> Fattyville
>  by greydoran
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Bluebloat Part One: The Best Night Ever
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Where... Where am I?" Wondered Prince Blueblood.
The last thing he remembered was... The Grand Galloping Gala.. And... That mare.
And now here he was, tied to a chair. Leather bonds held both sets of hooves to the arms and legs of the thing, unsightly and provincial as it was. Oh how the mighty have fallen, he thought with a grimace.
The room was dark, shadows covering the walls, the only light coming from a chandelier above his head. Craning his neck up, he could see the cutie mark of Princess Celestia in mosaic on the ceiling. It seemed he was in the palace someplace.
"Hello, 'your highness'," said a refined voice from somewhere in the shadows.
"Wh.. Who are you? Do you want ransom? You'll not see a penny from me!"
"Oh but your grace! I'd never dream of taking away your vast fortune!" The voice said mockingly, as it's owner stepped into the light. It was a white unicorn, purple mane, clearly a mare. In fact, if memory served...
Her name was Rarity or some such. That mare from last night! A gold digger, like the rest. He'd never find a mare who loved him for him, all they ever wanted was his money and status. He'd give them the run around, sleep with them and let them brag to all their friends about how they bedded the illustrious prince.
"N-Now Miss Rarity, let’s not do something we’ll regret…"
"Oh but your highness, I’m not gonna regret anything; I’ll enjoy every moment."
"What.. Do you want with me?" He asked, voice quivering.
Rarity laughed as her horn lit, "I want revenge."
She levitated something from out of a darkened corner of the room. It was... A.... Cake..?
It was small, simple, vanilla frosting messily applied. Clearly not expensive, and exactly what he expected a peasant mare like her to eat.
"You see," she continued, trotting over to where Blueblood sat, "I fully understand your fear of getting dirty, and have brought you here so we can get over it, together."
"And... And the cake..?" Blueblood asked, hoping she wasn't nearly as crazy as she sounded.
"Oh, I'm going to feed it to you!" She replied.
"What?" He deadpanned. What indeed?
"Well you see, the plan is, I'm going to feed you larger and larger, until you understand how much you humiliated me!"
As Blueblood opened his mouth to reply, the cake magically zoomed towards him, splattering all over his princely face.
"Buh-bluh-what?" He stuttered, incredulous.
Before he could utter a proper sentence, two things happened. One, Rarity winked at him. It was the most ominous wink ever wunk by ponykind. Two, the mess on Blueblood's face began to move. Crumbs, chunks of cake and frosting slid towards his shaking mouth.
"H--hgurrk!" He choked as the treat forced it's way down his gullet.
"Oh, prince! Are you choking? Do you need... A drink?" Rarity levitated a hose beside her as she stepped towards him. Blueblood tried to pull away, but the chair kept him firmly planted in place.
The cake was dry, terribly dry, crumbs coating his mouth and throat, and he couldn't deny that he could use a drink, but... Really?
Rarity shoved the hose past his lips, partway down his throat when his gag reflex kicked in. Delayed reaction much? He thought. Heaving to remove it, Rarity simply stroked his stomach.
"Oh don't you worry your handsome little head, auntie Rarity will have this all sorted out soon." Suddenly, the hose rocked to life. A cold liquid flooded his throat, down into his stomach.
"Do you like that? It's imported, just like you prefer all your food. From MossCow or some such place. I went there myself years ago. Oh, the sights, the art, the history!" She trailed off, theatrically describing Rushin' culture as Blueblood's stomach slowly filled up with milk.
Blueblood was incredibly uncomfortable, his insides freezing cold, a hose down his throat, and pressure building up. Slowly, he felt a bloating feeling as his trim, almost athletic belly developed a paunch. The tightening feeling was uncomfortable at first, but as he slowly grew, it began to ache, followed by a contracting wave of agony that shook his entire body.
"Ooohh, is Bluey-boy getting full?" Rarity cooed, stroking his growing belly. Big as a beach ball, he looked nine months pregnant already! Tight as a drum, Rarity caressed the ballooning belly, Blueblood groaning in pain.
"... And the ponies! Well, not ponies, cows! If that worker's revolution of theirs taught them anything, it's how to dress!"
It hurt! It hurt so much, the pressure, he was going to explode! He was a prince! A descendant of the great house Lipizzan! Seven times great nephew of Princess Celestia, he couldn't just burst!
The pressure in his stomach began to spread, Blueblood felt his flanks widen slightly from the fatty liquid pouring down his gullet. On his forelegs, he could see a bit of flab forming, and he could feel his chin tighten a little.
Pop! A dry sound not unlike what he was sure would happen to him, filled the room. It seemed... No, it couldn't, that only happened to mares, yet the evidence was right before him! His belly button had become an outie!
Suddenly, the flowing stopped! He look pregnant, at least triplets, his insides felt squished against the milk-filled ball of his stomach, his flank pressed against the edges of the chair.
"Is little princey full?" She cooed.
Blueblood nodded his head enthusiastically. Yes! He was full! He couldn't hold another drop!
"Then we'll have to move on to the next step in our therapy," she said, pulling the hose out of his throat. He greedily sucked down air as she carried off the object of his misery. Inside his stomach was... A rumble? Surely not out of place all things considered, but still rather distressing. 
Bloorrghghhh...
Rarity was missing, hidden in the shadows around the edge of the room. With a sudden rock, he felt pressure building up again! In his throat, he could feel it, a tightness that could mean only one thing.
Uuurrrp!
The gas escaped his mouth and echoed around the room. It wasn't too surprising, his ballooned belly pressing against his guts, but Blueblood still shut his mouth quickly, a blush forming on his cheeks.
"Oh my! How unprincely!" Rarity chided as she stepped back into the light. She wasn't carrying anything, thankfully, but Blueblood still felt very afraid as she drew nearer.
"In fact, it fits perfectly with your personality! How can you claim to be a prince and treat me, a mare of class and quality, like some trollop picked up from the street?" Her expression darkened, and he could see the hate in her eyes, "Well, princeling? Answer me!"
He didn't want to answer. His lungs, compressed against his tight ball of a stomach, felt small and compressed. He could barely manage a whimper as he felt pressure coming on again. But this wasn't his throat, it was...
Fppprrt!
The gas sputtered, squeezing out from under his rump like air from a balloon who's end is being held tight. A rank smell, like an old pile of garbage, flooded the nostrils of both occupants. Blueblood's blush darkened as Rarity's eyes did the same.
ffffffrrrbbbbt!
"Now that's no way to treat a lady!" Rarity's mood suddenly shifted, from angry to the same unsettling cheeriness of before, "I think you need to be punished!"
"No, no no please! No more!" Blueblood found his voice, knowing deep down that pleading was useless, "I don't want to! No!"
Rarity ignored his pleas, instead choosing to light her horn and... Undo the restraints? The straps on his front and back hooves went slack; he lifted a hoof experimentally.
Suddenly, he was on all fours, running across the floor! His stomach jiggled painfully, the agony of each step comparable only to the pressure he felt building up in his throat again. He held it in, couldn't risk what Rarity would do to him if he--
Uuurrp!
He charged into the shadows, forcing his eyes to stay open even as childhood instinct told them to shut. He was finally free! He could escape! He could.... Oh dear. He was facing a wall. He danced on the spot as he swung his head around, looking for something, anything, to help him escape this nightmare!
The wall was, as far as he could tell in the darkness, completely bare and featureless. Not so much as a scratch on immaculate, almost regal white paint, he'd give it that.
A blue aura surround him as he floated into the air and was carried into the circle of light in the centre of the room. Rarity, visibly straining at the heavy load, deposited him before her.
"Did you really think I'd just let you go? You really must be as stupid as you look!" Rarity said angrily, pacing around the bloated prince, "I'm not finished yet! I'm just barely getting started!"
Blueblood tried to turn his head, but gasped suddenly as he felt the shock something cold touch his royal posterior.
Rarity shoved her face into Blueblood's bloated bottom, his butthole contracting with the caress of her tongue. A clean bottom, she thought happily, is the sign of a well-bred pony. His rear jiggled, the newly added chub quivering as Blueblood's entire body fairly shook with pleasure.
His cock, up till this point, had remained sheathed. No more. The tip slid out, the thick tube of meat growing until it reached the medial ring. How could anypony find this arousing? It was disgusting, he thought, that anypony could find this pleasurable. Sick twisted perverts that lurk in darkened alleys, only wanting their monstrous fetishes fulfilled by some unsuspecting mare or stallion.
Blueblood's body, however, had other thoughts on the matter. His belly, until now taught and firm, seemed to loosen as Rarity's tongue worked it's way in a circle around his puffy little anus. He could feel his flanks thickening, his rear cheeks puffing up, forcing Rarity to hold them open with her hooves.
He saw something moving in the dark, something long and serpentine. It's the snake, it's come to take me away! I've burst and I'm dead! His panicked thoughts were interrupted when he realized what it was. Held in Rarity's blue glow, the hose! Milk dripped from the end, a fact he barely registered as it flew back down his throat.
"Hrrk!" He choked. Rarity continued to work her magic, while her actual magic turned a tap in the darkness. The milk flow began almost at once, the fatty liquid forcing it's way down his throat, into his stomach. His thighs tightened, he could feel them growing. A butt like no other, he thought, trying to make the best of the situation, at least now I have the most spectacular Celestia-damned flank in Canterlot! Mares, stallions, all will want a piece! And from my ivory tower, I'll look down and whisper to the best and biggest, come hither.
His fancy words melted away, as he was lost in the joy, Rarity shoved her tongue right into his butthole, eliciting a groaning howl.
"Mrrrrrrhhh!" He cried around the tube. He could feel a drop of pre appear on his cock, almost lost amongst the feeling of growth, as his belly grew and grew. He was heavy, heavier than anypony he'd ever seen, his ass rounder than any other, the fat sagging downward and his dick throbbed in pleasure. It felt almost as if... Were his balls bigger?
Rarity, her tongue buried deep in the prince's anus, felt something touch her chin. Eyes tilted downwards, she saw Blueblood's princehood, fully erect, longer than any stallion she'd ever seen before. And above that, his testicles grew taught. Bigger and bigger, while his exercise ball-sized butt shook, his balls also became... Balls. Bally bally bally balls, filled with semen, growing to the size of cantaloupes before her very eyes!
They ached, oh how they ached, he wished Rarity would just get on with it and jerk him off or something, the pleasure not enough to cause release. He opened his eyes and drowsily glanced around. His legs were as thick as tree trunks, his cheeks jiggled as he tried to look down at them, around the hose still filling him with liquid calories. His belly surged, suddenly reaching the ground.
The feeling of the cold floor jolted him out of his ecstasy. Wait, what am I doing? No, I should be escaping! I'm a prince of Equestria, I can't be some big ball of lard!
He began to struggle, trying to move, his hooves lifting slightly off the floor. Blueblood flailed, words choking around the hose, Rarity was forced away by his shaking ass.
She was afforded a good view of her victim, fat and huge. Blueblood's belly, once flat and sporting the beginnings of a six-pack, was massive. It jiggled and wobbled, slightly tight against the skin, holding his hooves just inches above the floor. It stuck out between his thighs supporting his enormous, twenty-inch dick, a puddle of pre pooling on the floor around him.. His ass was huge, cheeks round as beach balls as they quivered, his cutie mark stretched out to cover the expanded mass.
His face, oh his face, he had two chins, and was slowly gaining a third as he struggled. Milk began to sputter around his bloated lips as he tried to force the tube out.
"Hrrrk--ptewie!" He spat it out, milk splattering across his face and the floor, unswallowed liquid draining from his mouth. He stared at his ruined body, tears welling up, and cried, "Why? Why must you do this to me!? Why?". His shaking stopped, his butt ceased jiggling, his belly lay still.
Rarity simply walked up to him, face to face, and took out a handkerchief. She wiped the milk off his puffy cheeks and mouth, licking the cloth as she put it away.
"If we had connected, if we could've been together, I would've done this anyway. Over the years, I would've fattened you up, turned you into the same fat mound of flesh you are now," she said, eyes glistening, "And now, now I've gone and done it and you'll have me locked up in a dungeon for the rest of my life. I'm so so sorry." She cried, hugging his head.
Blueblood could feel something welling up inside him, something he hadn't ever felt before, combined with an all-too common feeling.
"Miss Rarity," He said, "Look me in the eyes."
Rarity pulled back, staring at the prince's bloated face, then into his eyes. He reached out and gripped her forelegs with his hooves, entire body jiggling with the motion.
"Miss Rarity," he began, "I..."
He had spent his life a hedonistic brute, taking whatever and whomever he wanted and abandoning them when he lost interest, but now? He had finally found something to keep, or perhaps to keep him. All he knew was, they needed each other, and not just because the prince was completely immobile.
A mare, who turned from hating, and a prince, who turned to loving. In their hearts, they knew what they wanted, and they had finally gotten it. True love.
Suddenly, the feeling inside himself became clear, and he knew what to do. He pulled her close, her face before his, and locked lips with her. His bloated cheeks, his puffed out lips against hers, in that moment they each knew what they had wanted.


Blueblood's rear had it's own opinion.
Frrrrrrrrpppppt!
> Bluebloat Part Two: The Type of Pony Everypony Should Know
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Well what if I don’t want to be a blob? I’m the most beautiful pony in all of Equestria!” Fleur-de-Lis shouted.

“Equestria you may have, but you shall be ze laughing stock of Canterlot if you do not eat something!” Photo Finish retorted.

“Ever since Blueblood and that country bumpkin got together, everypony’s been all about ‘eat! eat! eat!’ Well I’m sick of it! If you insist on promoting this ‘Big and Beautiful’ line, you can find yourself another top model!” Fleur turned and angrily stormed out of the studio.

It was true, Photo Finish thought, that Blueblood was a bit... Heavier, than before. At the afterparty the day after the Gala, when Blueblood waddled out into the grand ballroom with that Rarity mare, it had been a shock, to say the least. Of course Princess Celestia had questions, but when she saw just how deeply they loved each other, she decided to let them be.

“Und now, ze models are revolting. Both vays, but as long as zat is what ze critics vant, it is vat I shall give zem.” Photo had a low opinion of the ‘large and in charge’ crowd, but her livelihood depended on pleasing them. If only, she thought, I could find a stallion who has enough money, somepony who vill take care of me, somepony like...

Hoity Toity, Canterlot’s greatest fashion critic, sat patiently in the design room, the ‘Fabritory’, according to the sign above the door.. Since the Gala, he was one of the few nobles who hadn’t gained any weight. Trim and fit as a fiddle, he snorted and said, “Well Miss Finish? I haven’t got all day. Please show me this suit you made me for the event.”

“Ja, das ist correct. Stay vere you are, I’ll be right back.” With a twirl, Photo disappeared through a door marked ‘Storage’.

Hoity waited, watching the clock. Almost five minutes passed by the time Photo Finish came back, wheeling a rack of what appeared to be silk blankets.

“I certainly hope this isn’t what I think it is.”

“I... Lost your measurements. I had to use a different model for zis suit, und he was... Bigger, than you.” Photo hung her head in shame.

“Nothing to help it, I suppose. But I do like it, if only it were more my size. Could you take my measurements and make a second one?”

“Wha- Oh! JA! I can do zat! Let me get my measuring tape!”

After taking his measurements, Photo glanced at the clock.

“If I start now, I might be able to finish it in time for ze event. I vill send someone to escort you here ven I am finished.”

“That’s acceptable, Miss Finish. I’ll see you later.” Hoity Toity turned and walked out the door.

‘Vat heff I gotten myself into?’ Photo thought with despair.





Hours later, Hoity Toity sat in Donut Joe’s Donut Shop, enjoying an apple fritter. The bell chimed and a male voice shouted, “Hey, Mister Toity! Miss Finish has a message for you!”

Hoity turned to see the speaker, a young grey unicorn with a shock of red hair.

“Yes? Well? Out with it, boy! Is my suit finished?” Hoity demanded.

To his credit, the pony didn’t so much as flinch.

“No, sir. She said for me to tell you she can’t finish it, sir. That you’ll need to find another designer, sir.” He said dutifully, then turned and walked out.

“What am I to do?” He thought out loud, “The event is tomorrow morning, and with Photo Finish incapacitated somehow, the only suit I have available is...”

Hoity Toity then got an idea. He got a wonderful idea. Hoity Toity got a wonderful, awful idea.

If the suit is too big, what if...

“Donut Joe!” He shouted, startling the napping pony, “Give me one of everything!”

“You, ah, you sure, Mister Toity?” He said, stunned.

Hoity shovelled food into his mouth, barely stopping to chew as he crammed donut after donut down his throat.

“Woah, buddy, ya think you had enough?” Joe shouted, still shocked at the sight of one of Canterlot’s most important ponies not only eating at his shop, but at the rate he was eating, he’d soon be out of stock! He’d have to call in for a delivery!

“No *munch* I need *smack* to fit *crumgrumblgum* into *murmhmm* that suit!”

Donut Joe had no idea what he was talking about, but if Mister Toity wanted it, he had to give it.

Hoity’s paunch grew, his stomach swelling from the half-chewed pastries. His rear, once fit and proper, was beginning to sag with weight. Joe circled around to his rear, wondering if he would ever stop.

At the speed he was going, it was inevitable he’d swallow some air.

*fffpprrffftt!*

The fart blew directly into Joe’s face, whipping his cap off and blowing his mane back. He recoiled, the stench driving him away, but at the same time, unbeknownst to him, something was stirring inside. Something hidden away, never seen before, but always there, waiting to be awakened.

Joe sat stunned. He had never seen anything like it! Hoity Toity, the stallion who had practically reinvented proper manners, had just passed gas! He had... Farted! In his shop! In his face! And... Why had it felt so... Good?

Snapping him out of his mental wanderings, Hoity shouted at him for his attention.
"Hello? Are you deaf? I said I want more!"

Looking around, Joe was stunned. The floor was covered in wrappers and napkins, and not a donut was to be seen. “Uh, I’m sorry Mister Toity, I don’t think we have anymore donuts.”

“Then get me something! Anything! I must be the correct size by the time of the event!”

“Well, I have a reserve of cream, but that strictly for baking emergencies, so I don’t think-”

“Yes! That!” Hoity cut him off, “I want that!”

“Uhh, how will you be paying?” Joe asked with trepidation.

“PAying? My good stallion, charge it!” Hoity scoffed.

With a cautious shrug, Joe went around the counter to the back room, returning with a hose marked ‘Emergency Cream’. You may be wondering, dear reader, why Joe has a tank of emergency cream. Well you see the answer is-- Hey look a fat pony!

“So, do you want this in your mouth, or..?”

“I need my mouth to tell you when to shut it off, you nincompoop!” Hoity shouted.

“Okay, okay, jeez. Wait, that means...” Joe suddenly realized.

“Yes, put it back there!”

Joe walked around Hoity’s back again, hoping this time to not get a ‘present’ like last time. The smell of eggs still hung around the room, and he was certain the smell would never fully leave. Guess I’ll need to run over to Air Fresheners and building materials, he thought.

Joe slid the hose between Hoity’s ass cheeks, looking for... There it was! With his hooves, Joe held Hoity’s butthole open just wide enough to slide the hose to in with his magic. Withdrawing his hooves, he heard a gasp from the pony’s front end as his butt clamped around the cold pipe. He walked over to the tank and, with a short prayer to Celestia, turned it on.

Suddenly, Hoity’s body surged forward, his belly, his butt, his legs and chin, all grew, plumping out as the tube worked it’s magic. He moaned in pleasure as he grew, penis growing thicker and harder, his belly reaching the floor.

His rear grew around the hose, massive wobbling pillows billowing in Joe’s face. His massive belly grew between his legs, propping his hardening dick towards Joe. It was remarkable how calm Hoity was, not squirming or anything as his body expanded.

But... Hoity Toity wasn’t the only one growing. Between Joe’s legs, something felt off. Looking down, he saw his dick withdrawing from it’s sheath, growing harder and longer as it went. How is this turning me on?! Joe thought, panicked, I’m not into fat stallions! I’m not even into stallions at all! But the evidence was right there, a good fifteen inches of rock-hard cock, a single drop of pre waiting at the tip.

Looking back up, he saw that the tank had finally run out. Hoity’s hooves were a foot off the ground, his ass looking big and cushiony, his legs thicker than tree trunks. And there stood his erection, pressing into his belly fat. It throbbed slightly, as Joe’s mind ran wild with thoughts.

He knew what he had to do.

“Uh, Mister Toity, I’ve got a bit of a problem here, I don’t suppose you could--!” He said, moving around to his front.

Hoity’s face was huge! His cheeks were as big as softballs, his lips were plump! Four, maybe five chins propped his head up, all of which were sitting on a belly that pushed into the counter! His eyes caught sight of Joe’s pride and joy and, with a muffled shout, began squirming as if to move forwards.

Joe climbed up on the counter and stepped onto Hoity’s mountain of a belly, his hooves sinking deep into the malleable mass. Hoity opened his mouth as wide as he could, which, all things considered, was wider than one might expect.

Joe slid his cock down Hoity’s gullet, stopping only when he felt the back of his throat. In, out, in, out, he moved, thrust after thrust sending ripples through Hoity’s blobbish body. Ass cheeks, big as pillows, shaking, his sides, a good seven feet wide, wobbling like jello.

As he grew nearer to finishing, he began to hear a rumbling sound from his partner’s belly. Faster and faster he went, the jiggling and rumbling of the bloated critic arousing him to no end.

Suddenly, he stretched out as far as he could, back arching like a cat, and came, hard.

Hoity’s cock shuddered, cum blasting out of the tip and across the floor.

Cum sputtered around Hoity’s lips, most of it forcing it’s way down his throat. The rumble came to a head, and suddenly all was silent.

*grrrrFFFFTTBBRRRRFFFFFFFT!*

The hose flew out of Hoity’s backside, drops of cream flying out of the end, cream pouring out of Hoity’s hole. Cream splattered the wall behind him, ponies outside jumping at the audible fart and ensuing splatter. The cloud of gas was almost visible, the stink of it spread around the room. Hoity moaned in pleasure at the release, his tongue rubbing around Joe’s cock.

Joe pulled out and stepped down, Hoity’s body shaking as he climbed down. Suspended six feet up, Hoity’s chubby face was dripping with Joe’s personal cream filling.

“Yes... I think I’ll fit now...” Hoity muttered, before he passed out.
> Bluebloat Part Three: The Art of the Dress
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Photo Finish was just putting the finishing touches on Hoity Toity’s new suit, a stitch here, a tassel there, when suddenly the door to the studio flew open.

“Alright, Photo-Bitch, I’m gonna make one thing clear!” Fleur shouted, dropping the Prench accent and switching to her native Manehattan, “I am not, repeat AM NOT gonna be seen with those bloated cows you call ‘models’! You better fire them, cause you sure ain’t gonna fire me!”.

Photo never even turned away from her work; Hoity Toity’s suit had to be finished by the event tomorrow, and she could hardly afford any distractions.

“EXCUSE ME! ARE YOU DEAF?! I’M TALKIN’ HERE!” Fleur shrieked into Photo’s ear.

“Nien, I am not deaf, I simply do not hear anysing important or interesting.”.

“I’m quitting, get it?! I’m outta here! Bucko! Zip! I’m gone! Good luck replacing me, you chubby-chasing freak!”

“Okay. If chu do not vork here, leave.” Photo continued to work on the suit, hardly paying the raging model any attention.

“Oh, you wanna do this the hard way? Fine!” Fleur’s horn lit up, and... Rip! The 10,000 bit suit specially rush-commissioned for the event was now in several pieces on the floor.

Photo turned around, murder in her eyes. “Chu vill vish chu did not just do zat.” She growled through clenched teeth.

“What’ll ya do? Turn me inta one o’ yer new fat models?” Fleur didn’t know what tempting fate meant.

Photo’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.” She said firmly. Spinning around and pressing on a conveniently located switch, she shouted, “Chu vill be ze fattest vone of zem all! Bwahahaha!”

Suddenly, shackles rose out of the floor, locking around Fleur’s hooves. A cage dropped down from the ceiling and landed directly over her horn, preventing her from using magic to escape.

“What the buck is wrong with you you psycho kraut bitch!” She shouted in surprise.

“Chu vill see vhat is wrong vis me vhen chu explain to Hoity Toity vhy his vasn’t ready on time for ze event!” She finished the sentence with a flourish, hitting the button once more.

Fleur convulsed as electricity shot through her body. After it died down, all was quiet for a moment. Then a slow rumbling started. Suddenly, fat blossomed off her petite frame, covering her in a layer of soft, yielding pudge.

“What the BUCK did you do to me you bucking fatass BITCH!” She shrieked. Photo pressed the button again, and another shock made her grow even more.

“Chu must not interrupt mien MAGIKS! If chu interrupt zie MAGIKS, chu vill be punished! Unterstand?” Photo leaned in close. Fleur nodded, the soft chub on her face jiggling slightly with the motion.

“Goot. Now zat chu unterstand vhat chu are being punished for, chu vill not be so fearful of zis next part, ja?” Photo turned towards the button again.

“No! Please! I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again, I swear!” Fleur screamed. It fell on deaf ears. She twitched, the electricity running it’s course, and then gasped for breath before whatever magical reaction was causing her sudden weight gain happened again. Squirming in displeasure, her body bloomed outward. Between her thick legs, she could feel her breasts grow heavy, at the same time her belly dropped down, just touching the floor. Her once slender body looked downright obese; her tight supermodel flanks had become bastions of pillowy white fat, cutie marks stretched and distorted over their surface.

In her belly, a rumble was beginning. It was a quiet sort of rumble at first, not very loud, in fact only audible to the bloated model, but very soon grew loud enough for Photo to hear.

“Ah, iz zis vhat I sink it iz? Miss Fleur, I expect manners from a pony of your stature, don’t forget that!”

Fleur’s mind raced in terror, thinking of all the horrible things Photo could do to her. Her ass clamped shut, tighter than something so blubbery probably should be able to. She felt it in there, pressing against her insides, slowly forcing it’s way out. Desperately, she held it in, fearful tears dripping from her eyes and down her flabby cheeks. Her eyes screwed shut, her butt clamped even tighter, she could only gasp when the inevitable release happened.

*FFFFFFFFFPPRRRRPPPFFFRRTTT*

“Eugh! I vill return vhen chu heff stopped letting go ze gasses!” Photo said from behind Fleur. The door slammed shut.

The opulent unicorn looked around in terror, trying to find her captor. She knew something horrible was coming, it had to... Ewwww. It smelled like cheese and rotten eggs, and it was settling into her coat! She shook, struggled, tried to get the shackles off her hooves, but it was no use. She was stuck there with that... Stench. It invaded her nostrils and made a home, no amount of snorting or blowing could chase it away. She sighed, sinking to the floor. If nothing else, I suppose, at least I’m a comfortable pillow.

Suddenly, she remembered Photo’s threat. She couldn’t just rest! She had to get out of here before she could do anything else to ruin her perfect body! Quickly, she tried to light her horn. A shot of pain from the cage quickly put a stop to that, so she was forced to simply squirm and try not to fart again. She failed.

A few puffs of gas escaped her corpulent caboose, but nothing compared with earlier. Still, she kept on trying to get out, rattling and shaking and hoping something somewhere would come loose.

After minutes of struggling, she heard the door behind her open and a male voice speak. “Now really, if it wasn’t important enough for Miss Finish to come herself I would very much like to know what the Discord was so important you pull me away from my luncheon with the pri-ih-hi-hincefleurwhatthehellhappenedtoyou!”

She had been afraid of this. It was Fancy Pants, her darling husband. She sank again to the floor in despair. Now that he could see what a fat slob she had become he surely wouldn’t want to have anything to do with her and she’d end up on the streets with those horrible homeless ponies and she’d live in a cardboard box and have to lift her tail for money that is if anypony wanted to be with a big, ugly,---

Suddenly, a pair of warm hooves wrapped around her thick neck. “Fleur, honey, can you tell me what happened? You, boy! What did your boss do to her?!”

“I don’t know! I swear! I-I’m just a messenger pony, I swear!”

“Then hurry up, call the guards! We need to get to the bottom of this!” He held her tighter. It felt good, his big strong muscles pushing into her soft neck flab. Positioning himself in from of her, hooves on her shoulders, he said, “Fleur. My love. Open your eyes and look at me.”

She opened one eye, and saw Fancy Pants looking intently at her with a tenderness rarely seen before. Finally, she opened the second, and flung her forelegs around his neck, crying hysterically.

Once she had calmed down, Fancy said the words she had been dreading. “Fleur, what happened? Who made you so fat?”

From out on the street, she could hear the pony Fancypants had come in with shouting for help. It sounded quite ridiculous, “Help, there’s a fat mare in here!”, and not a small bit insensitive to her predicament. Searching her mind for the answer to the question, at first she couldn’t remember. In her relief at being saved, she forgot a good many other things, including the identity of her tormenter. Suddenly, it all became clear, and she knew who’s fault the day’s events were.

“Oh, Fancy, it was all my fault!” She sobbed.

Fancy Pants simply held her closer.
> Bluebloat Part Four: Everypony Loves Soarin'
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“C’mon, fatass! Get your flank in gear!”

Soarin’ grumbled as he picked up the pace. Ever since the pie incident, Spitfire had been on his case about what she called ‘His weight problem’. He only had one! Okay, maybe two. Or fifteen. But either way, he was still perfectly capable of flying! It’s not like he needed to go fast or anyth... Oh yeah. Wonderbolts. Forgot. Heh.

This would make is fifteenth lap in ten minutes. Maybe if Spitfire had tasted that pie, she’d know why he ended up eating so much. Not to say he had eaten too much! No, there was no way to eat too much of that moist, succulent apple pie.

It was only a few pies; what about that Prince Blueblood guy? After that helluva date he and that Rarity chick had, he wouldn’t have expected much to happen between them. Now, he was completely immobile and she hung around him all day long! He had to be carried around by a team of unicorns for Celestia’s sake! Still, if that’s what his girl wanted, he couldn’t very well refuse.

Canterlot sure was a big town, now. It had always been a bastion of hedonism and indulgence, but now? Seemed like every restaurant was packed, and so were the ponies. Gah, he mentally grunted, the puns are endless! He was at Donut Joe’s the other day; that Hoity Toity fella was sitting towards the back, taking up most of the far corner, wearing some fancy suit that made him look like a stuffed peacock.

Giggling at the mental picture of Hoity Toity as a peacock, he almost tripped himself up. Stumbling, he got his mind back in the game. The boss wants me to work, I gotta work.

His body jiggled slightly as he jogged faster down the track. He wasn’t that fat, in fact most would only call him chubby. His belly was still firmly in the grip of his flightsuit, and he only had two chins, how does that warrant such a fierce training regimen? It’s not like he was Prince Bluebloat up in the castle. Puns.

And title drop, thought a human sitting at his computer.

On a straight stretch again, he let his mind wander. The front page of the Canterlot Times featured a story on that model, Fleur-de-Lis. He remembered her from an old issue of Playcolt. A damn fine dish, if I do say so myself. Now, her face covered with a hoof, she was helped out of Photo Finish’s design studio by a guard and her husband, who was shooting an evil look at the photographer. Seems a bit insensitive to just plaster that picture everywhere, he thought. Hopefully she’s doing better.

The article was surprisingly detailed, reading like a third-person account of the events leading up to her fattening. Following that, there was a request for aid from the citizens, seeing as the hunt for Photo Finish was getting nowhere fast. Any tips as to her whereabouts were to be sent directly to the National Police. He doubted they’d get any; she was a fashion designer after all, it seemed natural she be a master of disguise. Anypony who got close enough to identify her would probably end up full of cake or something.

He leaned into another curve, the curves in his body also leaning. Sweat stains were beginning to form, his body bouncing, his bodacious booty bobbling up and down as he trotted along.

Odd; he was already running out of breath. Didn’t he usually run a good twenty laps every morning? It’s not like he never overate, and the digestion rarely interfered with his workout. But still, he began to pant as he trotted across the hundred yard line.

From her position above the field, Spitfire looked down in disapproval. Soarin’ was a good flyer, he really was, but he lacked self-control. Always eating, drinking, getting it on, he was a real playcolt. After the flying season had ended, he could often be found asleep on his couch. Spitfire wondered if he even moved from that spot for weeks on end, judging by the amount of garbage piled around it. Unfortunately, the Wonderbolts weren’t for lazy ponies, nor were they for libertines of his calibre. Management kept wanting to drum him out, to replace him with one of the Best Young Flyers winners, but she always convinced them that he could be improved. He just needed to learn some discipline, she’d said, and what better pony to teach it than her?

She was so caught up in her thoughts and memories that she didn’t notice Soarin’ trot up to her.

“Okay, *gasp*, Spits. That’s *gasp* thirty laps.” He panted out.

Sweat glistened on the exposed portions of his coat, causing his light blue fur to shimmer in the sunlight. Dark stains were centred around his armpits and down his front, and what was hopefully just sweat could be seen dripping along his rear. His chub shook as he gasped for breath, straining to inhale against the tight leather suit.

His eyes suddenly widened.

“Soarin’? What’s wrong?” Spitfire asked in concern.

“I...” He said between clenched teeth.

“Yes? What is it? Do you need a doctor?” He’d eaten so much, all that weight he gained, was his heart giving out?

“I...”

“Soarin’! Stay right there! I’ll call an ambulence!” She jumped up and started running for the nearest payphone.

“Wait!” He shouted just before she could dial.

The sudden jostle was the last straw.

*Fffffpupfffffbbrrrrpppbbbbrrrppp*

Spitfire’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as Soarin’ farted. It was big and loud, but that’s implied by the sound effect right there. Maybe it was stinky, depending on if you’re into that. All that matters is fat pohnee.

His body rocked with the sudden expulsion. The uniform, already tight, began to tear right down the rear. With a rip, the costume split apart, from his tail down to his crotch, causing his chubby rear to flop out.

“Uh...” He started. Spitfire simply stared.

It was even more wonderful than Spitfire expected. The uniform was holding it in, she realized. His ass cheeks were round as volleyballs, plump and plush. They jiggled as they flopped down, bouncing slightly as they settled back into place.

The tear continued along his belly, causing his belly to expand to its full size. Soarin’ buckled down slightly as it crashed out of his suit. It was probably bigger than the suit should’ve been able to contain, explaining his trouble breathing, and standing testament to his dressing skills.

It finally stopped at the bottom of his chest. He fell to his corpulent haunches, big belly quickly moving up and down as he inhaled freely for the first time all morning.

“Soarin’...” Spitfire started. She had never seen anything like it; he may eat too much once in awhile but never anything like this! The sweat created a little pool around him as he sat, breathing slowly in his exhaustion. His wings drooped, splayed out across the ground. Suddenly, she felt a cold breeze.

“Wha?” She whirled her head around and saw the cause. She’d always had a crush on Soarin’, ever since she first lay eyes on him at the Academy. Ruggedly handsome, always speaking his mind; she always hoped that one day, he and her might slip out to the bushes behind the barracks one night. But that never happened. No matter how she put the moves on him, he simply refused to take the bait. He’d been with so many mares, it wasn’t as if he was gay or something!

A famous pony like her could have any stallion she wanted, but she’d always saved herself. For the right one, she told herself, but she knew the real reason: She wanted him, and only him. Of course, he seemed to want anypony but her.

“Soarin’... Do you want some help?” She asked slowly, trepidation seeping into her voice as she spoke.

It was strange; Soarin’ was always near, quick to defend her and quick to comfort her, yet he never even tried to sleep with her, never asked her out! Not even that one night when everypony got all liquored up and Surprise took off her bra.

His reply was at first a grunt as Soarin’ picked himself up, belly swinging below him.

“I’d like that, yeah.” He said, wobbling a little.

Before his thick legs could give out, Spitfire flew over to him and propped herself up against his side.

“Here, lean onto me, let’s get you to the locker room.”

Off they went, Spitfire’s shapely bottom holding up Soarin’s blubbery buttcheeks, across the field and to the short building that housed the locker room. It was a unisex room, possibly built to ensure the maximum amount of perviness be enacted by the stallions, and the mares could freely survey them, ranking their assets against their peers.

The room was surprisingly small considering the size of the building, oblong with two rows of lockers on either side, a bench in the middle, and the entrance to the shower room at the end.

Soarin’ left Spitfire’s care and waddled over to his locker. Biting the fabric, he pried the suit from his front hooves, then his head, and finally kicked it off his back legs, the movement sending tremors through his pliable body.

His body was even bigger without the suit on, she realized. His back legs, which looked almost comically thin beneath his bulbous buttocks, were now as wide as tree trunks, his dimpled thighs nearly touching between his legs. He wasn’t sagging, but the tightly packed fat jiggled a little as he tossed the ruined outfit into the corner.

Working with his hooves, he pulled off the fur-colored jock strap covering his privates and let it drop to the floor. With so much of his bulky body in the way, she couldn’t see much of anything, but that didn’t matter. Spitfire had never been so turned on.

“Soarin’... Do you like me?” She asked with trepidation.

“Of course, Spits. You’re pretty much my best friend.” He replied, lowering himself down on the double-wide bench. He set himself down, then flopped down on his back, exposing his belly and... Nether regions. Spitfire eyed his crotch with hunger, lust for the big blubberbolt almost overpowering her reason, but no, she had to do this the right way! If she just pounced on him now, there was no way he’d want to be with her!

“Best friend?” She said slowly.

He craned his head back to look at her. “Yep. No matter what, you’re always there for me. I know I’m not the easiest to work with sometimes, but you always put up with my crap and push me in the right direction. Hell, I probably wouldn’t even have gotten through the Academy without you helping me along.” He spread out his wings, an impressive span of six feet tip to tip. Of course, they looked rather less majestic when they weren’t partially hidden beneath his wide body.

“So... Would you like anything?” She was beginning to wonder what he was getting at, and when they’d reach the subject she so desperately wanted to talk about.

“A bottle of water, then maybe some alone time.” He said, with what could be mistaken for lust but was probably just thirst in his eyes.

“Alone time..?” Spitfire repeated with anticipation.

Soarin’ looked back down and slapped a hoof to his belly, causing the flubbery rolls to jiggle. “Yeah, I’m gonna need a shower.”

“Want company?” She said, expecting the obvious answer.

“Nah, I may be fat but I’m not helpless. You outta go get ready for practice. I think I’ll take the day off.” He grunted, attempting to roll over onto his belly. Straining with effort, he gave up after a few seconds of difficult exertion. With an increasingly dry throat he continued, “Like I said, some water would be nice.”

As she trotted out the door to the vending machine in the hall, Spitfire realized something. In the grand story of life, she wasn’t a romantic lead. She wasn’t even a porn star. She didn’t get any wild and crazy sex. She’d probably die a virgin. She was a tragic character, in a sub-par fetish story written by some alien monkey. He was probably a bit of a dick, taunting his readers with the promise of sex but never really getting there.

She sighed and dropped a bit into the coin slot. C’est la vie, she thought bitterly. At least he’s still my friend.

With a thunk, the bottle fell into the dispense slot. She picked it up and began to head back towards her obese friend. Maybe I can skip practice today too. We can still have some fun, even if he doesn’t like me that way. The trotted back into the locker room, thinking of all the wonderful things she would do to him.
> Bluebloat Part Five: The Danger-Friend Zone
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The following is based on a true story. The names have been changed to protect the innocent.

“Urf, Spits, you really don’t have to keep me company. I can just stay at the hotel by myself.” Soarin’ said. After Soarin’s shower, during which time Spitfire quietly spied on him from the doorway, they had left the training stadium for the Witz Hotel, where the Wonderbolts had been given an entire floor to themselves. At the moment, they were walking past Photo Finish’s design studio, which was still cordoned off by yellow guard tape. Two stallions, rather plump themselves, eyed them warily as they walked past. It seemed not even the guard was immune to the ‘Immense New Style’ as Fashion Horse magazine called it.

“It’s no trouble, Soarin’. I was gonna take the day off anyway, and I figured I should spend some time with my good friend.” She was, after all, his good friend.

“And keep me from eating any more?” He joked.

“Well...” Images of hoof-fed chocolate and whipped cream bikinis danced through Spitfire’s head.

“Ah, I’m just messin’ with ya. C’mon, we’re almost there.” Soarin’ began to trot faster, which for a pony his size is really more of a fast waddle, his blubbery body jiggling as he went. His supple rear bounced up and down with each step, slapping lightly against his thighs. Blump. Blump.

*pomf*

Aaand there we go, Spitfire now had a wingboner in the middle of a busy street. Several ponies stopped and stared. Blushing deeply, she pressed her wings down as hard as she could and continued after him.

That stallion, she thought, he will be mine.

*Urp*

Soarin’ burped slightly as he sat down. It was easy enough to get back to their suite, although they had to bear the wide-eyed stares of the staff. Good thing the elevator was working for once, or they might still be on the stairs.

“Eh hehe, sorry ‘bout that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Spitfire said, sitting next to him on the couch.

Soarin’ took up most of two cushions, laying on his back like he did whenever he had indigestion, his flab looking to Spitfire like a nice soft pillow. No, she thought, I’ve gotta get him interested in me, that’s the only way this is gonna work! She sat on the far end of the third cushion with her legs in tucked under herself.

It’s time, she thought to herself, I have to tell him. Now or never.

“Soarin’, I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s... Important, and I need you to listen, okay?”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Soarin’... I’m in love.”

“Well that’s great! Who with? Oh, it’s Surprise, isn’t it? It totally is. Don’t try to deny it!” Soarin’ was giddy with thoughts of the two. If he could be jumping up and down, he would, but as it was he had to settle for wide gestures with his hooves, sending ripples through his body.

“What? No! Soarin’, I’m in love with YOU!” She shouted.

Suddenly, Soarin’ fell silent. His hooves returned to his sides, and the room became uncomfortably quiet.

“Spitfire, I’m sorry, and I’ll always treasure you as a friend, but-”

“But?” She said, looking at him with big teary eyes. He looked away.

“I know...”

“What?”

“I know you’re a transsexual. I know you’re a stallion and you just act like a mare. I’m sorry, but that’s just not something I’m comfortable with.”

Spitfire’s eyes widened at that. Her jaw lowered, moving up and down, but no words came out.

“Spitfire?”

She just stared at him with her massive amber eyes.

“Spits?”

She burst out laughing.

“Bwahahaha! You... You thought... Wahaha! I’m a tranny? Ha! What in the hell made you think that?”

Soarin’ blushed. Apparently making assumptions can deny you years of poon with the one pony he’d ever felt a real connection with.

“B-b-but... The... That is, your... I mean, you had...” He sputtered.

“Ahahaha! Me? A guy? That’s the funniest thing since... Ever! You know that growing up my mom thought I was too masculine, so she sent me to ballet classes? Ahahah!”

To her credit, it only took five minutes for Spitfire to stop laughing. The fat stallion was quite embarrassed, as he well should be for just assuming something like that. He tried to sink his head back into his blubbery body unsuccessfully.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she said, “S... So, Soarin’, does that mean you... Heh heh... Does that mean you do like me?”

Soarin’s face was red, his flabby cheeks resembling tomatoes. “Uh, well, uh, if you, uh, still, y’know, want me?” He stuttered.

Spitfire looked very deeply in his eyes with a dangerous expression. Suddenly, her face lit up with a smile. “Let’s order a pizza.”

“What?” Well that was unexpected.

“I’m broke, you’re paying.” She said as she walked over to the phone.

“Uh, sure?”

“Well okay then, it’s settled!”

She picked up the phone, dialed, and proceeded to order. “Hello, yes, I’d like a... Dozen? Yeah, that sounds about right, a dozen cheese pizzas, yeah, uh, the Witz Hotel, presidential suite. No, I’m not joking, tell you what, call the desk and ask them to connect you to us, then you’ll have your proof, okay? Okay.”

A minute later, the phone rang.

“See? Proof. Now bring us our goddamn pizzas. Yes I’m sure, now hurry it up, chop chop!”

She slammed the phone down and let out an exasperated sigh.

“Jeez, lifestyles of the rich and famous, right here.”

Soarin’ was quite to comfort his potential marefriend, without leaving the sofa of course. “Don’t worry ‘bout it Spits, it ain’t all bad. This one time, I went to this fast food joint in Manehatten, right? And I walked up to this random guy and just buried my muzzle in his fries, and he whacked me on the head, so I look up and he realizes who I am, and his eyes are really wide, and I’m just like, ‘Nopony will ever believe you’ and just walk away.”

“Thanks, Soarin’, it’s things like that that make me love you.”

“You mean it?” He said giddily.

“Does this answer your question?” Spitfire pounced on him, locking their lips together. She grabbed his hoof and brought it up to her rear while forcing her tongue between his surprised lips. He tastes like chocolate, she thought, I love chocolate!

After a minute or so of surprise tongue wrestling, the intercom buzzed.

A deep, shy voice spoke. ”Uh, Miss Spitfire, Mister Soarin’, did either of you order a dozen pizzas?”

“Hells yes we did, send ‘em on up!”

“Should we, uh, charge them to your account? For convenience, I mean, if you wanna pay in your room that’s fine t-” The speaker was interrupted by a boisterous and professional new voice.

“What this BELLBOY was meaning to say is, we’d be delighted to charge them for your convenience at the credit reader.”

Spitifire was right annoyed by now. “Sure, you guys do that. Just bring those damn pizzas up, we’re getting hungry!”

“Right away. Bloody fool bellboy, this is what you get when you hire a damn dirty zebra to do a pony’s job. Go back to Zebrabwe, you damn stripeys!” It seemed this hotel employed bigots.

“Uh, sir, the intercom’s still on.” Pointed out the timid zebra.

With a clack, the connection closed.

“We’re hungry? Spits, I ate more in the last week than I probably ever have in my life!”

Spitfire simply nuzzled him softly. “I know, but are you really gonna let all that good food go to waste?”

Soarin’ couldn’t answer that one, so he just sat there cuddling with his new love.

*knock knock*

“Uh, hello? Pizzas are here.”

Reluctantly, Spitfire got up and opened the door. There stood a grey pegasus mare, her eyes staring off into different directions, wearing a giant mask of former president Richard Nixon. All in all, it was a very confusing sight.

“Wha--” Gasped Spitfire.

“I’m just here for my obligatory cameo and won’t even eat one single crumb of food in this entire story!” She shouting happily. “Except for this one!”

And with that, her jaw expanded comically and she swallowed every single pizza but one. She was a perfectly spherical pony, in defiance of all known science. The sudden weight proved too much for the floor, which opened in a massive gaping hole and she proceeded to fall down it.

“That was.... Odd.” She said, staring down the hole. The bottom was hidden by shadows, which seemed rather strange considering the hotel was only five stories, but she chose not to question it.

From the couch, Soarin’ said, “I felt millions of voices cry out in disappointment and were suddenly silenced.”

“Well, at least we’ve got the one.” She said, rolling her eyes and trotting back to Soarin’ on the couch.

She tossed the box onto the coffee table, which went unmentioned until now because it’s a magic appearing coffee table, and opened it up.

There was one slice.

“Wow, what a gyp!” Said Soarin’.

“So,” Spitfire said, “Pre-meal blowjob?”

“Uh, what?” Soarin’ was by now completely lost.

“I’ll suck your dick while you eat.” She deadpanned.

Soarin’ recoiled a little, then leaned in closer. “Sure thing, babe. Just lemme get this-urk-damn underwear-grf-off-oof!” He fell back onto the arm of the couch as his undergarments came off. Spitfire was sure they’d make a good blanket, or maybe a parachute.

Soarin’ tossed his underwear into the corner, which is a very strange name for what is clearly outerwear, but that’s my headcanon and I’m sticking to it.

“Why do we wear these things, anyway? I mean, what’s the point of covering up our crotches when we’re already covered in fur?”

“Because kids are watching, now fuck me you fat bastard.”

In an alternate dimension, a monkey decided to butt in on your porn and remind you of the fat guy in Austin Powers. We now return to your regularly scheduled wanking.

Spitfire took a slice and looked at Soarin’ with a shadowy expression.

“Uh, Spits? What are you-- Mffff!” He was cut off when she shoved the entire piece into his mouth. He couldn’t spit it out, she was holding her hoof over his mouth. He forced himself to chew the cheesy choker while Spitfire looked down between his legs with a hungry expression.

“You chomp on that, I’ve got my own meal.” She said, removing her hoof from his full mouth. She lowered her head down and-

“Mh!”

Wrapped her mouth around Soarin’s stiffening schlong, she worked her tongue around the bottom as he involuntarily bucked his hips.

Soarin’ moaned in pleasure as he chewed the pizza slice , Spitfire sucking his cock. That was also quite pleasurable, but let’s focus on the tasty tasty pizza. It’s what he was focused on, after all. With a gulp, he swallowed the ground-up mass, hoping it wouldn’t choke him. It didn’t, and came to rest in his stomach.

Grrrr...

What was that?

Grrrrrr!

Uh oh, thought Soarin’, looks like it’s time for the obligatory gas. I wonder what it’ll be?

He wasn’t sure how or why it was obligatory, but he was quite sure it was what his body wanted him to do, and therefore what he did.

*UUUrrrruuupp!*

He burped loudly, just at the same moment as he came in Spitfire’s mouth. At first she swallowed, drinking down his hot seed with no problem, but she quickly discovered that Soarin’ was more of a stallion than she had ever suspected. She tried to pull away, but he had put a hoof to the back of her head and was pushing down hard, moaning in joy at the continued release.

The cum was forcing its way down her throat now, entirely too much, certainly more than one would expect from the size of his balls. Her stomach was uncomfortably full now; she could feel the pressure inside of her. It was growing slightly, she could feel that as the torrent poured down her throat.

Finally, he seemed to run out, and Spitfire relaxed. It’s over, she thought, he’s done. Of course, the universe is a strange and inexplicable place, and when God is in a pervy mood, exponentially more so. He let off a small *frrt* when he started to come again.

“Oh, what the hell?” He shouted, staring at his still-going member. Spitfire was full, very full, she could feel her stomach stretching out to accommodate more of Soarin’s jizz. It must be the size of a damn watermelon by now! She thought.

Her crotch seemed a lot tighter, wait, her breasts! Yes, her mammaries were indeed growing, going from small and almost unnoticeable to at least a B cup. Perky and fiiiine.

Soarin’ stared at his growing girlfriend. Her belly was getting bigger, stretching out at the sides, really much fuller than it should’ve been, and there seemed to be lumps growing near her bottom that he was sure he hadn’t seen before, but any worry he might’ve had was washed away with the sheer ecstasy of it all.

Spitfire moaned, she could feel the cum sloshing inside her, it was entirely too much, and Soarin’ just wasn’t letting her go! She struggled, trying to get free, but he held her tight. I feel like a damn party balloon!

It was getting bigger, a medicine ball, at least. She continued to gulped down the sperm, hoping against hope that any second now he might stop. Her belly was very tight, the pressure, oh the pressure! And her boobs, they felt so tight, she could feel milk drizzle out of the by-now quite large nipples. She was, by now, thoroughly regretting the decision to suck him off.

“Gfff!” She tried to shout as she felt an electric shock jolt through her body. Her belly had reached the floor!

I’m gonna pop! I’m gonna burst like a big balloon! Oh sweet Celestia I don’t wanna explode!

Her hooves lifted off slightly, she could only touch the floor with her tippy-toes now. Oh god oh god oh god she thought as she gobbled down Soarin’s baby batter. And then it happened.

The torrent stopped. It tapered off, but she could feel her mouth draining, Soarin’s grip loosening, and his cock softening. Her eyes rolled up; she couldn’t believe it was finally over! She shuffled her hooves around her bulging, bloated belly, it was perfectly spherical and round and a whole lot of other adjectives.

She rolled onto her rear, which is to say onto her overinflated milkbags, which squirted as she put pressure on them. This was the last straw, she came hard, squirting her juices across the floor and onto the wall behind her. She tried to move back onto her belly, but had to settle on the floor, where Soarin’s fat form was also lying facing her. His flabby cheek was smooshed into the floor, and she was sure he seemed slightly bigger than before, although it was probably just her imagination. Forget earlier, this was the sexiest she’d ever seen him.

He opened one eye. “Ooh, Shpitsh, we should’ve done thish shooner.” He mumbled, his contact with the floor impairing his speech.

Yeah, and I shoulda killed that griffon in Baltimare that one time, she thought, this could be the worst thing that’s ever happened, we’re both gonna be fired, and it’s largely my fault! I’m a huge cum balloon, you’re a fatass, and we just spent several hundred bits on overpriced pizza that we didn’t even get to eat!

“Ooooh,” Was all Spitfire could say as her belly gurgled uncomfortably.
*frrrpptph* Was all her ass could say.
> Intermission: That Sexy Older Guy Thing
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

We enter to Ponyville town hall, where a crowd of citizens is cowering terrified, while a dark alicorn who bore a passing resemblance to the local sofa salesman shouted menacingly.

“Mwahahaha! I am Nightmare Couch! From this night forth, the chaise shall lounge FOREVER! Bwahahahaha!”





Meanwhile, in an alternate universe where things aren’t completely retarded, but still pretty stupid, this was happening:

Ernest Hemingway stared at the page. It stared back at him, and it made him feel dirty.

“Francis,” he said, “just what in the actual fuck is this?”

“It’s fanfiction!” F. Scott Fitzgerald shouted gleefully, “I wrote it myself!”

Ernest paused a few moments before answering, “It’s about fat horses.”

“Yeah, well I walk on the wild side!”

“That movie won’t even be out for like another 30 years.”

“Hey, mind if I borrow Erich Remarque for a couple days?” asked the ever-intrusive John Dos Passos.

"Sure, just make sure to walk him in the mornings and give him enough food. He eats only sauerkraut and blood sausages, everything else gives him gas."

"What?" Asked John, looking up from where the German man was chewing on a piece of cauliflower.





And in yet another world, where a lot of ponies were getting really fat, other stuff was going on.

Davenport plopped down on his plot. His eyes widened and shot up again when he realized he was sitting on broken glass. Well, he thought, there goes the neighborhood. He heard someone clear their throat behind him. Turning, he saw

“Uhh, Madame Mayor, I can explain-”

“You can explain? You can explain?! Ponyville has never seen such devastation! Quills and Sofas, burned down and covered in teriyaki sauce! I hope you know you’ll be paying for it!”

“Madame Mayor... I own Quills and Sofas. Of course, I’m paying for it.”

“Oh. Well then, best of luck to you,” She said and trotted away.

Because the universe apparently thought he hadn’t suffered enough today, Pinkie Pie popped up before him. He didn’t even flinch.

“Hi Davey-Wavey! What happened?”

“I’m... Not entirely sure anymore.” Was his reply. Sadly, he looked over the ruins.

“Ooh! Ooh! I know! I know what happened!”

Suddenly, he looked up. “You do?” He asked hopefully.

“Yeppers! Just sit right there and let your auntie Pinkie Pie tell you!”

“I’m twenty years older than you,” he grumbled, but still sat quietly and listened to her story.





On a sofa, just one of many in the store Quills and Sofas, sat Davenport and his coltfriend Gizmo. They were gay lovers, although if you couldn’t figure that out already I can’t imagine how you managed to find this website.

Now, Gizmo was a nerdy little white kid, well, more of a light beige really, but surely a stereotype if ever there was one. He was just out of his teens, his face was still dotted with zits, and a little peach fuzz mustache was perched on his upper lip.

Davenport, on the other hoof, was in his late 30s, but none other than Gizmo knew his exact age. His face was still smooth, but if you looked closely, you could see wrinkles forming on his brow and the beginnings of crows feet in the corners of his eyes.

Now, you might wonder why someone so young and someone so old are together. Well, when Gizmo’s mommy and daddy broke up, he was left without a father figure. This lay dormant in his psyche until he met Davenport at the Summer Sun Celebration. Now he has a gay lover/substitute dad. It may sound creepy, but that’s proper psychology right there and I dare anyone to say different.

Anyway, Gizmo was a scrawny little dweeb. Why, I bet he reads BOOKS and knows his TIMES TABLES and can read a CLOCK and everything! What a fucking geek, amiright? We should totally beat his nerd ass! C’mon Jock Patrol! Time to kick-- oh, they’re talking and we’re missing it. Shit.

“Dav, I was wondering.”

Davenport looked down with half-lidded eyes. “Yes, my love?”

Gizmo fidgeted nervously. “I... Well, I was wondering, what do you think of, um, bigger, uh, stallions?” He sunk back into the couch slightly as he spoke.

“I’ve got nothing against them, why?”

“Well, you see, I, uh...”

“You uh?”

“I...”

“Come on, Gizmo, you may be younger than me but I expect you to use your big pony words sometimes.”

“I WANNA GET FAT!”

“Oh, is that all?”

“Whaddya mean, ‘is that all’? I wanna sit around all day and eat and get too fat to move, and you say, ‘is that all’?”

“Well, I’m curious as to why, but as long as it’s what you want, I’ll do my best to support you.”

“Will you... Still love me?”

“Gizmo, I love you no matter what. If you’re a changeling, I still love you. If you’re a fan of Steelalica, I love you. If you want to be fat, I still love you. I’m intrigued by the prospect, actually. How big would you like to get?”

“Well...”





And so it went. Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to a month, and Ponyville was finally beginning to take notice of one of its less eminent residents.

“You know, I really don’t understand why anypony likes the new season of Doctor Whooves.” This was a blue unicorn by the name of Pokey Pierce, resident Jewish nerd/Jeff Goldblum impersonator.

“Whaddya mean?” Replied Ace, an off-white earth pony who dressed like a queer but still got more pussy in a week than you will in your entire life.

At the moment, they were sitting on the counter of Ponyville’s local Forbidden Planet, a comic book store who’s name I couldn’t think of a pun for. They seemed to be discussing various nerdy things, let’s just tune it out and instead listen to our manly conversation about sports and- Oh goddamn it I can’t ignore them, they’re too annoying! Augh!

“Well, look at it! Patt Smith is a decent actor, really he is, but he isn’t David Trottant! Wombat needs to realize that he can’t just write him like he does Sherclop!”

“I dunno, I think he’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, but have you seen it? Remember The Power Of Four? The episode had a good premise, the doctor coming to stay, but had no idea what to do with it and quickly ditched plot for a pathetic last-ten-minutes conclusion that just left me feeling cheated! It’s like--”

“Hey, guys,” Gizmo greeted with a smile. He was quite large, one of two common sizes in comic stores, and every step sent tremors through his prodigious body.

“G-Gizmo?!” They sputtered in unison. Pokey fell back off the counter. Haha.

“That’s the name, don’t wear it out. So guys, we still on for 39k or what?” He said, walking over to Ace’s perch. Maybe walking isn’t the right word. Strutting.

“Uh, yeah, come on into the back.” Ace said, eyes still wide.

By this time Pokey had picked himself up and dusted himself off. “Yeah. Right this way, man.” He said, pointing to a curtain marked Employees Only.

With a nod, Gizmo strutted through the curtain, his bubbly butt bobbing with every step.

*The author doesn’t know anything about Warhammer 40k or wargames in general, although he does still have a pencil case full of YuGiOh cards. Therefore, I’ll skip this bit and cut right to the obligatory fat joke.*

A tan colt walked in with his white mother. As soon as he saw Gizmo, his eyes widened significantly.

“Look, mom! It’s UFO Turtle!” He shouted, pointing at the obese pony.

“Now Featherweight, that’s not nice!” Chided Blossomforth. She then grabbed a copy of Watchmares from the rack and smacked him across the face for his insolence.





Gizmo wouldn’t call himself vainglorious, exactly, but he was far from humble. Over the course of the game, he’d managed to eat his way through a dozen bags of chips, unlike his friends who only shared one. Well, it was their loss, after all, fuel for the body is fuel for the mind, and he was the winner. He and his army of Imperial Guardsmen, the Snooker Division as he ‘cleverly’ named them, had smashed the Tau and Chaos Marine alliance, and reigned victorious over the foam and card terrain.

“Booyah! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” He shouted, smacking his ass and sending ripples throughout his entire body. His friends, both of whom were quite straight, simply stared in wonder at his blubbery bottom.

“Pokey,” Ace whispered to his friend, “I think we should invite him over more often.”

“Yeah,” replied Pokey, who simply couldn’t look away from his jiggling crotchmoobs.

Gizmo was pretty big, that’s for sure. He was wide enough for a pony to lay across his flabby back, and if one were paying attention to his rear (and who wasn’t, given that it was as wide as a big-screen TV and just as fun to look at), you might see a glorious pair of man-boobs blocking the view of his funzone. He sweated profusely as he waddled through town, stopping to catch his breath every few meters. He had to get home, he couldn’t be late! It was the best night of the week, after all.

There it was in the distance! His body jiggled as he stepped, although a more accurate term might be quaked, considering how his fat shook with every tremor and the aftershocks they caused.

He stopped to gasp for breath, then got up and started going again. Can’t stop now! he thought, gotta keep going, gotta get home!

Finally he opened the front door and walked inside, the bell chimed, and-urf! “Welcome to Quills and Sofas, where we sell exactly two thin- Oh, hi darling, home so soon?” Davenport stepped from behind the sofa he was embroidering (I dunno, he’s gay.) and immediately noticed two things. One, Gizmo was stuck in the door. Two, Gizmo was stuck in the door. Also, on a somewhat irrelevant note, Gizmo was stuck in the door.

His massive body simply couldn’t fit; halfway in, halfway out, he groaned and strained with effort. Dark sweat covered his bulbous body, dripping down his face and his chest and legs into a growing stain on the carpet. His constant twisting and turning caused a somewhat expected reaction.

*fffppprt!*

And there he went, always, with the farts. Davenport thought this might be a running theme, although for the life of him he couldn’t imagine why. Well, at least his ass was on the other side of the door so he couldn’t smell- and there goes the wind, of course it would choose now to blow in this particular direction. Ew. Rotten eggshells.

Not that Gizmo cared, since he was still struggling like the devil himself was after him.

*fppt-pfppt-pfrrt!*

Davenport felt faint from the foul farts, but managed to remain lucid among the stench of sweat and mouldy cheese. He walked forward as if in a dream, Gizmo’s puffy, pimpled cheeks jiggling up and down in an almost hypnotic motion.

“Gizmo...” Davenport started.

Suddenly, Gizmo stopped struggling and looked up, an embarrassed smile on his face. “Eheheh, yes, Dav?”

“Have you tried sucking it in?”

“Oh.” Gizmo said dumfounded, “I didn’t think of that.”

Using his incredible cartoon powers, he clenched his abdominal muscles, causing his massive midsection to completely- oh, sorry, wrong story. Yeah, he managed to squeeze past the door and flop down on the floor in the middle of the room. Of course, to a pony his size, flopping on the floor was a lot more like lowering himself slightly so the weight was off his hooves. Davenport trotted over, if he couldn’t see him he could just follow the dark trail in the carpet, and set himself down in front of the morbidly obese pony.

“So, do you know what night it is?” He asked seductively, leaning in.

“... That night?” Gizmo replied hopefully.

“Indeed it is,” was the response. Davenport got up and walked out of the room via the storage room door, his slightly jiggling bottom catching Gizmo’s eye and holding it until it disappeared. After a few minutes, he had caught his breath enough to call out, “Dav? What’re you doing?”

Instead of replying, Davenport waddled back in on his hind legs, carrying before him a heavy, steaming pot. It was big and round and silver, and giving off the most wonderful aroma Gizmo had ever smelled, although his gnawing hunger might’ve had something to do with that. Judging from the amount of steam escaping around the lip, he could only assume it was insulated. With a thunk, Davenport set the pot down, then sat down beside it.

Lifting off the lid, he could see his patent Fireball Chili, an old family recipe that was almost, but not quite jambalaya, so he decided to call it chili because reasons. Blobs of beans and rice bubbled to the surface, he had to squint his stinging eyes through the spicy vapour. With both hooves, he took a spoon conveniently located in his pocket and took a big scoop of the savory sauce.

That sentence makes me think of that one episode of Scrubs where Turk and Carla were kicked out of a funeral.

“Are you hungry, babe?” He asked. It was probably meant to be seductive, but his tone was far closer to ‘I desperately want sex’ than ‘Let’s make love’.

“Ooh, Dav, please, feed me!” Squealed Gizmo, not caring about his lover’s failed attempt at romance. The aroma was overpowering, he needed it in him!

Davenport held the spoon away. “Hmm, I think you could stand to lose a few pounds.”

Gizmo whined, his face even cuter than a puppy because of the sheer flabbiness of it. “Please? I’ll do whatever you want!”

“Oh?” he replied, curious.

“Yes! I’ll be your best friend!”

Davenport couldn’t help but chuckle. “Gizmo, you already are my best friend.” And with that, he shoved the spoon into Gizmo’s mouth. He removed it slowly, Gizmo’s tongue lapping up all residue. Dipping it back into the pot, he then fed it to Gizmo’s waiting mouth, then repeated the action.

It continued in this vein for a long while, Gizmo happily gobbling up the chili, and Davenport spoonfeeding him. It was all quite arousing, believe me, but if I were to go into every detail about this part it would all get quite repetitive, wouldn’t it? Thus, we jumpcut to an hour later. The last scrapings of the pot are on the spoon, and Davenport is lowering it to Gizmo’s gaping maw. He’s pretty messy, sauce is splattered around his mouth and down his front. We return now to past-tense, because this isn’t currently happening, is it? Well, depending on how you view time it might be, but I’m just gonna shut up and get back to the fat horses, that’s what you’re here to see, right? Right.

Davenport slid the half-filled spoon into Gizmo’s mouth, which closed around it for a moment before releasing it and allowing him to return it to the pot, where it clattered to the bottom.

Gizmo smiled contentedly, his eyes half-lidded and happy. He was full and fat. Sure, it was a little uncomfortable, but he was here with the only pony who liked feeding as much as he liked eating. Suddenly, they opened fully, panic evident. A low grumble became audible, getting louder every moment.

“What? What is it?” Davenport asked worriedly.

As quickly as it began, the sound stopped. You can guess where this is going.

*urp*

Well that was anticlimactic.

“So, how’s my cooking?” Davenport asked playfully.

“I give it... Nine out of ten...” Mumbled Gizmo.

This answer was somewhat surprising. “Why only nine?”

“Because you forgot the best course.”

“Which is?” Now he was curious.

With a wink, Gizmo said in his best seductive voice, which really was more of a squeak, “You.”

Davenport jumped up at this, obviously panicked.

“No, you big dummy! I want you in me!”

With yet more panic, but frozen in place, he scanned for escape routes. In his fear, he didn’t see any of them, although he did see a tastefully modern lounge chair with a cartoonish black outline.

“Er, no, I mean, I wanna have sex!”

Davenport visibly calmed down, his hackles settling and back unarching. “Oh, is that all?” He said with relief.

“Yep.”

I bet you thought this was about to take an unexpected twist. Sorry, not going there anytime soon.

Here it was; Davenport’s cock. It was a decent size for a pony, around twelve inches, nothing spectacular but size isn’t everything, and it was smeared with lube. Not the cheap kind, either, no way anypony here’s getting an infection! And there was Gizmo’s ass. It was big, huge in fact, standing lengthwise to it he still left several inches ahead of him. Now, this was a very large butt indeed, and how would anypony get to his asshole from the outside? Davenport knew what to do.

Reaching in, he spread Gizmo’s cheeks wide. At least it isn’t filthy, he thought with a shiver. There it was, hidden away in the middle, a little greyish hole. That’d be it.

Hitching himself up, he forced his stiff stick into Gizmo’s asshole. With a loud *plop!*, his buttcheeks fell back together, embracing Davenport in their warm mass. It was difficult going, but he soon was able to get a rhythm up.

Gizmo’s plump body rocked to the beat, Davenport’s every thrust sending a tremor through his supple body.

“You know,” the fat nerd started.

“uh”

“I’ve got...”

“huh”

“All these...”

“huh”

“HumanQuest...”

“wuh”

“Books, but...”

“urf”

“Nopony...”

“oof!”

“Knows anything about them...”

Davenport grunted and replied,

“There’s that...”

“heh”

“Mare, the teal unicorn...”

“erh,”

“Her name is...”

“uh,”

“Something musical, I think...”

“huh”

“She really likes it...”

Davenport began to speed up, thrusts coming in every half-second or so, no small feat when you’re being held in by two hundred pounds of ass.

“Oh ye-e-ah?”

With every grunting thrust, there came a sound not unlike that of two gay men having sex. Shocking.

“I g-guess I sh-sh-should ask her ab-bout them somet-time...”

*plap* is more or less the sound made when they contacted. Davenport’s member went in almost to the hilt, in, out, in, out, in an almost continuous cycle of motion.
*plap*
“D-Dav...”
*plap*
“er, Yeah?”
*plap*
“Dav!”
*plap*
“W-what?”
*plap*
“I’m, erf, oh! Howohoho!”

Gizmo’s dick throbbed as he came, a spurt of seed painting across the floor, then another, and another and another. Meanwhile, in his butthole, Davenport stretched out as he came a thick and continuous stream. The white matter flooded his bowels and, if he were skinnier, would’ve given him a decent-sized belly bulge. As it is, much of the cum squirted out around Davenport’s cock coatin his lower body, going between his cheeks, down across his man-boobs and splattering in a puddle on the floor.

Davenport collapsed on top of his lover, sinking slightly into his blubbery back. It was soft like a bed; like the dick he couldn’t quite pull out. Up, down, up, down, it moved, labor evident in each gasp of breath as he matched rhythm. It was lovely, he could just fall asleep right there, and the slowly deepening breath of his partner showed that he’d already done so. Just a nice, warm bed, a bit damp, but all the better for it.

With a slam, the door flew open. Looking up, the two lovers could see the outline of a short biped in the dying sunlight. It was a bit bigger than the last time either of them had seen it, but these days that was hardly anything unusual.

“Hey Davenport! Twilight needs-” Spike started. His draconic eyes quickly adjusted to the romantic twilight and, realizing what he’d just walked in on, interrupted himself.

“I’ll... Come back tomorrow.”

*Burp!* replied the unconscious Gizmo, his bottom sputtering such a salute around Davenport’s protrusion.

“I’m not paid enough for this shit.”





In the near future, Davenport still sat staring at the ruins of his livelihood.

“That explains nothing,” he concluded aloud, “I’m not even gay.”

“You’re not gay?!?!” shrieked Pinkie Pie, “But Gizmo will be heartbroken!”

“And that’s another thing! Who the hell is Gizmo?!”

Pinkie leaned in and stared straight into Davenport’s eyes before answering: “You are!”





“Waugh!” Gizmo awoke with a fright. “What a strange dream, me and the couch guy, lovers, and all that eating! Now I’m kinda hungry. Wait, why can’t I move?” He looked down to find that his belly spread across his bed like some sort of flabby comforter. He flailed his hooves, finding that his forelegs were thick as tree trunks and he couldn’t even see his back ones.

“Will he be alright, doctor?” Asked a voice from outside his door.

Panicking, he stared wildly around, at his posters, his desk, his bookcases, but couldn’t find any way to escape.

“Oh, don’t you worry Mister Davenport, he’ll recover his memories soon enough. In the meantime, he’s been on nutrient fluid for the past week, why not give him something to eat?"

Gizmo could only whimper.
> Bluebloat Part Six: Pop Culture Reference
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Princess Celestia cordially invites you to the royal wedding of Prince Blueblood and...

“Somepony I’ve never heard of!”

Soain’ gasped sarcastically as Spitfire read the letter.

“Please be serious, Soarin’. This isn’t a joke! We’ll be performing at the wedding for Luna’s sakes!” Spitfire grumbled in her usual tone.

Since that little incident with Soarin’ being fat and Spitfire stuffed full of cum and all that, the two of them had been placed on probation from the team.

Over the past week, Spitfire’s body had dealt with the massive amounts of semen inside her, through digestion or otherwise. At the moment, her belly hung down a good foot from her torso, flank soft and pliant, and breasts as big as volleyballs. She’d recently stopped lactating, to Soarin’s displeasure, but there was still a good amount in there.

“Oh? Methinks you’ve got a cru-ush~!” Soarin’ sung.

“I do not!” Indeed she did not. In fact, for a week, the two of them had been lovers, and... You know what? I’m not explaining this to you. If you’ve got no context for what I’m talking about I suggest you go back to the first chapter and read from the start, otherwise, horses, ladies and gents.

He wasn’t finished. “Oh Blueblood, you can spit on my fire anytime!” He mimed a kissy face, which was made even more adorable by the proximity of his bloated cheeks.

“That was just terrible,” she groaned.

“Whatever. Keep going, I guess.” He popped a lemon tart into his mouth and chewed obnoxiously.

“As long as it’s okay with you, your majesty.” Spitfire gave him a disgusted look.

Princess Celestia cordially invites you to the royal wedding of Prince Blueblood and Lady Rarity Belle.

“Rarity Belle... Say, isn’t she the one who pulled that stunt at the Best Young Flyers competition? You sure she’s not gonna knock us out, lock us in a dark room, and stuff us full of who-knows-what?”

“Soarin’, you really need to stop listening to that Coast Tucoast idiot. He’s touched in the head.” Spitfire facehoofed.

“Well have you seen Blueblood? She and him get together at the Gala, come next morning and the fella can barely move!” Soarin spread his front hooves to illustrate, flabby legs jiggling slightly, “And now he’s marryin’ her!”

“You know, I’m sure there’s a saying just right for this.”

“Tell ya what,” Soarin’ said, eyeing Spitfire’s athletic body,, “What say we go to sleep and pick up on this in the mornin’?”

“You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

“Ain’t I just?” He laughed. With a flourish, Soarin’ had removed his uniform. Well, less of a flourish, and more of an incremental process of unzipping, unwrapping, and removing his tight latex suit, which wasn’t even the least bit sweaty, somewhat defeating the purpose of the thing. Oh well. At least he jiggled a lot. As they walked, Soarin’s man-boobs wobbled with every motion of his thick legs. Atop them sat his flabby butt, distended cutie marks covering his flanks. Looking past that, his back was covered in a layer of chub that only added his his general huggability.

Spitfire was a lot smaller, looking downright skinny next to her bloated boyfriend. Her tits sloshed a little as she walked, a bit uncomfortable but she could live with it, and her belly wobbled side to side with each step.

“Ma’am, what are we going to do on the bed, ma’am?”

“Sleep.”

“Sleep?”

“Sleep.”

“Sleep as in sex?”

“No, sleep as in sleep.”

It was a restful night, during which Luna didn’t visit Soarin’ in his dream, he didn’t sleepfuck Spitfire, and I’d just like to point out that most of this story has been sitting around on my hard drive since Christmas, so please disregard any similarity to any other story ever, and jerk off to horses already.

Now, come morning, Soarin’ had already taken off (figuratively, whether he’d ever fly again was anybody’s guess) for breakfast at the hotel restaurant, leaving Spitfire to get ready for the day. Not a particularly busy day, or an important day, in fact they’d probably spend it eating in front of the tv, but hygiene was always important. We rejoin our young heroine in the bathroom, having just finished with her business and preparing for a shower.


Spitfire suddenly doubled over in pain. Her gut, it was on fire! It had to be! No, the rational part of her brain said, it’s just gas. Take a tablet and a shower and get ready for the show.

Groaning, she got back up and made her way over to the medicine cabinet, belly swinging as she went. Aspirin, Ibuprofen, there it was, the Alka-Seltzer. Dropping it into a glass of water and taking a swig, she began to feel better already.

“See? Just gas. Nothing to worry about.” She said to herself.

In the shower, the feeling had come back. Trying to ignore it, Spitfire reached for the shampoo. Slip! She fell right on her butt. Well that went well, she thought. Let’s try this again.

It started as a low gurgle. At first Spitfire thought it was coming from outside her room, but quickly realized where it was really coming from.

Inside me?

She looked down at her stomach and saw something that took her breath away. Her stomach, a blobular ball of blubber, should’ve been sitting still on the floor, the only movement the rise and fall of her breathing, but instead shook with regular bumps. Little hoof-shaped bulges appeared and disappeared every few seconds. There was only one explanation for this, no matter how much she wanted to disbelieve it.

I’m... Pregnant?!

The surprise of this revelation prevented her from forming coherent thoughts for the next few moments, during which time her womb stretch outwards, enough for a second child to make his home in there. Now her belly bulged against her forelegs, spreading them apart slightly as the kicks came in quicker succession.

She was able to get her thoughts together, just for a second, and know what she had to do.

Getting up, she slid open the shower door and started onto the tiled floor. After only a few steps through the spacious bathroom, she slipped and fell back.

“Ouch!” She shouted, before howling in pain as her belly swelled again. She looked ready to give birth to triplets, at least, and by the time she got up she was sweating. It was really hurting, this sudden growth, enough that she almost believed she was in labor already!

Her belly jiggled as she first tried to run and, failing that, trotted to the bathroom door. She had to get out, had to escape, had to get help! She fumbled with the handle; she could feel a growth spurt coming on--augh!

She fell back on her haunches, milk splattering from her swollen breasts, and clenched her teeth in pain as her belly rocked forward a few inches. I’ve got, what, four, five inside me now? When will it stop!

Her body didn’t reply as another contraction shook her body. Her fur was thin, stretched out across her mountainous mass. Trying to stand, her hooves could barely touch the floor.

“Gotta.... Get.... Out!” she shouted, flinging the door open. Just past the bed, she could see the front door. If she could just get to it, she could get into the hallway and get help!

Shuffling on the tips of her hooves, she made slow progress to the doorframe. Suddenly, there was another grumble, and her belly ballooned again. Now, her hooves mere inches above the tiled floor, victory in sight, she was really and truly immobile. The foals inside her rocked and kicked, interrupting her as she tried to think.

“Babies, mommy’s gonna get us out of this, but I need you all to be--” She was interrupted by a growl, signifying to her yet more growth. Oh boy, this one’s gonna--

“Aaaayaaaawaaaaah!”

Her voice was hoarse from screaming, her eyes red from tears of agony. Her belly, now suspending her a foot from the ceiling, was covered in stretchmarks over much of the now-exposed skin. Every few seconds or so, a bump would signify the life she held inside her.

Her breasts, already bloated, were now the size of beach balls. The pressure, oh the pressure, caused milk to dribble out in a small stream onto the floor. It had been at least an hour, and with her belly blocking the doorway, that hour of leaking had caused several inches of milk to accumulate across the floor.

She was practically laying on top of herself, and her children, like a big uncomfortable mattress. A mattress that was frequently rocked by kicks, and filled most of the bathroom.

There was a knock on the door.

“Yes, come in!” Spitfire croaked, her throat sore from yelling.

The door opened and, standing in the doorway, was her boss, a white pegasus named Surprise. Oddly enough, she wasn't surprised by Spitfire's gravid situation, but that's just what you get when you strive to ironically name your children. With a voice like an angel who smoked too many Winstons (this story brought to you in part by the R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Company. Winston tastes good like a cigarette should.), she spoke.
"Spitfire, I've talked with Soarin', and here's what we're gonna do. Since we can't very well fire our two most decorated fliers, the two of you are being shuffled from the flight roster, and will instead become drill instructors at the new academy in Cloudsdale. That way, you can keep on doing whatever you two damn well please and spare the team the embarrassment of... Well, you. Good frickin' day."
And with that, she slammed the door, leaving Spitfire alone with her belly.
*grooaann*
"Aww, kids, are you hungry?" she cooed, "Don't worry, I'm sure daddy will be back soon enough, and knowing him we'll have ourselves a nice little feast, okay?"
She shuffled her hooves along her girth, causing a spurt of milk from her teats.
And now the door opened again. Soarin' announced his entrance with a loud belch. "Spits, I'm ba-a-aaahaack!" His eyes widened and he stumbled backwards, falling flat on his flabby back in the hall. His tongue lolled out as his eyes rolled up, out cold. Framed by his belly, legs, and moobs, his little flyer had sprung to attention, two wingponies taking formation.
Yes, that'll do nicely, she thought to herself, licking her lips as another growl shook her belly.
> That One Time Zecora and Big Macintosh Hooked Up
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Outside Zecora’s Hut, Everfree Forest
Monday
0900 ZULU


Big Macintosh rapped twice on the door, glancing furtively around as if he was being watched. Perhaps it was the healthy paranoia of a visitor to the Everfree, or perhaps his searching eyes were looking for a more terrestrial threat.

Yellow streaks between the bushes, could it be--

The door silently opened inwards, and a zebra mare by the name of Zecora (you might know her from such classics as Encino Man, the Fugative, and as a major character in several episodes of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. But I wouldn't expect a profligate such as you to understand.)

“Big Macintosh!" She shouted, louder than was strictly necessary to contact a pony less than five feet in front of her.
Mac let out a startled yelp, almost leaping out of his horseshoes (the finest iron shoes to be found in the old shed in the south orchard, dating back almost 19 years and only mildly rusted to show for it; Tetanus isn’t a big concern for a simpleton such as Mac), and completely leaping off the ground and onto an overhanging tree branch, as Zecora continued her rhyming unabated.
"My dear young friend,
Come on in, let outdoors see your rear end.”

Mac held onto the branch, shaking slightly. It was a little pathetic.

Zecora, used to this, simply rolled her eyes and began rhyming again.
“I said, come inside,
And here we can hide
While you lie down and give me a ride.”

“Eewhut?” Asked the red pony from his perch, cracking open an eye to view the speaker, about two feet below him.

Zecora stamped her hoof in irritation.
“Get down here postehaste
There is no time to waste!
We must be quick and swift
Lest they ask if you lift!”

Mac’s response to this delayed by the sudden unexpected release of the limb he was hanging on by the tree it was attached to, and, in accordance with basic Newtonian physics, fall hard on his back. Through the haze of pain, he was able to mutter, “Still not gettin’ it.”
“Getchyo ugly mud pony plot in my hut before I open a can of whoop-flank on yo ass!”
Mac still had no idea what she was on about, but she seemed pretty upset, so he decided to ask her something she might have a more positive reaction to.
"May I please come inside? I don't like it out here."
Zecora sighed. 
"Yes, you coward, come on down," under her breath adding, "if you were more of a pussy, you'd be wearing a gown."

She trotted through the door, head lowered and breathing slowly. Mac took a few steps inside her cluttered hut and sat next to her on the floor as she withdrew a small bag from the pocket dimension every pony has in the small of their back, and began to speak.

"I have seen the stallions and mares of great size
And one thing they all have in common is heart;
Within their love the secret lies,
Else all of us soon shall fart.”

Mac was unsure how to respond. On one hoof, the zebra hadn't picked up on his interest in her. On the other, she was babbling like the silver-tongued foreign devil Granny Smith always insisted she was. With this inner turmoil, Mac took a step back as Zecora’s hoof released the bag, a cloud of green dust spreading through the air.

In the swirling vermillion visions, shapes began to form. The dark outline of a pegasus pony appeared, wings outstretched as its petite, marelike head turned around as if taking in it's surroundings. Visibly, its stomach began to expand. It fell back on its haunches, hooves gripping the growing gut, perhaps hoping to no avail that it would stop and go back to normal. It did not, and the image continued on in this vain for nearly a minute, gut bloating, flanks expanding, chin doubling as it scrabbled in place, panic evident despite the lack of a face.
Finally it stopped growing, just shy of escaping its bounds in the smoke, the tips of its hooves flopping uselessly from flabby arms sucked partway into this bloated visage of gluttony. The wings had grown too, feathers sticking haphazardly out of fat extensions on its back that could only generously be called limbs.

Zecora looked back at Mac as she again spoke.
"These ponies have problems, of that there is no doubt,
But what could cause such an unhealthy break-out?
They eat, fuck and sleep and eat more between,
And fart as if they have partaken in bean,
But what could it be, that would cause such a scene?”

As the zebra trailed off, the red stallion felt the need to sit down. The floor was much more comfortable than he’d expected, almost like he was sitting on a cushion. A glance down proved this assumption false, although who knew what crazy enchantments the wooden planks below him might hold.

Macintosh wasn’t a gamblin’ pony, but he’d put money on Zecora having the finest ass in all of Equestria. So would his penis, as she bent over to stare into an empty teacup.

‘She got da ghetto bootay…’ He thought, biting his lip, which for some reason felt slightly plumper than usual. ‘Probably allergic to something in here’, were his next thoughts. Notifying his host of this unpleasant development were not amongst them, as the striped rear before him delved halfway into a cauldron pot, shaking as the owner moved around inside doing her esoteric work.

“Macintosh, I see at last!
It is indeed love that causes this…” Zecora trailed off again, her eyes focused on the lower half of her guest’s body.

“Whut?” Asked the oblivious earth pony. Following her gaze, he too looked down, and discovered what she saw that was so enrapturing.

It was his butt. It was much more... Plush, than it should have been, squishing out visibly along the floor. His rear hooves were spread out slightly more because of this, and looking closely, his chiselled abs were beginning to soften. Finally, Zecora spoke.
“Big Macintosh, o stallion so fine,
Answer this truthfully, just this one time:
For me, but a zebra, cut off from her kind,
Do you feel compassion, indeed, love of mine?”

Mac somehow managed to blush visibly despite his red coat. “Ah… Wouldn’t use such fancy words, but…” he muttered, rubbing his foreleg with the opposite hoof. Between them, he noticed, was the fuzzy feeling of his arm coming into contact with a somewhat larger belly.

"Stay here, never fear, I shall fix this, just remain near." She spoke, quickly as she turned away and started rummaging through a trunk.

Mac, meanwhile sat alone with his expansion. His butt was already beginning to feel like bags of cement, and the increasingly-taut belly pressed into his growing erection was causing unwelcome sensations throughout his less-than-fit body.

“Zecora, ya sure you can fix this?” He asked through teeth clenched in firm defiance of the more… Pleasurable aspects of his slowly encroaching rear. He was aware, preternaturally so, of every square inch of flesh as it spread out across the floor. The slightest motion sent shivers down his spine, and the flab pressed around the growing erection in front of him did nothing to ease his fears.

There was a moment of silence, and Mac looked up. Zecora’s lithe body was relaxed, her eyes closed as she balanced upside down on a stick that may or may not just be a plastic walking stick from a cheap camping store. It was a curious sight, the zebra, snoring gently, hooves straight out at the sides, a faint green glow around her head as she rocked gently back and forth...

With an almost audible snap, and Zecora’s eyes shot open, which Mac noticed had shrunk to tiny pinpricks. He didn’t have much time to register this fact, as she immediately turned around and set to work mucking about with her potions. In a flurry of motion, she’d mixed a furiously red beaker with a gourd of a lumpy substance that could only be described as ‘utterly unappetizing’.
Mac paid no mind to this particular choice of words.
He is not the author, nor is he the reader or anyone who might possibly have some understanding of the concept of the fourth wall.
Still, foreshadowing or whatever, amiright?

When Mac returned from… Whatever that just was, he found Zecora standing before him, holding a bowl of some blue-ish liquid in her outstretched hooves.
“Macintosh, dear pony of mine,
Drink this brew, and you shall feel fine.”
Some ponies might take issue with Zecora’s emotionless voice, staring eyes and soulless expression, but Mac was in too much of a hurry to care. He wanted to get back to normal soon, before that little voice at the back of his mind took over and he began to… Enjoy it.
Naturally, he gripped the bowl in two hooves, flabby forelegs jiggling slightly, and chugged the entire thing down in five seconds. Before he was even done, he began to feel something strange, something new and entirely unwelcome.
“Nhh... Ah don't feel so..."
Mac’s belly began to gurgle, as he felt bubbles of gas slide their way up his esophagus.
*urp*
He burped rather quietly, demurely covering his mouth with a hoof. The striped devil took no notice, as she had already turned away and began mucking about with her potions again.
"This is *urp!* strange an' *braap!* unacceptable!" he shouted between oral expulsions of gas. The last one was particularly loud, and probably smelled rather foul, but I'm not going to get into that at the moment as it would seem that Zecora had returned, this time with a plate balanced on one hoof like a waiter. On this plate sat two small green bottles. One was marked 'Weight Gain', and the other was marked 'Dangerous Hallucinogen’.
"My, my, you are enlarged," she said, leaning over and gently stroking his bulging stomach, "I wonder what would happen if this potion supercharged?"
"Yyyehh... No!" He gasped, conflict clear in his voice. He flailed with his hooves, knocking the tray out of her grip and into the air. Their eyes followed the arcing of the bottles as if in slow motion, as the two collided in mid-air.

Everything was very silent for a moment.

And then there was a roar.