Mon cherie

hugbox_hank, November 20, 2012; 21:54 / FB 6831
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"Mon cherie"

You are Anon Hipsterford Genericsson.
You're drinking a cup of joe and reading the paper, minding your own business, when suddenly--
"Mownin' Daddeh!"
ARGLE BARGLE KILL RAGE TEEN ANGST EDGINESS MY ENTIRE LIFE IS NOW DEVOTED TO CAUSING PAIN TO THIS CREATURE FOR NO REASON--
Wait, did that fluffy just call you daddy?
Oh, that's right, you're her owner.
I guess this isn't an abuse story.
Never mind about that whole "kill rage whatever" bit then.
Back to the story at hand:
"Good morning, Penelope, did you sleep well?"
Penelope is your fluffy. She's an earthie with black fluff and a white mane and tail.
You bought her from a HasBio-licensed shop, spent a fortune too, and just for fun, voided her warranty by installing a "truncated fluffyshy" genetic mod so she can communicate with animals. What a rebel you are.
You don't know how those Russian gene hackers pull it off. A quick retrovirus injection, a few weeks of severe discomfort, and you've got a fluffy that can talk to animals! Amazing!
"P'newapee haf good sweepies daddeh! Haf dweam about baww, and bwockies, and sketties, and baww..."
"Mm-hmm." You let her drone on about her night as you read the sportball section.
The Vikings beat the Panthers by a home run?!
Curse that Lebron James and his lousy wicket defense!
This makes you so peeved!
Or at least it probably would, if you knew anything about sportball.
You finish your coffee and fold up the paper.
"...and it was bes dweam evah, cuz you was in it, daddeh! P'newapee wuv you!"
You look down to see Penelope hugging your leg.
KICK THAT SHITVERMIN ACROSS THE ROOM AND FEED HER OWN BABIES TO HER UNTIL HER STOMACH RUPTURES--
Dammit, I've gotta control that reflex.
"Daddy loves you too, sweetie, now I've gotta go to work, will you be a good fluffy while I'm away?"
"P'newapee be bestes' fwuffy! Make good poopies an' cwean up toys an' submit to da wiww of my hoomin ovah-words whethah mewcifuw ow mawevowent an' make good poopies an' ..."
"That's nice sweetie, have a good day. I'll be back soon."
You head out the door and go on your merry way.

=============================

You are Penelope, fluffy pony.
You are sad.
Your daddy just left to go to "wowk."
You hate when he goes to "wowk" because you're all alone with nobody to play with.
He says he has to go to "wowk" in order to bring home spaghetti.
You love spaghetti, but... you'd rather play with daddy every day than eat spaghetti once every bunch of days.
Though you're not sure if you would want to give up spaghetti forever.
Speaking of spaghetti, you've got to go make poopies.
Making poopies is easy, but making good poopies is hard.
You don't want to be a bad fluffy and make bad poopies!
The first challenge is always remembering where the good poopies go.
"Safe woom?"
Nu.
"Kitchen?"
Nu.
"Daddy's swippers?"
NU! You learned that one the hard way!
Just remembering that day makes your bottom hurt--
AHA! The "back yawd!"
That's where good poopies go!
Now for the next challenge: getting there.
You can see the "back yawd" through the door, but you don't know how to open it.
OH NU! Daddy forgot to crack open the back door! You can't go outside to make good poopies!
Oh poopies oh poopies oh poopies, this is terrible! There's no way you can hold it until daddy gets back from "wowk," you're going to make bad poopies, and that will make you a bad fluffy, and then daddy will be sad, you don't want daddy to be sad! You can feel saddies wawa welling up in your eyes--
Oh, there's your "fwuffy doow." You remember now, daddy had that put in so that you could go outside whenever you wanted.
You dash through it. (Really more of an awkward waddle as you clench your butt to hold in the poopies.)
Now for the final challenge: not being totally scared of the "back yawd!"
The back yawd is *really* scary. Sometimes munstas get in through the fence that daddy put up himself.
He's a very poor craftsman.
And a very poor fluffy owner and kind of a lousy human being in general.
Anyway, the threat of munstas isn't the only thing that's scary about the back yawd.
The other reason it's scary is that it's... well, you don't know how to describe it.
There's something about the way it smells that scares you.
It reminds you of your brother. He took the longest sleep a long time ago.
It reminds you of the smell of his boo-boo juice.
You don't know it, but there are more fluffy corpses buried here than there are blades of grass.
You shiver as you make good poopies in the corner.
You even cry a little, and briefly beg the munstas not to come.
You finish making poopies-- whoops, nevermind, there's a little more. Okay, a *lot* more.
Wow, where did all this poopies come from? You don't even know how that much poopies can fit inside you.
Okay, you're done now-- nope, here we go again.
When you *finally* finish making good poopies, you make a beeline for the door--
You freeze.
Directly in front of you, standing twice as tall as you at the shoulder, looking at you with bloodshot yellow eyes, is...
A MUNSTA!

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You are a stripey munsta.
I mean-- dammit, a skunk. You're a skunk. (Stripey Munsta? Where'd that come from?)
You were out looking for food, minding your own business, when you came across possibly the shittiest fence you've ever seen.
Seriously, you could build a better fence, and you're a skunk. Was this even built by a human?
You decided to check it out. Maybe spray your scent on something to show this idiot human what you think of his lousy home protection.
You squeezed underneath the fence and had a look around.
Not much to see really. Just some grass and trees with nothing edible on them. You can see why the owner didn't think they needed a quality fence--
SKUNK JEEZUS! WHAT IS THAT HORRIBLE SMELL?
By the Great Sky Ball, something smells foul back here! You know your bad smells, too, what with being a skunk and all.
You look around for the source of the odor, blinking through the blur of your watering eyes.
You hear a noise, sort of like an injured kit.
You turn to find the source of the noise, and see something in the corner of the yard.
It's dark back there, and the creature is black so you go over to have a better look at it.
Why, it's another skunk!
And she's *beautiful*!
Her eyes are shut, she's apparently focused on taking a shit.
You're catching her at her least ladylike and she's still the most beautiful skunk you've ever seen!
Having finished, she looks up at you.
She freezes in place the moment she sees you, apparently in awe of your masculinity.
And you haven't even turned on the swag yet.
"Ah, mon cherie, you are sweet like a cherry blossom, non? What say we make beautiful muzeek togezair?"
Her pupils shrink to pinpricks.
"NUUUUUU!!!"
She toddles off to the middle of the yard. Ah! So playful! What a flirt! She wants to be chased, to make you work for it!
It's your wildest dream come true, for is the pursuit not the best part of the game?
You playfully bound after her, allowing her to outpace you, delighting yourself in this adorable foreplay.
After chasing her for a moment, you lovingly pounce upon her.
She pisses a little, possibly due to nerves, and for some reason it drives you WILD.
Such innocence! Such childlike sweetness! Like a virgin, her tiny chest heaving in worry and anticipation and excitement!
You cannot contain yourself, and thrust into her then and there!
"Eep! Nu wan! Eep! Nu wan! Eep! Nu smeww pwetty! Eep! Pwease nu huwties, munsta! Eep!"
"Yes, my sweet, I am a vicious monster, come to have my way with the purest maiden! But don't worry, I won't hurt you. I'll be gentle as I pleasure you. Now hush, my flower, and I'll make your wildest dreams come true."
And you are true to your word, gently coaxing her to climax. She weeps softly throughout the fun, her young mind no doubt a little scared of this new experience, but you whisper soft reassurances in her ear.
Finally, she lets loose a long, sustained "eeeEEEHHHhhh!" which prompts you to finish up yourself. Afterward, she begins sobbing, overwhelmed with the emotion of her first time, and you nuzzle her neck to comfort her for a while. Eventually, though, you find you must go on your skunky way, and you promise to come back another time.

============================

You are, once again, Anon Hipsterford Genericsson.
You are just stepping out of your car after a long day at work.
You press the button to close the garage door, and enter your house--
*sniff sniff*... Something stinks.
"Buhuuhuuu, uh, uhuuuhuuuhuuu..."
Oh no, sounds like Penelope is crying in her safe room.
Putting two and two together, you come to the conclusion that Penelope must have had an accident.
It pains you to do it, but you're going to have to punish her.
You grab the sorry stick on the wall in your entryway as you head to her safe room.
When you open the door, you're assaulted by a smell that makes you gag.
"Penelope!" you say firmly. "What did you do-- URK! For that matter, what did you eat?!"
When she sees the sorry stick in your hands, she cries even harder.
"Pwease nu sowwy stick daddeh!" she begs. "P'newapee guud fwuffy!"
You look around for the source of the odor, but can't find it.
"Penelope, what smells so bad in here?"
She looks up at you and gets the same expression as Fluttershy when she saw Philomena burst into flame. She sobs loudly.
"P- P- P'NEWAPEE SMEWW NU PWETTY! UUUUUHUHUHUUU!!"
What? You sniff her, and sure enough, she stinks.
"What happened, Penelope?" you ask.
So she tells you the story. Apparently she went outside to make good poopies like a good fluffy, but then she saw a "stripey munsta" that "nu smewwed pwetty."
You're guessing she's referring to a skunk.
She then goes on to tell you how he spoke in a french accent, and he chased her around, then held her down and "made her special place hurtie." He did that for a while, and then she had a funny feeling all through her body, and then he rubbed his sniffy thing on her neck while she cried, then he went away, after telling her that he'd come back.
You look at your precious fluffy, eyes red with tears. Then you realize that she just described a real life version of a Pepe le Pew cartoon, where she was Penelope Pussycat.
Your hysterical laughter brings on a fit of sobbing from her that doesn't die down for an hour.

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EPILOGUE: A few fours of days later...
You are still Anon Hipsterford Genericsson.
When your fluffy had an encounter with a skunk that played out like a perverted parody of Looney Tunes, you couldn't stop laughing.
But now the time for laughing is over.
That day, you gave Penelope a five hour bath in tomato juice.
You've been bathing her daily since, and no matter how much you clean her you can't seem to get the last of the skunk scent out of her fluff. She's been despondent ever since, depressed at the possibility of never smelling pretty again.
On top of that, she's pregnant.

Yes, you read that right.

You have no idea how this is possible, and every vet you could find was stumped as well. But in the end, she's pregnant and understanding how isn't going to change the fact.
She's just about ready to pop (hopefully not literally) and she isn't the ball of joy you expected her to be.
Instead she's sad about having "munsta babbehs."
You're washing dishes in the kitchen when it happens.
That telltale shout from the safe room of "BIG POOPIES!"
You drop the plate you're drying and hurry to Penelope.
After a few minutes of panting, Penelope finally begins to push out her first foal.
She pushes for ten seconds at a time, in between catching her breath.
First the head comes out, then the front legs, then the rest of the torso, and finally the rest.
At last she has delivered three seemingly healthy foals.
But when you carefully lift them up to her, something seems wrong.
She sniffs them, and her face contorts into an expression of disgust.
"Dis bad babbeh! Nu smeww pwetty!
You sniff the newborn, and sure enough, it smells a little off.
It smells like...
You look more closely at the foal.
My God...
This isn't a foal at all...
It's a fluffy skunk kit. Penelope just gave birth to three fluffy skunks.
She's crying now. Having given birth to three "bad babbehs," she thinks she's a bad mother.
Weakly, and with great hesitation, she reaches out for one of her foals.
She licks it clean, sobbing the whole time, and sniffles as she places it at her teat.
Things just got complicated for this little fluffy household...