Title:           Hugs Time?: Part 1 of the Vocabulary Building series
Author:          Zeikfried
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/mH12H0jj
First Edit:      Sunday 29th of April 2012 09:27:48 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Sunday 29th of April 2012 09:27:48 PM CDT

>You've always wanted a fluffy pony, but their irritatingly repetitive, pre-programmed vocabulary turns you off.
>You wonder if it is possible to train fluffies to favor or avoid certain words by forming associations.
>Clearly, this is a job for science!
>You stop by the pound and ask to see the weaned fluffy pony foals.
>The depressed pound worker takes you back to the foal cages.
>The foals squeak at you, chirping "Pway?" and "Mumma?"
>You ignore the pegasi and unicorns, they're a bit fragile for the training you have in mind.
>A blue earth fluffy filly that's particularly healthy and vocal in her demands is your choice.
>You pay the worker and leave with your filly in a small paper box that's not too dissimilar to a Chinese takeout box.
 
>You keep the lid folded on the ride home, smiling at the squeaks of "Why dawk? Wan mumma! Wan hugs!" and "No smeww pwetty!"
>Of course she shat in the box, she's probably only twenty days old.
>The filly seems to ask for hugs more than anything else, so you decide to make that word your first taboo.
>You bring her inside, leaving her in the container while you arrange a small bed and a litterbox in an empty closet.
>She's sensed that the box has stopped moving and is pawing at the sides to get out.
>Having readied your 'safe room', you open the paper box and take a look at your filly.
>She squints at the light, then breaks into a smile as her eyes adjust and she sees you.
>"New fwiend!"
>Pretty cute.
>You lift her out and throw the box in the trash.
>A gingerly bath with a dish sponge gets the shit and funk of the pound out of her fluff while she babbles and nuzzles your fingers with her head.
>Then you feed her single Spaghetti-Os, watching her mash her blunt, soft baby teeth against the squishy rings.
>You actually have to cut some of the medium-sized ones in half since they're just the right size to choke her if she swallows them whole.
 
>After her bath and feeding you set her on the counter and look expectantly at her.
>She turns around a few times, taking in the room, then when she's satisfied with her inspection, she looks up at you.
>"Pway?" she asks, brightly.
>You smile and poke her in the nose, causing her to giggle.
>Carrying her around the room, you make airplane noises as you take her on a tour of her new home.
>She seems to like the airplane game.
>Then you roll her around on the floor like a ball with your bare foot.
>She giggles the entire time.
>After you play with her for about an hour, she's completely pooped and nuzzles against your leg.
>Your fluffy looks up at you and says, "Fwuffy wuv daddy! Give hug?"
>Game time.
 
>You lean down and look at her, feigning an expression of concern.
>"What did you just ask for?"
>Your fluffy seems taken aback by your reaction, but cautiously repeats, "Hug?"
>With fake confusion, you answer, "All right, if that's what you want."
>The fluffy pony squeals happily as you pick her up in one hand.
>But stops when your fingers close around her body and you start squeezing.
>"Owch! Hewp! Fwuffy no wike!"
>You stop squeezing and look at your pony.
>She shivers a bit and looks back at you.
>"Why huwt fwuffy? Fwuffy onwy want hug!"
>You stare at her and say, "But that's what a hug is."
>Fluffy pony goes quiet as the conflict in her brain begins.
 
>Once it looks like she'll be physically and mentally sturdy enough to survive your experiment, you decide to name her Thumb.
>She seems to like cuddling your hand, after all.
>Over the next few weeks, you take care of your fluffy pony, housebreak her, and enjoy her company.
>But you repeat the painful squeeze whenever she requests a hug and then ask her why she wanted to be hurt.
>Every day, Thumb runs into a situation where her programming prompts her to ask you for a hug.
>While your own conditioning makes her afraid to say the word.
>"Daddy, Fum want... want..."
>You lean down.
>"Yes? What do you want?"
>"Fum want... want..."
>Her programming wins out eventually and her brain shits out the word.
>"Fum want hug!"
>Her eyes go wide in terror at what she just asked for as you reach down to oblige the request.
>"No! Fum no want hug! Fum sowwy! No hugs!" she screams as you squeeze her.
>You make sure to keep her away from normal fluffy ponies.
>Every time it takes a bit longer for her brain to supply the word.
>The march of progress.
 
>One day a couple months later you leave Thumb in the backyard as you run an errand.
>And return to the sound of her crying.
>Peering out the screen door, you see a dirty brown unicorn mounting your fluffy.
>Judging by the bruising around his face and hooves, he's probably an abused stray that someone threw over your fence.
>The unicorn keeps going "eenf eenf eenf" as he penetrates Thumb, who cries at the pain.
>Dammit.
>You forgot that she'd be coming into her first heat.
>The unicorn climaxes and falls off of Thumb.
>"Fwuffy make speciaw hugs!" he announces, tired.
>Upon hearing the taboo word, Thumb cringes and starts crying harder.
>Actually, this might not be bad at all.
>You've been wondering how well a fluffy's behavioral conditioning can be transferred to its offspring.
>You pick up Thumb and the unicorn and take them inside.
 
>You set up a second 'safe room' made from a plastic storage tub for the unicorn and keep him separate from Thumb.
>Every day while Thumb is in heat you put them together and allow the unicorn to mount her.
>He does so joyously, chirping "give speciaw hugs" as Thumb cries at the rough insertion and the taboo word.
>Once Thumb begins to swell and the unicorn's ardor dies off from lack of pheromones you sell him to a breeder.
>Fluffy breeders are always looking for stud ponies that are smart enough to fuck on their own.
>Meanwhile you explain to Thumb that she's going to have foals.
>Thumb squeals with delight.
>"Fum so happy! Fum wuv behbies! Daddy, give hug?"
>Oh dear.
>Her impending motherhood is taking up space in her brain real estate and forcing your conditioning out.
>Time to redouble your efforts.
>To be fair, she becomes remorseful immediately when she realizes what she just said.
>"Fum no want hug! Fum sowwy! No hug, no huwt behbies!"
>You squeeze her anyway, this time placing your hands on her face and butt and pressing them together, painfully compressing her spine.
>"Mff mfuff!" Thumb cries.
>It seems to satisfy the need for negative reinforcement without damaging her.
>You look down at her teary face.
>"I made sure not to hurt the babies, but you need to control yourself better and not give into your impulses!"
>Thumb shakes all over as she nods at you.
 
>Your reinforcement pays off as Thumb passes the rest of her pregnancy without asking you for hugs.
>Eventually, the swollen pony goes into labor.
>"Fum need make poopies! Need poopies bad! Fum huwt!"
>You carry the nearly-spherical Thumb into the bathroom and set her down inside the tub, upside-down.
>A pile of towels is slid under her rear, and you begin pressing gently on her belly.
>One after another, four slimy foals slip out of Thumb and fall in the pile as she shrinks back to her normal size.
>Once Thumb can move on her own again, she wiggles over to the newborns and cleans the placenta off of them.
>She guides them to her teats, and they mewl and begin to take turns suckling as Thumb cuddles them.
>"Fum wuv behbies, Fum wuv!"
>The miracle of life.
>Time for the final test -- you reach in and pick up a foal.
 
>Thumb looks at you with mild alarm, though she's too tired to move anymore.
>"Pwease give babeh! Babeh need foodies! Babeh need... wuv... pwease, babeh need..."
>Here it comes.
>"Fum give... babeh need..."
>"Yes? What does the baby need?"
>You can almost smell neurons burning out in your fluffy pony's head as the training of her entire adult life goes to war with her maternal instinct.
>"... hugs?"
>Whoopsie!
>Thumb looks up at you as you pretend to recoil in disgust.
>"All right, Thumb."
>Tears form in her eyes as you hold the whimpering foal out over the tub, its head peeking from your closed fist.
 
>"No! Fum wong, babeh no need hug! Fum give... Fum give..."
>The experiment must go on... but the foal's little face reminds you of when Thumb was just a little pony herself.
>One more chance.
>"Yes?"
>"Fum give babeh..."
>She pauses, quivering so violently that the other nursing foals are shaken off her teats.
>"... hug?"
>Squish.
>Thumb screams as the baby's pulped body drips blood and gore onto the other three.
>"Thumb, why did you make me do that?"
>"Fum don't know..." she chokes out between her sobs.
 
>Pretty soon Thumb has blanked out the details of what happened.
>She hasn't forgotten the conditioning.
>Thumb herself now never utters the redefined word.
>The foals seem to pick up on the way she avoids using it.
>When they do blurt it out because of their programming, Thumb quickly shushes them with a punch from her soft hoof.
>One foal is a slow learner, however.
>Often you hear it ask "Mumma why no hugs?" followed by a little 'paff' as Thumb hits it.
>One day you come home to the sound of foals crying.
>"Pwease mumma, fwuffy sowwy! Fwuffy no want hug!"
>You open the safe room door to see Thumb squeezing the recidivist foal as hard as she can with her little hooves.
>Its tiny eyes are bulging out.
>The other foals are crying nearby and whimpering, "Pwease wet fwiend go!"
>Thumb cries, "Hugs bad fo' fwuffy! Babeh no ask fo' hug! No say!" while the foal squeaks contritely.
>"Sorry mumma, no say! No ask fow hug!"
>You're such a proud parent.