Soarin awoke with a yawn. Despite the luxurious bed he'd slept in, the blue stallion felt as if he hadn't slept at all. His mind was foggy and his eyelids were heavy, too heavy to open without giving them a good rubbing first. Soarin mumbled something to himself, before yawning and lifting his hooves to give his eyes the attention they demanded.
Or he would've, if his hooves could move.
He gasped, his eyes wide with shock. This wasn't the hotel bedroom he'd gone to sleep in. In fact, he seemed to be in a basement of some kind. Rather than floor-to-ceiling windows offering a beautiful view of Las Pegasus, the walls here were grimy cinderblock. The roof he was staring at was nothing but rough boards and pipes running beneath the floor above. The massive four-poster bed he fell asleep in cost more than most ponies made in a year - And it had been replaced by a hard wooden platform; A table, if he had to guess.
The reason he couldn't move his hooves, he discovered, was a set of black nylon straps holding his forelegs to the table. He couldn't lift his head high enough to see, but judging from the feeling, it was a safe bet that his hind legs had been restrained as well.
Soarin began to hyperventilate, trying to pull his hooves from the board. His muscles weren't massive, but he was by no means weak. He wasn't two-time Wonderbolts Deadlift Champ for nothing. Yet the more he strained, the less the straps seemed to give. He could barely wiggle his hooves inside his bonds, leaving him at the mercy of whoever tied him up. He only hoped, if it was a rapist, they'd at least be hot.
Soarin fell limp for a moment, gasping to catch his breath. That struggle had taken a lot out of him, but he was confident he'd be able to escape. Nopony could hold Soarin Skies down! Just as that thought entered his head, an eerie chuckle came from behind, just beyond his field of vision.
"Finally awake, sleepy head?"
Soarin recognized the voice. The Wonderbolts' newest rising star, Rainbow Dash. He had just flown alongside her a few hours ago, performing death-defying aerial tricks for the screaming crowd. He thought they were comrades, if not friends, so he was doubly confused as to why she'd tie him up like this.
"Dash?" He asked, looking from side to side trying to spot her as he pushed against the board, "Is this some kind of prank?"
The blue mare chuckled and stepped around into Soarin's line of sight. "The restraints? Sorry, those are just in case. I'm sure I won't have to use them."
Frowning, Soarin pulled at the straps holding him down. They didn't look like much, just standard-issue military webbing that a foal could rip apart, or so he jokingly told civilians. His muscles began to burn, but the restrains simply would not budge. "Dash, seriously, what gives? I thought we were friends!"
"Soarin, you're getting old," Dash said, trotting around the prone stallion, "You're past your prime, and you know it."
"Uh..." Confused and somewhat offended, Soarin scoffed, "I'm only 35, and I can still reach my max speed!"
"Only sometimes," Dash replied, "That last show, you were lagging slightly behind everypony else. Soarin," She stopped, placing a hoof on the table and looking him straight in the eye, "It's time to retire."
"Dash, come on," Soarin replied, "The joke's over. Haha. Now let me go!"
"Look, I already typed up a letter to send to Spitfire," Dash held up a sheet of paper with Wonderbolts letterhead, a short resignation notice typed on it. Glancing over it, he immediately spotted several spelling mistakes in the four sentences that made up the letter. "Just put your name on it, and I'll let you go."
Soarin blinked, then frowned. "You're serious," He muttered, staring up at his captor. Then he began thrashing again. "Dash, are you bucking insane?" He spat as he twisted and pulled, "Let me out! I'm your superior officer, for Celestia's sake!"
"Fine. If we can't do this the easy way, we'll do it the hard way."
Dash stepped out of Soarin's sight for a moment. Visions of horrific mutilation flashed through his head as he caught his breath, big, lurid headlines dancing past his mind's eye. His breathing and heartbeat sped up, and he felt as if he might explode before Dash returned, holding... A green garden hose, attached to a large funnel which was nailed to a pair of large wood blocks.
"Sorry," Dash said sheepishly, "It turns out this stuff isn't cheap, so I kinda had to make do."
As Soarin opened his mouth to ask what it was, Dash grabbed his jaw with one hoof and shoved the hose into his mouth with the other, pushing it down far enough that he couldn't spit it out, nor choke on whatever would come through it.
Dash stepped away again, and he could hear her grunting as she moved something heavy. There was sloshing, and a few metallic thuds as she dropped whatever she was holding multiple times. Despite all this, he was still in shock, and only figured out what she was doing when he heard a gurgling sound coming down the hose toward him.
Dash stood on her hind legs, holding a large metal barrel over the lip of the funnel under one arm, an off-white liquid flowing from the barrel's hole into the cone. The hose began to stiffen as the liquid inched it's way toward him, and he gulped in fear, accidentally creating suction and allowing the liquid to move faster, quickly reaching his mouth.
A foul taste hit his tongue, like a cross between cheese and sweaty hooves. At least that's what he identified it as, as it was pumped down his throat. Once the liquid hit his stomach, he immediately began to feel sick. He felt like his insides were twisting around with this disgusting concoction. His only consolation was that it was warm rather than cold.
After only a few seconds, he began to feel full. He felt like he'd just finished one of his famous pie binges, only without the pleasantly fruity taste. Instead, all he could taste was rubber from the hose and the disgusting flavor of the liquid. Soarin groaned in misery as his flat abdomen began to bloat into a pot belly. The blue fur became somewhat sparser as his belly stretched out, making the pale skin underneath visible. It looked like an overfilled balloon, which was exactly what he felt like, although much heavier.
His blue belly stuck out several inches, stretch marks appearing across the surface as it continued to grow. He'd never been this full before, even after defeating that orange foal during the Ponyville Pie-Eating Contest. Was Dash trying to pop him? For what, to take his place on the team? She'd never get away with this, he swore to himself, but he knew he had no power to stop her. Even if he weren't restrained, his belly had bloated up to the size of a beach ball, making it look as if he were a pregnant mare.
His overfilled abdomen throbbed with every heartbeat, and Soarin wished he could just wrap his hooves around it to calm it down. Even if he weren't restrained, it was getting too big to wrap his forelegs around. His swollen stomach looked almost comical attached to his relatively small frame, pushing between his inside and his skin. A growing pressure down below warned him of impending doom, and he grimaced. A bubble of pressure worked its way through him slowly, before settling at his anus and slipping out. It was barely audible over the sound of the glugging hose and his gurgling gut, but the smell was unmistakable. While he blushed, Dash waved a hoof over her nose. "Jeez, Soar, you old guys sure are gassy!"
Soarin wanted nothing more than to punch her right then, but he was sadly unable to. Instead, he let out another, louder fart, this one sputtering on for several seconds before stopping. This time, he smiled at Dash's disgusted expression. "Try and hold 'em in, fatty," Dash groaned, "The last thing I need is to go around smelling like your ass all day."
Fatty? Soarin suddenly realized that, while full, he didn't feel as bloated anymore. Looking down at his body, he almost gasped as he saw why. Whatever the liquid Dash was feeding him was, it had digested at an amazing rate. Already, his belly looked slightly smaller... But significantly softer, the size and shape of a pillow strapped to his abdomen. His growing gut now hid his hind legs from view, but he could feel them squishing against the board. The straps were beginning to dig into him uncomfortably, cutting off the circulation to his extremities. Soarin realized he couldn't feel his wings curled beneath his back, except for the soft flab coating their muscles. Shuddering from the numbness, he closed his eyes.
So that was her plan. To turn him into a useless fatass, an obese embarrassment to the team. As he felt himself growing larger, memories of his career drifted through his head. The flying, the stunts, it was all over. Even if somepony burst in and saved him now, it'd take years to work off this pudge. By then, he'd really be out of his prime, and would never fly close to his old capacity again. He'd be grounded for life, stuck in some horrible desk position, filling out reports and approving new stunts for his former comrades to try...
A lump formed in his throat as he ruminated on his former accomplishments. So many achievements, from his Junior Speedster's Award, to the world record for the fastest one mile flight, all gone. He'd never be airborne again, except in a flying taxi. He'd need new clothes tailored, and new doorways installed... He was so focused on his thoughts, that when he looked back, he found that he had grown significantly.
His belly now filled his vision, sticking almost two feet in the air while he sat on his back. The soreness was gone, but the stretch marks were still visible under the fur. Every breathe cause it to jiggle, rippling like a bowl of blue jello. Beyond that, he felt his thighs rub together as his flabbier ass pressed against the table. Another fart ripped out, slapping the fat cheeks together, and Soarin almost sighed. While he hated his new shape, he had to admit, passing gas was oddly satisfying.
In fact, this whole situation wasn't so bad, come to think about it. Sure, he'd never fly again, but he had his records, right? His name would live on in Wonderbolt history, more than most ponies could say. This would be the perfect time to retire, before his skills degraded too much or he injured himself trying to keep up with the younger fliers. No athlete can keep going forever, so maybe giving up his position for Dash was the best choice. She was one of the fastest fliers he'd ever seen, even faster than him in his youth.
Youth! He snorted, he was only in his 30's. He had decades ahead of him, time he could spend doing whatever he liked. His fortune amassed during his athletic years ensured he'd never have to work again. He'd never have to worry about keeping in shape, plus his newly-stretched out stomach would allow him to make every meal into a feast. He thought of delicious, fattening meals prepared by celebrity chefs, keeping him plump and happy for the rest of his days.
A ripping sound came to his attention, and he looked to his side. The straps holding him down had torn apart, his hooves growing too flabby to be contained. He gave them a little flex, feeling pins and needles down his forelegs as normal blood flow returned. He realized he could reach up and remove the hose, then roll over and escape, but he found he didn't want to anymore. The liquid he was drinking wasn't that bad, after all, and he could always use a little more.
Dash seemed to notice his calming demeanor and trotted over, pressing a hoof into his fat belly. "You know, we've still got two whole tanks of lard," Dash smirked, "What do you say we try for a new record... World's fattest stallion?"
The overfed former Wonderbolt nodded, his chins and jowls wobbling as he moved his head. This was going to be a good retirement.