Summertime Gluttony

by MetalBrony20

Day Sixty - Zenith of Poundage

Consumption, greed, and the wanton need to fill the grumbling abyss was all that flickered through Cirrus Sweeps mind. Little of much other flashes of irresistible flavours and textures processed with a pony who’d become little more than a doughy eating machine. Snorting, he opened his mouth, feeding in a slice of quadruple cheese pizza. He chewed heavily, his abundant swells of face fat jostling around, as his jowls and chins wobbled sluggishy with each sloppy bite. Even as dollops of greasy cheese and thousands of calories pooled within his gut, a deep, primal desire drove the colt to pluck the last slice from the tray resting upon the rolled, mountainous lump that composed his belly.

It had been nearly two weeks since Cirrus had waddled his way over to Blossomforth’s house. After his impromptu nap, he’d been rather reluctant to leave her house. He had intended to leave and go home, but the succulent smells of breakfast quashed any thought of escape. Asking the flabby colt if he’d like to join her had all but sealed the deal; after all, I’d be rude of him to refuse an offer like that. After the first servings of mushroom sausage, hay bacon and syrup slather pancakes, he’d nearly forgotten about going home, the mere thought buried under thoughts of a second and even third helpings.

This had then spun quickly out of control. His proximity to food, and the heavenly smells they produced, remained as an anchor that rooted him to the house. Or, to be more specific, it’d rooted him to the living room and its great plush couch. Acting as his chair and bed, he’d only ever left the cozy confines of the seat to take the occasional shower, the sheer effort it took to get into Blossom’s bathroom requiring her to help him every unsteady step of the way.

Without external help, Cirrus could no longer move to any reasonable degree. Not surprising, given he’d accumulated nearly 100 pounds of additional flab. Forced to carry around 5 extra colts worth of weight upon his exercise starved muscles was more than he could bear, leaving him effectively immobile. One of his largest assets, his flank was akin to two ovoid spheres, wobbling and swelling out behind him like bean bags. So wide was his ass, that his jiggling mass occupied the entire couch, from arm to arm.

Suffering much the same fate, his legs too had borne much of the brunt of the gain. As thick as the Apple Family’s prized trees’, but as soft and squishy as jelly, they were near impossible to separate. From his enormous thighs, to his rolly polly calves, great swaths of blubber oozed froth in great rolled stacks, meaning only the very bottom of his legs could separate. Following in tandem, his arms had done an exceeding job of accumulating excessive mounds of lard. The great fold riddled stacks weighed heavily upon the diminutive amounts of muscle, forcing Cirrus to take frequent breaks between stuffing a myriad of calorie bombs across his chops, laying them upon the doughy mattress that formed his stomach.

Much like his ass, his belly was an immense, wobbly product of thousands upon thousands of calories accumulated from every snack and nibble that he greedily wolfed down. A monument to his own obesity, two prestigious slabs of fat, stacked atop one another, created this monstrous ooze of cellulite pocked flab that rolled off the couch. Created from the great crevasse, his belly button seemed to disappear into the gloom, so deep that somepony could easily stick their hand in, entrapped within the heavy slabs like some insidious beast.

And much like any beast, that undulating mattress of fat bellowed and howled to be fed. Rumbling, pleading groans and grumbles seemed to each around the room, overpowering the TV’s near constant blare. Those particularly loud vocalisations were powerful enough to set off a chain reaction, literal waves of motion propagating through the gelatinous medium of his person. Said wave’s shook and jostled other sections of his form, his large, but not significantly larger moobs set in motion.

Though his moobs had escaped any significant enlargement, the same couldn’t be said for his head and neck. Any distinction between his head and neck had been lost. Great bulbous swaths of juicy flab encircled his neck like a pillow, merging with his jowls and cheeks, creating tennis ball sized mounds. To complete his overblown appearance, a set of three chins graced his face, forming a veritable waterfall of blubber that rested upon the top of his neck.

In every definition of the word, Cirrus was fat. Or, to be more specific, Cirrus was an utter glob of equine lard, his youthful body simply incapable of supporting the excess of weight bearing down upon his trunk thick legs. Time seemed like an illusion, sitting upon the plushy, cushy expanse of the sofa that cradled his immense bulk. Minutes, hours and even days seemed to blend into one long, continuous gluttonous binge. The TV continued to spill forth its deluge of cartoons and films, each colourful collection of characters mingling together as his attention waxed and waned.

Stretching his mouth open wide, he fed a good portion of greasy panini inside. Biting down, he mumbled and moaned happily as a flood of melted cheese flooded into his mouth, accompanied by a wonderful selection of veggies. Several sloppy chews later, the foot long sandwich had been funneled into the immense void of his gut, burbling and gurgling happily to itself. Struggling, he raised his greasy hands, licking stray strings of cheese and crumbs from their tips.

Blindly reaching to his side, his pudgy hand bumped into a half-empty bottle of cola. Pressing the rim to his lips, he leaned back the best he could, using gravity instead of his own strength to funnel the dark, bubbling mixture across his tongue. Mouthful after mouthful of sugary sweet soda drained from the liter and a half sized bottle, so much so that his throat rippled with motion, regardless of the swaddling glob of neck fat. Just like any piece of junk food Cirrus’ had been presented with, it was brushed aside with little thought. Slurping up the last dregs, the bottle fell from his grasp, rolling down the buttery slopes of his figure, landing with a dull plastic thunk on the floor.

Panting, he lay back, wallowing in his obesity. A wavy smile crossed his face, his gut comfortably full of several pounds of food and liquid. A low, rising burble grew in volume, Cirrus’ eye’s widening as a mass of gas rushed up his throat. “BOOOUUURRPPPP!!!” An immense, satisfying belch erupted forth. He didn’t even attempt to cover his mouth, his limbs much too tired to both about something as simple as manners.

Sighing, he rested a hand upon the closest swell of fat, his eyes flicking back over to the TV, almost immediately flicking back over to the doorway as Blossomforth entered. “How was lunch, good?”

“Mmmhhmm.” He mumbled in return, Blossom gathering up all the discarded plated, paper and assorted trash. “S’all good…”

“Great! Do you need anything else?”

Cirrus hummed, scratching the side of his belly. “I think… huff...I’ll be fine, Blossom. Lunch was… amazing. Gonna’ take… pant… a nap.” He wheezed, a budding feeling of fatigue welling up.

Blossom nodded, watching as the immense colt’s eyelids drooped. “Alright then, you have a good sleep, OK?” She smiled, his breathing slowing into a steady rhythm. Disposing of the trash and dumping the dirtied plates into the sink. She smiled, already eyeing up the notepad on the bench with its reams and reams of recipe ideas.

---

“I was just making some dinner. You want to have some?” Blossom’s voice cut through the haze of sleep, Cirrus snorting as he awoke. The lighting had been altered. The curtains had been closed, the light of the day giving in to the warm, artificial glow of the light fixture above. Delectable smells flooded his nose, bringing the immense colt to full attention. A trolley sat at the base of his gut, the twin shelves crowded with plates and trays chock full of many culinary delights. Burgers, pizza, bowls of pasta, battered veggies and fish and fries. There was even a large ceramic dish, full of rich, deep brown coloured stew, making his mouth water all the more.

Licking a thin trail of drool from his lips, he gazed at the pile, Blossom’s words finally clicking with him. “Wut… Oh, yeah, please. I’d love to have some.” He smiled widely, Blossom grabbing the first plate, carefully placing it onto his gut. Able to grab, his chunky fingers wrapped around the burger, the solid mass of fried hay, vegetables and sauce barely contained within the glossy brioche bun. So continued the gluttonous cycle he’d become entombed within.

Despite only a few hours passing since his last meal, a sizable chunk of space had been made, ready to be filled with pounds of culinary bliss. Like an automaton, all that dominated his addicted brain were thoughts of more and more. Entire handfuls of thick, crispy oven chips were slotted between his flapping lips, liberal amounts of salt, vinegar and barbecue sauce coating both the potato snacks and his lips.

As more and more food was demolished, so too did his body seem fit to distribute the flood of empty calories. Whilst his body continued to push outwards minutely, his overburdened clothing was at the breaking point. Blossom had gone back to Cirrus’s house to pick up some spare clothes for the colt's extended stay. They hadn’t helped to keep him well clothed, as Cirrus’ hadn’t returned to the Tall and wide shop for quite some time. His t-shirt was a tear ridden, overstrained mass of cloth, wrapped almost painfully around his top. Where once the bottom would comfortably touch his trousers, they’d instead migrated upwards, maintaining a grip just below his moobs.

His obesity had rent great gashes across the front and back, smaller ones working their way up what could only charitably be called sleeves. It was only by these extreme changes that allowed him to remain clothed. His bottom half was in much the same state, with his shorts plastered against his soft, blubbery bottom. A comical tear cut straight down the middle, his super stretchy heart print boxers remaining near untouched from wear. Though, the more Cirrus grew, the more so the ‘super stretchy’ claim was put to the test, as the elastic waist quietly creaked, buried under his excessive muffin top.

Upending a dish of pasta, he groaned in delight as well seasoned bolognese washed over his tongue. The starchy, fluffy pasta was gobbled down with little concern. Creamy mushroom pie was next. Thin puff pastry was easily demolished, the heavy filling downed with deep, throat rippling gulps. On and on he ploughed, everything placed upon his buttery belly swiftly consumed, adding another few hundred calories to the thousands of undigested ones. Despite the trolly containing enough to feed a large family, it was proving to be just another evening meal for the colt.

Pressing the last chunk of fried fish in, he lazily chewed, tartar sauce and vinegar soaked into the crispy batter. Gulping, he craned down, trying to see over the swell of himself. Blossom still stood there, looking a little worn out as she rearranged a few dirtied plates and crockery. Even with her apparent tiredness, a satisfied smile still beamed forth, widening slightly more, accompanied by the tearing and popping of threads emanating from his ruined clothes. Then she stopped dead still, as deeper, strikingly ominous sounds built in intensity.

At first, she thought it was Cirrus’s monster gut, processing and churning away to itself. It was, however, much deeper, sounding much more like wood and metal. Then, a sharp crack split through the air like thunder. The once stable, if not slightly bowed base of the sofa had undergone sudden existential failure. 500 pounds of tubby colt, along with a few pounds extra of food, was beyond the furniture max weight.

Couch and passenger came crashing down like a lead weight. Despite the abrupt fall, the simple shock of hitting the floor caused a chain reaction. The entire room shook, rattling fixtures and sending smaller ornaments crashing to the ground. A piece of wood shot out under high pressure, striking the coffee table to the right of the crumbling sofa. Clipping one of its legs, the force sent the piles of letters and notices flying into the air. Last, the sudden motion coursing across his form was too much for his clothes to handle. Like wet tissue, they were shredded apart, the pieces which were not trapped between his rolls scattered like confetti.

Wearing just his underpants, sitting upon the remains of the sofa, he blearily looked around, surprise etched onto his doughy visage. Blossom had taken a good few steps back, her wings stretched wide open. With the loss of structural support, he could feel the arms of the couch fall to the sides, allowing his compressed ass blubber and love handles to ooze outwards. Wiggling his legs in futility, the enormous colt felt something fall onto his belly. Reaching around the swell of his moobs, he brought a glossy flyer up to his face.

Blinking, he could see it was a notice for the local gym. A muscle bound stallion sat dead centre, flexing his monstrous biceps. His eyes flicked from the stallion to himself and back to the stallion. “Celestia above… I’m way too big…” He mumbled, feeling the doughy mass enveloping his hands as he attempted to heft one of his belly rolls up. Clumsily, he attempted to strike a similar pose to the picture, his arms trembling and quaking from simply not resting upon his pillowy mass.

Flipping it over, it displayed an impressive selection of equipment and many personal trainers, tailored to the regime of any patron. Tapping his chin, he failed to notice Blossom walking over. It was only by the sudden whiff of chocolate that drew his attention elsewhere. Half a chocolate cake sat upon an icing smeared plate. Consciously suppressing his urge to drool, he ogled the thick, moist sponge and marveled at the glossy frosting that shimmered in all the right ways.

“Hey Cirrus, as an apology for that nasty fall, would you be interested in a few slices of devil’s food cake? Only if you want it, that is.” She smiled, holding it aloft with one hand.

“Erm… I… er… I’m not sure…” He trailed off, his mind a roiling battle of ideas, a tug of war between ideals and urges. He knew he should just ignore it; he’d already ate more than enough for one pony. But then again. It wasn’t everyday Blossom baked a cake…

“Could I just, erm, have a small piece. I think I ought to go on a diet.” He mumbled, surprising Blossom with his answer. She quickly recovered, plating up a substantially smaller piece.

“Fine with me, I’d be glad to help if that’s what you want.” She raised the plate up to his limp arm, a smirk creaking her lips. “After all, moderation is key to dieting… I’d be happy to help you shed some extra chub.”

Cirrus nodded, sending his chins and jowls wobbling as he demolished the slice in a few seconds. His plate left bare, he couldn’t help to feel a small urge rising.

After all, what harm could one more slice do?