The Q-Tip Method

>Be David Church, loving owner of a six month old yellow Pegasus mare with a dark red mane named ‘Sandy’.
> You got her around Christmas time.
> Some stupid ad about stray fluffies aired on telly, encouraging people to adopt strays. You know the type: show a bunch of pictures of sad looking/abused fluffies whilst playing sappy music, talking about how some fluffies will be put to sleep, and about the miracles of Christmas or some bollocks.
> Usually, stuff like that doesn’t phase you.
> You don’t know why, but this time, whether it’s because you’ve always secretly wanted a fluffy, or you had too much Eggnog and was getting sentimental, you decided to pick one up.
> She’s been your little girl ever since. Well-behaved, obedient and cuddly.
> Makes you feel happy inside.
> Of course, however, all little girls grow up.

> It’s currently late spring, and you’re outside with Sandy.
> She’s having a great time in the backyard, and the alleyway beside your house.
> Since you live in the city, your property is protected by a chain link fence, rather than what you consider a ‘proper’ fence.
> You’d like to have one, but when you petitioned the city, they flatly said ‘no’, so you had to deal with it.
> You’re also in the backyard, attending to your small, little garden.
> Mostly tomatoes, some string beans. You’re a complete amateur at this.
> You’re actually one of those poor cubicle slaves.
> “Hello, my name is David Church, and I’m hear to take your verbal abuse”. That kind.
> You’re deep in thought about your tomatoes: why the fuck aren’t they growing?
> But then you realize you can’t hear Sandy.
> You look around the backyard, all you see is her little red ball, abandoned.
> You don’t panic. That never gets anyone anywhere.
> Eitherway, she’s a fluffy. She couldn’t have gone very far.
> So you poke your head into the little alley.
> Ah, there she is. By the fence. Good girl, never goes very far-
> Wait a moment.
> There’s another fluffy on the otherside of the fence.
> They’re talking.
> “Hewwo! I’m Sandy! Wat yoo cawwed?”
> “I Cwoud!” the other pure white earth fluffy replies.
> You smile. She’s made a friend!
> “Sandy weal pwetty!” the other fluffy says
> “Tank yoo Cwoud!”
> You feel your heart melt.
> “Wan give Sandy speciaw hugs”
> Awww…he wants to give her special hug-
>…Fucking WHAT!?
> “wat speciaw hugs? I wike hugs” Sandy says, smiling
> The stallion, smiles “Den you wuv dis!”
> Almost immediately afterwards, the dirty little fuck ‘mounts’ the chainlink fence and begins thrusting his erect little penis through one of the holes.
> “Waaah! Wat’s dat!?” Sandy screams, alarmed at the site of the member
> “Dat my speciaw thing!” Cloud happily says and begins thrusting. “Enf, enf, enf. Come cwosew, Sandy. Cwoud make yuu feew guud. Put in youw peepee pwace.”
> No. Fucking. WAY!
> You rush up to the fence, and kick the stallion’s little erect dong whilst it’s fully extended through the fence
> It screams “Owwie! Happy thing huwt!”
> “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM SANDY!” you scream and begin climbing the fence.
> You have no intention of actually scaling it, as you know getting its pecker kicked followed by a big scary human trying to catch it would scare it away.
> “WAAH! HOOMAN MUNSTA!” it screams before running off, its stride hampered by pain.
> You turn sharply to face Sandy, angry, but your anger subsides when you see her looking up at you, her eyes wet with tears.
> “Sandy scawed!” she whimpers. “Cwoud had scawy thing!”
> You realize this is the first time she has ever seen something like…*that*.
> Jesus Christ. Are all feral stallions that fucking perverted?
> Well, you were going to start taking her to the park in the summer, but now you’re not sure.
> Eitherway, you gingerly pick her up and take her inside.
> She’s shivering from the ordeal, but you comfort her with a kit-kat bar, and later on in the evening, some spaghetti.
> Then, you decide, to let her sit in your lap and watch FluffyTV. Jesus, the programming is god-awful, but she loves it. Used to be “The Hub”, apparently.
> You can’t help but nodding off half way through a program that consists solely of a ball rolling around a tile floor.

> You awake to strange music. Sounds…well, groovy. Kind of like 70s stuff.
> “enf! enf! enf! feew guud!”
> What?
> You snap your eyes open. The telly is still on FluffyTV…but something is wrong.
> Two fluffies are screwing on the television. What the FUCK is that SHIT!?!?!
> It’s still FluffyTV, the watermark is on the lower right-hand corner of the screen.
> And Sandy is standing infront of the it, staring at the two fluffies copulating.
> “speciaw huggies…” she whispers. You realize she’s lifting her tail, her little vagina is winking and dripping.
> You bolt up and shut the television off.
> “Why make fwuffies go ‘way!?” she whines.
> “That isn’t a show for you! It’s time for bed.”
> She sulks and trots off to the Safe Room…
>…dribbling vaginal juice as she does so.
> Jesus Fucking Christ.
> You check the calendar. It’s mating season. It’s mating season and she just saw her first stallion dick.
> You begin to feel queasy. She’s your little girl. This doesn’t seem right.
> You then try to go to sleep.

> You awake, and go to get Sandy her food.
> But she’s not there. You didn’t close the saferoom door.
> David, you complete tit!
> Then, you hear it
> “Wah speciaw hugs. Feew so guud. Ahh…ahh… ahh!”
> You find Sandy in your living room, backing up against one of the corners of your coffeetable.
> She is MASTURBATING with your COFFEETABLE. WHAT THE FUCK!?
> She can’t seem to get the rounded corner to properly go inside her.
> You’re about to walk over and give her a smack on the rear, but you slip and fall.
>…in a puddle of Sandy’s fluid. Oh God, you touched it!
> Sandy sees you, and turns around, and begins offering herself to you.
> “pwease, dada, put happy thing in. Wan feew guud. Sandy going cwazy! Wan speciaw huggies!”
> This is the last straw.

> You do the only thing you can think of. After throwing Sandy in the Safe Room, you call your brother, who’s an expert in Fluffies. Apparently had a government grant to research them until some grazy Irish scientist screwed everything up.
> “Hello, Dr. Church speaking”
> “Hey Ross, it’s me, David.”
> “Oh, hey, what’s up? How’s Sandy?”
>”Uhhh..about that…”
> You explain your situation.
> “Alright. It’s obvious this is her first heat.” He says. “So she’s not looking for babies?”
> “No.”
> “And you’re not looking to mate her?”
> “No and no.”
> “Well, the only thing I can think of to get her to shut up and calm down would be to use the Q-tip Method”
> “What’s that?”
> “Well, you take a Q-tip, moisten it with warm water so it simulates a penis and masturbate her with it.”
> There had to be about ten seconds worth of phone silence before you blurted out.
> “WHAT!?”
> “I’m sorry, that’s the only thing I can think of, unless you want to pay next to a hundred dollars to get her mounted by a sterile stallion”
> “I can’t fucking believe I’m hearing this…”
> “Oh for Christ’s sake, you’re positively Victorian, David!”
> “You want me to get a fluffy mare off with a Q-tip?”
> “It’ll calm her down and stop her dripping all over the place. It’s pretty much either that, or the sterile stallion.”
> You gaped for a moment. It seems like you didn’t have much choice.

> So you moistened a Q-tip with warm water, and you entered the Safe Room. This time, Sandy was trying to back herself up on her teddy bear
> “Teddy, pwease…pwease mistah Teddy”
> Jesus. Point of no return, this.
> “Sandy, come here.”
> She looks at you, walks over, turns around, and begins begging again.
> You hold her lightly by the back of the neck…
>…and push the Q-tip in.
> “yah daddeh! Speciaw huggies feew weal guud!” she says and you move it around inside her.
> You fancy you can taste last night’s spaghetti as if comes back up. Oh God.
> “ahhh…aaah…yah…yah!”
> Why, God, why? Why does she have to go on like that?
> She lets out a loud, long sigh soon afterwards. You pulled the Q-tip out, and a ton of vaginal fluid gushed out.
> Oh God, some got on your hand!
> She then laid down, curled into a ball and began licking her little fluffy vag
> “dat feew gweat. Wuv yoo daddeh. Tank you daddeh”
> You gulp down the bitter bile in your mouth and whisper “…you’re welcome, Sweetie.”
> You do the only thing you can think of: get her fluffy chow, a bowl of water, and shut the Safe Room door.
> Then you went to the bathroom, vomited, and took a three hour long shower.
> You couldn’t look at her for about a week afterwards.

> She calmed down considerably afterwards. No longer begging and offering herself.
> Then, one day in the summer, you were sitting down and watching FluffyTV with her, and a new show came on. “Babies” was its title, and it consisted of nothing but baby fluffies being born, nursing, playing and being cute.
> “Babbehs! Wan babbehs!” she cheered, before pausing, and looking at you
> “Whewe babbehs come fwom, daddeh?”
> Without thinking you said “From special hugs, sweetie”
> She looked up at you “Sandy hav daddehs babbehs!?”
> You stared at her. You must’ve forgotten what you had to do with the…
> You shake the memory out of her head. You didn’t forget it. You repressed it.
> “Uh, no. You can’t have daddy’s babies. You can only have fluffy babies.”
> She pouts “No hav babbehs?”
> You gulp, but put on a grin. “Someday sweetie. I promise.”
> She snuggles into your lap. “Tank yoo daddeh. Wuv yoo daddeh.”
> You pet her mane absentmindedly.
> You never used Q-tips ever again.