The Fluffy Factory: Crash Course (3/3)

>One week on, and the pregnant mares consume food during their every waking moment.
>They're already the size they would be after two weeks.
>They're not done growing yet.
>”Why stiww hung'y, Fewn haf nummies!”
>”Chiwwy no wan' mo' nummies, tummy haf owwies!”
>They are no longer in control of their appetites.
>Their brains constantly demand food.
>Because of the massive intake, and the swelling, to ensure they can still shit special tubes have been inserted.
>They've also all been moved down to basement two.
>There are few foals left in the pens here, only twenty or so.
>The vocal feeders whine about the milk collecting in their teats.
>”Tummy huwt!  Why babehs no wan' miwk?  Dwink miwk!”
>The fuck pillows, now feeders, are silent.
>Each pen has six feeders.  They've been rotated to sit on their rear ends.
>The pen that would usually be empty has six feeders as well.
>The five foals in the pen drink their milk, but it's not nearly enough demand to ease the swelling in their teats.
>Help is on the way.
>The forty dams not involved in the orgy will have labor induced in a few days.
>These foals are going to be the guinea pigs, ensuring the new feeders are making proper milk.
>They have another job, too.
>It's Saturday when Sarah orders labor to be induced.
>Tiffany is in charge of this, and she does it in her usual style: violently.
>She takes the dam upstairs so the other dams won't be scared.
>You can hear her shocking the dam in question to cause stress labor.
>She comes back down with the crying, bloody foals, hands them to you, and they get hooked up to the new feeders.
>This process repeats thirty-nine more times.
>Sometimes she comes back with five foals, sometimes only one or two.
>Eight times, she comes back down with none, but she has a smile on her face.
>Steve, overseeing the process, confirms that these were stillbirths and not Tiffany's doing when he comes down.
>All told, the regular dams bore ninety-six foals.  That's plenty.
>The feeders are relieved, praising the bad babies for drinking their milk.
>Things run as normal for the next few days.
>No more breeding occurs, so stallions get to stay in the sex pits, running and playing.
>You monitor the foals, making sure the milk is good.
>All the new feeders are working out fine.  The foals develop rapidly.
>By the second Monday after the orgy, the foals – their number down to sixty-eight, due to sales – run and play and hug, happy as can be.
>That happiness is about to go away.
>The sleeping dams in the cages are swollen beyond belief.
>They are somehow even bigger than the feeders.
>You've already seen two dead dams.  You remove them one at a time and take them to the tables.
>They're suffocated to death; with wombs so full of foals, their lungs were crushed when the babies shifted around.
>You're cutting them open just as Steve arrives.
>”Whoa, what happened to them?”
“Come over here and see.”
>This is why you only do this once a year.
>This is why, in actuality, being a fluffy mare down here normally isn't that bad.
>You pop the uterus of the dead orange unicorn as Steve watches.
>Twenty-two developed foals spill out onto the table.
>Six of them were crushed, and are stillborn.
>Ten begin to cry immediately, waving their stubby limbs in a frantic search for fluff.
>Three more begin to cry after a minute.
>The other three are writeoffs.
>You and Steve clean the live foals and set them in the pens.
>The older foals, as usual, think these are their siblings.  They help them feed.
>You cut open the other dead dam, a bluish pegasus.
>Twenty foals come out.
>Fifteen of these live, and go into the pens.
>Sarah arrives with Tiffany.
>”Is it time?” the boss asks.
“Yeah.  I'm sure Tiffany is excited.”
>She smirks, holding up a stun gun.  Crazy bitch.
>After you've discarded the emaciated corpses, you prepare to do the living dams.
>”Pwease hewp...tummy so big...haf aww babehs...” Ruby wheezes as you take her out.
>”Oh, I'll help you all right,” Tiffany grins.
>She shocks Ruby, causing the red earth fluffy to shudder and gasp.
>You don't even need to massage her.  Instead, you grip her by the waist, pressing in.
>Her skin is incredibly taut.
>After a few seconds, foals begin coming out, two and three at a time.
>A cacophony of fearful chirps fills the air.
>The other dams don't even wake up.  They're too taxed, having given everything short of their lives to sustain the tiny hordes within them.
>Once Ruby is back to her normal size, she begins to regain some of her liveliness.
>”So many babehs!  Wubee wuv aww babehs!  Come to Wubee!”
>She checks them, but you clean them; it's faster.  Seventeen pass the test and go into the pens.
>The older foals are having a field day.
>”Hewp fin' nummies!” they chirp, shepherding foals to the feeders.
>Lemondrop is next.  When she gets shocked, twenty-one foals emerge, of which fifteen pass muster.
>”Why...why haf so many babehs?” she wheezes afterward.  “No can gif nummies to aww babehs...”
>She begins to cry, horrified that she'll never be able to feed her enormous brood.
>When you take them away, she thanks you.
>”Hewp babehs fin' nummies pwease, nee' wossa nummies...”
>She passes out.
>That happens a lot over the next few hours.
>Tiffany shocks a living balloon, under Sarah's watchful eye.
>Masses of foals shoot out, twenty on average.
>About twenty percent of them are dead, but you overwhelm the losses with quantity.
>As always, there are grotesque outliers.
>Fern dies during labor, but all of her foals survive.
>She bore thirty-eight.
>Jade explodes in your hands as you carry her to the table, sort of.
>The mass of foals inside of her diffused most of her capability to detonate.
>After clearing away the fluff and gore, twenty-nine of her forty-one foals survived.
>Cotton's entire litter died in utero; the twenty-five foals crushed when the uterus simply could not expand any further.
>Once the stillborns were out, she was alive, although she really needed to shit.
>Not unusual.
>Tiffany continues shocking the dams.
>You and Steve clean the foals and let the moms check them out.
>Massive litters emerge.
>Seventy-four dams produce roughly one thousand foals.
>The older foals are overwhelmed.
>”Hewp!  Nee' hewp gif nummies aww wittle fwuffies!  Hewp!”
>Sarah directs Steve and Tiffany to begin cycling the foals.
>This process will require constant attention for the next few days.
>The foals will get far less milk on average, but the tremendous nutritional content offsets the shortage.
>They will be smaller for longer, but shouldn't suffer any lasting effects.
>Tiffany is already whining about having to work for a change.
>As the senior guy on the shift, you are afforded the relatively easy task of taking the surviving dams back upstairs.
>Of the original seventy-four, fifty-eight survived, but are completely spent.
>They can barely return the greetings of the other mares.
>They ask for food, eat, and then sleep.
>The next two weeks are spent cycling and cleaning the foals, then selling off the older ones.
>No breeding occurs; you don't need new foals with this massive stockpile.
>It'll be a while before the cache is depleted.
>While Steve and Tiffany bear the brunt of the work, Sarah asks you to watch over the mares.
>The dam survivors' numbers shrink slightly.
>Four more succumb to their internal damage and pass away.
>The rest of them, without the strain of breeding, recover nicely.
>They get to spend time with the idle stallions in the sex pits, playing and gaining strength.
>The stallions still need to fuck every once in a while, so you spray stuffed animals with pheromones and allow them to have at it.
>The forty mares that avoided the first orgy are in great moods, not having been bred in over a month.
>When the current stockpile of foals runs low, they'll be the next to endure the crash course.
>Meanwhile, the public snaps up the smaller foals like hotcakes.
>They love how small and cute the things are.
>By the middle of August, the foal stock is running out.
>The whole horrible show starts all over again.
>The original fifty-four are on the exclusion list this time, though.
>After the second orgy, Sarah drops by.
>You've got the survivors out, letting them run and play.
>The other forty mares are down below, where they will stay for the duration.
>”Foals are flying out the door,” she says, watching the happy fluffies frolic.
“We should have enough to make it.”
>”Yeah.  You gonna be here tomorrow?”
>You just nod, petting Ruby as she hugs your shin.
>The crash course means two things: a shitload of foals, and the end of the line for these mares as breeders.
>They may have lived, but it's highly likely they will never bear a litter again.
>With the extra profit, Sarah will pick up new mares, round out the balance with desirable foals, and the cycle will begin again.
>Tomorrow morning, you will load these mares into cages, the cages will go into trucks, and the trucks will drive away.
>Sarah will lead them off in her black Porsche.
>Off into their retirement.
>Stallions are a dime a dozen, but your boss has some sort of grudging respect for the mares that complete the crash course.
>They have run the gauntlet and avoided her wrath; this is their final reward.
>A life without the fluffy factory.