>You are the owner of Candy, the masochistic fluffy pony.
>You’ve had her for about a month now, and your techniques for coping with her are getting stale.
>Initially you found you could deal with her outbursts by reprimanding her lightly. Usually a swat to the nose with a rolled up newspaper would elicit that sweet cry of, “Fank ‘oo, daddy!”
>Then it got worse.
>She got bored of the newspaper.
>You found her at times after swatting her in her safe room headbutting the walls.
>She had made “Bad Poopies” in the litterbox and was punishing herself.
>Looked like good poopies to you, but you figured it made her happy
>You definitely shouldn’t encourage this behaviour, but you can’t have her inflicting pain on herself.
>She might hurt someone after all.
>So you started looking up more “satisfying” techniques online.
>It disgusted you to find entire forums dedicated to torture methods for fluffy ponies.
>It disgusted you even more to sign up for them.
>You reminded yourself that this was for Candy’s happiness.
>She had a hard life at the hands of that “Jolly” character and she deserved to be happy.
>Which is why you brought out a Sorry Stick, as a supplement to her daily beatings.
>That sounded better in your head.
>It was a broom handle that you found lying around in your garage.
>You at least wrapped it in a towel to try and cushion the impact, but then she complained she couldn’t feel it through her fluff.
>Then she would blackmail you emotionally into taking off the towel and wailing on her with all your might.
>Sometimes you wonder who the real owner in the relationship is.
>When she was unsatisfied she would self harm, gnawing at her hooves with her blunt teeth, and rolling around on her fluff with a determined look on her face.
>It was adorable.
>But it killed you inside to know she was fundamentally unhappy with her life.
>And that brings you to today, where your plans to make her happy finally come to fruition.
>After doing some more research and asking online, you found out there were websites dedicated to making tools for inflicting harm on fluffies.
>No matter how popular they were though, you still felt embarrassed having your neighbours see the fluffy torture rack delivered to your house.
>They smiled at you.
>You scowled back.
>But today should satisfy her for a good while.
>You just had to focus on your little ball of joy and how happy you’d make it.
>That sounded better in your head.
“Candy! Come into the garage, I have a surprise for you!”
>The sound of frantic scrabbling hooves on your hardwood surface reached your ears.
>You could hear her sliding around the corners, bashing into walls (probably on purpose) all the while screaming, “Candy wuv suppwise! Candy wuv Daddy!”
>She finally reaches the door to the garage and flings herself down the couple of steps that leads to the concrete floor.
>She hits it with an adorable *pomf* and promptly complains of her tummy hurting with a huge grin on her face.
>”Yay! Daddy!”
“Hello, Candy. Look what Daddy has for you! It’s a rack!”
>”Candy wemember wack! Candy wuv wack game!”
>Really? She’s been through this before? Balls. She might not find as much pleasure in this one as you thought.
>Seems you really have to step up your ideas next time to beat Jolly.
>Well, she seems enthusiastic enough about this anyway. Better not disappoint.
>You strap her into the rack, and she looks up at you expectantly from lying on her back.
“Are you ready, Candy?”
>She flails her legs with excitement.
>”Candy weggies no work! Candy weady!”
“Ok, Candy, here we go!”
>You turn the wheel up to the first notch.
“There you go, Candy! That’s your punishment!”
>She’s barely feeling anything and looks up at you with unimpressed eyes.
>”Daddy stupid! Daddy bad at game! Old daddy better!”
>Did she just... call you bad at this?
>Oh bitch, please.
“Oh really, Candy? You’re insulting Daddy?”
>Candy can see the look of intense vexation on your face and instantly lights up.
>”Yesh! Old daddy better! New daddy rubbish at making Candy happy! Wan’ go back old Daddy! Candy hate new Daddy!” She squeals with a huge grin on her face.
>She knows exactly what buttons to press because you don’t dignify her with a response.
>Instead you turn the crank up another 5 notches with a sickening, muffled POP as your reward.
>”AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Candy weggie hurt! Big ouchies! Candy sowwy!”
>Oh shit.
>You’ve dislocated her back leg. Seems that with her missing back leg the force was unevenly distributed and placed entirely on her remaining leg.
>You panic and flail at her cuffs.
>Tears are streaming down her fluffy face, and she wails with all her fluffy might.
“Don’t worry Candy! Daddy can fix this!”
>Free of the restraints, you pick her up by her torso. She’s crying too hard to notice.
>You take a firm hold of her hind leg. This she notices, and she starts trying to run away with her front legs and her stump.
>She doesn’t realise her movements are causing her more pain.
>You’re just going to have to do this, whether she likes it or not.
>You push hard at the socket and receive another muffled POP as the joint is realigned.
“It’s ok, Candy. Everything’s fine now. Sshh...”
>You stroke her mane and she calms down.
>You can feel her little heart beating in the palm of your hand. It’s racing a mile a minute.
>It slowly calms as her eyelids droop. She’s had quite a harrowing experience.
>She’s drifting off to sleep now, so you take her to her safe room.
>You set her down in her blanket nest and kiss her forehead.
“Good night, Candy. I’m sorry I hurt you.”
>Her eyelids flutter open for a second and her one good eye locks with yours.
>”Fank ‘oo Daddy. Yoo betta than old Daddy.”
>And with that she drifts off to sleep.
>You leave her to her dreams and notice your shirt is soaking wet with tears.
>You’re not sure whether they’re Candy’s or yours.
>*drip*
>Oh. They’re yours.