The Fluffy Factory (1/5)

>You arrive for work in a fluffy pony mill.
>When people think of a fluffy mill, they picture a shit-choked house of misery.
>While this is often true of smaller mills, mills like yours are closer to factory farms.
>These mills have their own brand of misery.
>This mill is based in an old storefront on a busy street in downtown.
>It has 27,000 square feet of total space on a street level and two basements.
>You walk through the ground floor.  Looks like you're the first of the basement staff to arrive.
>The street level looks like a regular adoption center.  In fact, you even sell starter kits here.
>To your left are the offices and storage, and to your right are the fluffy cages.
>These cages hold the foals that are up for purchase.
>The foals get lots of love and attention and hugs.
>They have new toys, get whatever they want to drink, and can request things to eat as they choose.
>Not surprisingly, a lot of take-out spaghetti gets eaten.
>The cages are cleaned regularly, and each foal gets their own little basket bed.
>Customers always remark how nice the place is, how happy the young fluffies look.
>They have no idea where the foals come from, but they're treated well so they don't ask.
>You head through the offices and enter a door in the back left corner.
>This leads down into the soundproofed first basement.
>Here is where the magic happens, so to speak.
>You flip the light switch at the bottom of the stairs.
>Since it was dark until then, the fluffies in the cages were asleep.  Now they start waking up.
>You start your day by walking the cages and checking for dead fluffies.
>All the cages on the left wall contain stallions.  The rows are four high and fifteen long.
>The cages are metal wire and have carpeted floors.
>They are just big enough for the two fluffies inside to be comfortable.
>Attached to the front of the cages next to the doors are manila envelopes with names written on them in black marker.
>These envelopes contain papers listing how many times the stallions in the cage have copulated, which mares were the partners, how many foals were produced and survived, and so on.
>The cages with mares, on the wall directly opposite, are set up the same way.
>As you walk past the cages, the fluffies talk to you.
>”Gwape wan' pway!”, “Wustee stiww feew sweepy...”, “Bwizzawd hung'y!  Wan' foodies!”
>There are new stallions that haven't been mated yet; you can tell because their stomachs are not shaved.
>”Where fwuffy?  Dis pwace smeww funny,” one says to you.
“This is home.”
>”Home?  You wuv fwuffy?”
“Sure.”
>You give names to the new arrivals based on their colors, or their personalities.
>No dead stallions today, so you head across the room to check the mares.
>The envelopes here have colored stickers next to the names of the mares in the cages.
>Red stickers are for mares that have conceived but aren't far enough along yet to be moved to basement two.
>Yellow stickers are for mares that have just foaled and are on their rest period.
>Green stickers are for mares that are ready to go.
>Since mares take three weeks to bear healthy foals, they have been treated with hormones to stagger their fertility cycles.
>Of the one hundred and twenty mares, forty have red stickers, forty have yellow, and forty have green.
>Cage check complete; no corpses today, a somewhat unusual occurrence.
>Now you need to ensure that all the ready mares get boned.
>To this end, there are two pens in the center of the room, large twenty-five foot squares lined with blankets and excrement-resistant material.
>These are the sex pits.  The one closest to the wall with the entry stairs has stainless steel tables beside it for examining and shaving new arrivals.
>Since that takes the most time, you decide to go ahead and get that done first.
>You scan the cages for unshorn mares that need fucking.  There are six in all.
>They all go into the sex pit to wait.
>You put a dark grey mare on the table first.
“Your name is Stormy, okay?”
>”Name Stowmy?  Stowmy good fwuffy!” she bleats, while you check her for ticks or injuries.
>She doesn't like it when you poke around between her back legs.  “Why touch funny pwace?  No wike!  Wan' do somefin' ewse!”
>You reach under the table and grab the electric shaver from the storage cabinet.
>”Buzzy noise scawy!  Stowmy no wike!  Pwease make stop!  Wha?!  Fwuff go!  Gif fwuff!  Cowd!”
>The other five mares react much the same as you prepare them.
>Once they're ready, you go about selecting stallions.  Since you've got the shaver out, may as well pair the new arrivals together.
>The stallions also complain about you touching their 'funny places', but seem to mind it less than the mares.
>Now you have twelve fluffies, ready to go.
“All right, boys.  If you give these nice girls special hugs, you get cookies.”
>”Wan' cookies!” two stallions say.  They mount the nearest mare and start thrusting.
>The mares wiggle and whine about not liking this kind of hug.
>The other four stallions are confused.  “Wha speciaw huggies?”
>You enter the pen and grab two of them, corner two of the mares, and manually mount them.
“Start moving your hips.”
>”Wha we pwayin'?  No wike dis game!  Wan' pway otha game!”
>With a sigh, you push the stallions back and forth so the crying mares get done.
>The two remaining would-be couples are hiding in the corner.  The mares are pissing themselves.
>Once the stallions you mounted by hand babble about 'good feels', you corner the last mares, grab the other two stallions, and repeat the manual fucking procedure.
>The good stallions get cookies, as promised, but everyone else goes back into the cages without treats.
>As you're marking the papers in their envelopes with the new pairings and date of copulation, Steve and Rob arrive.
>Steve is the inventory guy.  He usually does the paperwork.
>Rob, who strikes you as a bit off despite being very reliable, helps impregnate mares.
“Good morning, gentlemen.  We've got thirty-four ready mares that need screwing, so let's get to work.”
>With three people doing it, this takes no time at all.
>You call out names as you grab ponies from cages, Steve writes them down, and Rob ensures those mares and stallions make the sexy time happen.
>In two hours, you have thirty-four happy stallions and thirty-four mares whining about how their funny place hurts and they're cold.
>Steve, double checking the paperwork, speaks up as you're putting the last mare back in her cage.
>“Hey, we've got a few stallions that haven't mated in a while.  They need to get it on or their balls might explode.”
>You nod to him.
“All right, I'll get a couple of fuck pillows.”
>You check the cages with yellow stickers and take two fluffies from one.
>These mares are lifeless and silent, hanging limply by their scruff as you carry them.
“Okay, Daisy and Peaches will be the dumpsters this go round.”
>”Got it.  We need to give Grape, Sniffles, Pewter, Blackjack, Snowball, Cobalt, Shamrock, and Dusty some fluffy pussy.”
>You retrieve the stallions from their cages as Steve calls them out, handing him their papers as you set them into the pen with the mares.
>”Fwiends wook sickies, maybe no should gif huggies?” Shamrock asks.
>You'll fix that.  You retrieve the pheromone spray from the table storage and douse Daisy and Peaches' shaved haunches.
>The stallions go from worrying about them to banging the hell out of them instantly.
>The three of you can't help but laugh as four stallions at once try to mount Peaches.
“Take turns, you morons.  She can't fit all of you.”
>They finally get the hint and line up.  It takes them some time, but soon four stallions a piece have busted their nuts inside both of the motionless mares.
>In fact, not only have the mares not moved, they haven't said a word.  They haven't even grunted or cried.
>They just stare into space.
>”Think we'll get anything?” Steve asks.
“Doubt it, with as many foals as we've yanked out of them.  We'll give them three days to be sure, though.”
>”Yeah.  Too bad we can't spray the regular mares, it'd make mounting a lot easier.”
“The stallions fuck too hard when we use the spray.  If we did it all the time, their dicks would get crushed.”
>Steve smirks.  “Like they won't anyway.”
“Yeah, yeah.  You remember Clover, though.  Fucked so hard his dick lost blood flow and rotted right off.  Good stallion, too.  Can't have that happening before they've run dry.”
>With all the available mares mounted, Steve and Rob take their lunch break and head up.
>You, however, stay behind, and go down the stairs to check on the mothers, and mothers to be, in basement two.