully sleeping off the bender…and the cocktail of drugs. One of the cocktail portions was essentially a mind-wiping drug (only useful on Fluffies…but you can bet your ass the CIA tried it on humans anyway…) so he’d never remember a thing.
The few surviving “unwed” males were still terrified over in their own pen, and in front of Carrot lay the carcass of her beloved special friend. He wasn’t much to look at (why Cobalt allowed him to mate with her was beyond any reasoning), but he was her bestest special friend. And by god did she love him. And now, looking at his glazed eyes, lolled-out tongue, and his headie being bent at such an unnatural angle, it made her have sickie-wawas.
Carrot panicked, and quickly began slurping up the gross-tasting liquid. She knew that, if she didn’t, her daddy would be even madder than he already was. He was very strict about bad poopies, and bad sickie-wawas had to apply too, right?
As the night came around, a quick rain shower doused the barn, thunder making the Fluffies jump and poop. Most that could ate their feces, again to save from punishment. Carrot was literally immobile, with five foals in her rotund belly. She sobbed again now, knowing she’d be beaten for her misdeed.
“*Nu…nu smeww pwetty, tummy haf owwies, an nao make bad poopies,*” she sobbed, “*Cawwot awm wowstest fwuffy nahahahaooo!*”
\* \* \* \* \* \*
What was supposed to be a quick trip out to a grain elevator and back, to pick up a shipment of 90-day grain, became an all-day (and most of the night) ordeal…because as usual the “Class 1” railroads couldn’t get their shit together. Eric had ended up bedding down in the old “Combined Companies” Crew Bunkhouse in St. Joseph, Missouri, while the crew waited for the rest of their cars to arrive. As such, it was nearly twenty-four hours before he got home again.
He wasn’t worried about his herd or the chicken coop Fluffs: Davis would take care of them. He wasn’t really worried about anybody in the barn either: Nicholas had auto-feeders to work with, and as for the workshop Fluffies…well, it’s not like he cared.
A chorus of screams from the box next to him turned his attention back to what he was planning, as he raced down the backroads towards home. While Carrot was going to be an absolute joy to “play” with, the anger and annoyance of having to deal with the idiots that worked the Class 1s made him want to abuse something more—just as stress relief. It was different than just beating the shit out of the herd that hurt his Sammy and Dread—that was justified, in his mind—and in fact the feeling and the thought scared him when he first had it. but now, he was totally on board. All he’d needed was his “supplies.”
Luring the ferals near the company engine shop would have been easy: once he understood what Amelia taught him about reasoning with Fluffies, he found it was quick and easy to manipulate them into coming with him. But he wanted something more: to break a naïve creature. A stop at a FluffMart in Northtown resulted in some extra captives: a pillowed mare and her four foals—plus one more that was apparently hers but, despite being in something akin to Fluffy adolescence, still couldn’t talk. He swiped a decent color feral mare (leaving all but two of her six babies) as well, just for shits and giggles—wringing the neck of several adults in the same herd as they slept. It was amusing to him, seeing the reactions of the foals as he dropped their dead mothers amongst them.
Now, though, his captives all sobbed and shat, terrified in a pair of dark, comfortless boxes on his passenger side as he purposefully hit every pothole and speed bump he could find. His truck could take it: the jury was out on whether they could or not.
*BOOMPHF!!* “WAAAH!” came the cry, and he was sure the still leg-equipped feral was just thrown against the front of the box, and judging by the terrified peeps of her babies, had landed on one. He punched the box of the pillowed mare, making her panic as well. He bared his teeth in a Germanic grin: he couldn’t wait to get home.
He knew…he knew this wasn’t right. Somewhere, at this point, he’d crossed a line. Destroying those who abused his beloved Sammy B and Dread was one thing: buying and stealing Fluffies (even ferals) for abuse was another. There was truly some kind of Jekyll and Hyde thing going on in his head. It was like that scientist/exec that had been at HasBio...Morayshire? Ericshire? He couldn’t place the name, but it had come out some time back that he had some form of alter ego that abused fluffies. The details were still hazy to him. All he knew was that the CEO of HasBio had actually put a hit out on him, and his Alicorn had somehow helped him?
Whatever, wasn’t important.
He entered his driveway and bounced hard over the 3ft gauge tracks that crossed it, sending the Fluffies around their boxes like fuzzy ping-pong balls. He didn’t take the drive up to the house, and instead turned to the Tobacco barn. He thought he saw Davis shaking his head in a window.
The house and his property were blissfully silent as he stepped out of the truck, save for the muted sobbing of Fluffies. Pulling a fly-swatter out of the side of the door (hey, they were handy to keep around) he threw open the passenger side and roughly dropped both boxes to the gravel. The mares screamed as he pulled open the first box, the one with the decently colored mare and her foals…
*Well, she ain’t got none now!* He laughed to himself as he saw her hugging her two dead foals to her, sobbing and begging them to wake up. her canary yellow fluff was stained and matted with tears around her face, and her ass…indeed all of her, was caked in shit. He was going to sorry swat her, but now, he realized it wasn’t hardly worth the trouble. Worse yet, she was already close to breaking—she’d be no fun to play with.
“Well, no plan survives first contact with the enemy,” he mused, shutting the lid again. He turned to the other box.
All four foals (and the older, adolescent fluffy) were alive, courtesy of their mother being immobile. They were, of course, all caked in shit, and the mare was sobbing both for that and just in general terror.
Eric roughly grabbed her. “WHAT DID YOU DO?!” He bellowed.
“WAHAHA! *HUU-HUU-HUU!!! PWEASE DADDEH,*” she begged, “*MUMMAH AN’ BABBEHS NU MEAWN TU MAWKE WOWSTET BAD POOPIES! PWEASE, WET MUMMAH…*”
Eric never let her finish as he pinned her down against the gravel and beat her again and again with the sorry-swatter. “NO.” *THWACK!* “BAD.” *THWACK!* “POOPIES!” *THWACK, THWACK, THWACK!!!*
“*owwies! OWWIES! OWWIES! WAI DADDEH HUWT MUMMAH?!!*” The mare begged.
“You broke the rules: No bad poopies, ever. That goes for you *and* your foals! In fact, you all get punishment!” he beat the foals too, leaving their mother a shaken, sobbing wreck. he threw her and her foals back into the box, sealed it, and kicked it hard onto its side. He heard the sound of a Fluffy shitting, and she begged one of her babies to eat it. No doubt, she wasn’t in a position to get it herself, but he’d beat her for it nonetheless later.
“Now, to deal with you,” he said to the feral mares’ container. He had a wonderful idea: soon he was hiking up to the house…and one of his many gun-safes. One of his first firearms ever was a jet-black Remington 870, with a twenty-six-inch barrel, perfect for hunting. He had the shorter 18in barrel on it now (they were easily interchangeable), but the old one came out and was dropped in place easily. With the gun over his shoulder, and shells rattling in his pocket, he trotted back down.
“Batter EEEEUUUP!” he shouted, dropping the mare from chest height and kicking it roughly. She went flying, shit following her like the wake of a ship. The gun came up from the ground and into his shoulder before she’d even cleared his head, and the “ball” on the muzzle was tracking within milliseconds. Planting his feet, he led the target, and with a gentle squeeze of the trigger, the trap-shooting load blew the mare apart. Legs, bone fragments, internal organs, and tufts of Fluff pinwheeled away like shrapnel from an explosion.
“you got shit on my truck, you bitch,” he groused, wiping the worst of the tiny amount of shit on his vehicle away. Then he smiled. “That was kinda fun: should invent a new sport out of that.”
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Inside the workshop, the survivors (all of those still in possession of their faculties, that is…which wasn’t many) jumped at the sound of the gunshot, and most made poopies they didn’t know they had left. Carrot would have, had she been able to produce any feces at all. But at this point she was essentially wrung dry of all nutrients. Instead she sobbed, the pain of her empty stomach overwhelming.
“What up, shitrats?” Eric said in greeting as he strode through the door, box in hand.
“D…daddeh,” Carrot finally said through the shakes her pain was giving her, “Bestes’daddeh? Cawwot hab wowstest tummy ouchies…nu hab nummies! Mummah nee’ nummies fo’ mawking bestes’ miwkies fow bestest babbehs!”
Eric just stopped and stared at her. Taking his silence as tacit approval, Carrot continued. “Ca’ fwuffy hab nummies daddeh? Mummah weewy nee…”
“Shut up, shitrat.”
The words hit her like a smack in the face, and she somehow stifled her sobs, silent tears running down her fluff like a river. “Wai…wai du dis tu mummah?” she finally choked out quietly.