"Bandit's New Job - 1" By fluffstory (https://pastebin.com/u/fluffstory) URL: https://pastebin.com/Ejg0jcdj Created on: Saturday 9th of November 2019 10:10:13 AM CDT Retrieved on: Friday 30 of October 2020 11:23:55 AM UTC FractalFluff, February 19, 2014; 17:13 / FB 18139 ======================================================================================================================================= (Hugbuse? Ab-box? Just don't know anymore. Why did I even write this? I think my brain is broken.) BANDIT'S NEW JOB >Be a shelter operative. >Not especially keen on fluffies >Okay, you think fluffies are a horrible mistake. >But it's not their fault >And you feel sorry for the little freaks. >You spay, neuter, euthanize >All without rancour. >You treat the all shelter fluffies as well as you can. >Except for a few. >Abusive Smarty-friends, serial foal-killers, and milk bandits. >They get all of your buried ire. >The daytime crew caught a milk bandit today >They've put him in a sorry-box >Instead of the usual timer on top, there's a note: >"MILK BANDIT", it reads. "All yours, pal." >Then, in smaller text: >"Killed two litters in his old herd + one in here. Get creative!" >Then there's a smiley face. >All yours, pal. >You smile at the bandit. >"Dummeh hoomin!" he snaps through the tiny barred aperture in the sorry-box. >"Wet Smawty out NAO! Gif bigges owwies!" >A milk bandit AND an abusive Smarty? >You prepare to get very creative. >A deliberate quadruple amputation could cost you your job >But there's nothing in the rules about restraints. >There's a four-point rack available for "anxious" fluffies >Its supposed to be humane >There are four posts, each with an elastic-and-Velcro shackle >And optional body-belt, neck and head restraints >With blinkers for nervous ponies. >It can be positioned with the posts vertical, to allow the fluffy to stand >Or horizontal, so restrained mothers can sit or lie down to feed their babies. >Perfect. >With many flicks and squeezes you place the Smarty in the restraints. >He screams about all of the owwies he's going to give you: >"YU DUMMEH HOOMIN! SMAWTY AM SMAWTY! GIF BIGGES OWWIES! GIF YU MAWES SPESHUW HUGGIES! MAKE WOTSA SMAWTY TUMMEH-BABBEHS! GIF YU FOWEVAH SWEEPIES AN TAKE WAND! GONNA GIF SOWWY POOPIES!" >Till you muzzle him. >You flip him over so that he's lying on his back. >First, you shave his belly from his chest to the base of his tail. >Muffled yells and threats dissolve into muffled pleas >And the occasional muffled squeak >You "accidentally" nick him in some sensitive regions. >"Milk bandit, huh?" you say. >"Does da widdle fwuffy wike his miwky-wiwkies, dens?" >You cut off a section of the heavy-duty adhesive plasters the shelter uses to patch up injured ponies >More like fabric duct-tape than anything. >The shelter fixes all its fluffies, except the pregnant dams >But uses this new hack some vet came up with: a "humane" and "non-invasive" method >Reversible, leaves fluffies' sex drives and external bits intact. >So you can't actually cut off his junk. >He doesn't know that. >"I guess if you want to be a big baby, you don't mind giving up special huggies!" >Pick up a big elastic band >Whip off his muzzle. You want to hear this. >You want the other fluffies to hear it too. >"Say goodbye to your no-nos, Bandit!" >"NUUU! Fwuffy nee' noh-nohs! Wuv noh-nohs! Pwease nu take noh-nohs pwease pwease PWEAAAAA — " >Pull back the band, give 'em a good PING >He can't see what you're doing >The searing pain convinces him that he's been gelded. >"NUUUUU! Noh-nohs goooooooone!" >Tuck his shrunken, throbbing junk into the abdominal cavity >Slap the plaster over it all, leaving just a small gap for pee. >What you have in mind will do away with any little urges he might get. >Let him see the apparently blank spot where his bits ought to be. >"Huuhuuhuu... munstah take noh-nohs... huuu..." >Before doing your rounds that night >You give him the first of many hormone shots >("Owwwiee... why huwt Fwuffy... huuhuuhuu...") >And prepare a detailed treatment plan for the day shift to follow: >Shots >Restraints >Special kibble. >You set everything up so it's handy for the staff >Assign his specialized care to a couple of colleagues who you trust to go along with it. >After a couple of days he's coming along nicely >No longer begs for his no-nos back >Though he still pleads for his legs. >Since he can't move them, he assumes he's an amputee. >With the proper care (regular adjustment, repositioning, rub-downs) >All he should lose is a little muscle tone. >But he doesn't know that. >"Your leggies hate you. They ran away." >"Wahh! Come back, weggies! Pweeeease!" >"Nope! You're neeeeever going to see them again." >"Huuhuuhuu..." >Best of all >The two swellings just above his crotch are really blossoming. >He's about a fluffy A-cup after two days. >The fenugreek in the kibble makes him smell like maple syrup. >After a week of shots and Happy Mummah Kibble he's really filling out >Take off his head and neck restraints, let him see his body. >"Wahhh..? Fwuffy haf... Fwuffy haf miwkie pwaces..?" >"Big fat milkie places!" you tell him cheerfully. >"HUUHUUHUUUU! NU WAN! NU WAN MIWKIE PWACES!" >Trapped in the classic "huggies-please" pose >He jolts and writhes in his restraints >"WAN NOH-NOHS! WAN WEGGIES! WAN BE STAWWION 'GAIN!" >Laughing, you park him so that the other fluffies get a good eyeful >They know who he is and what he did. >They can't get to him >(You're not THAT evil) >But he can hear and see them. >All the stallions calling him a "pwetty mawe!" >Offering to give him tummy-babies >The mares gesturing and laughing >Asking where his babies are >Telling him he should be feeding his foals... >Huh. >Now there's an idea. >You start pumping him. >Nothing comes out at first >But with regular assistance >He begins to lactate. >You give the regular vet a sample of the milk, saying it's from one of the nursing mothers >There's a slight trace of the female hormone in the mix >You cut back his shots, sample again >It tests okay. >The shelter is always getting orphaned foals. >Hand-feeding takes up a lot of time >Rack feeding has a high mortality rate >A wet-nurse is always the best option >But there are so few mothers willing to foster a foal. >Bandit becomes a loving wet-nurse >A noise-cancelling muzzle and a couple of speakers replace his sobs and wails with affectionate maternal cooing and singing. >Most times, one or two happy foals nurse obliviously from his abundant teats >They're the only company he gets. >He no longer fights. >Just slumps in his rack >Muzzle permanently stained with bitter tears >The note the day shift left is still pinned up over his isolation pen >Just one small amendment: >BANDIT has been crossed out >And BAG written in.