Day One - Planting the Seeds of Temptation

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The hands of a large wall clock positioned over the blackboard, sluggishly ticked around with a dull clunk each time. Upon it, dozens of pairs of eyes gazed on, watching as seconds grated on and on. It was June, and not solely that; it was a sweltering summer's day. This resulted in a room full of sweaty students, just begging to be released from class. It was almost taunting them, the wide-open window trying desperately to vent the heat let in the sounds of ponies having a great time in Celestia’s sun. Most students took momentary glances at the clock, too distracted by thoughts of holidays and freedom to concentrate on their books.

Amongst the cohort, Blossomforth sat. Her light green and rose striped mane acted like a pillow, not even pretending to read as she tried to snooze away the last period of the day. She let out another huffing sigh, twirling a pencil between her lithe fingers. Looking around she caught sight of Cirrus Sweep, one of the few students trying to read their book. Last year, the two of them had gotten to know one another very well. Although, he’d become as acquainted with the mare’s cooking like he had with Blossomforth herself.

The result of which was a colt, swaddled in layers upon layers of soft, blubbery flesh. Gone from the thin figure he once possessed, as several months of delicious homemade desserts put an end to Cirrus’s baggy wardrobe. This required him to make many trips to Ponyville’s Wide and Tall shop in a vain attempt to accommodate his excess poundage. The return to a less calorific diet, and the baking heat as of recent acting like a sauna, had caused him to drop plenty of lard in the intervening period. It meant that he no longer got stuck trying to squeeze his doughy gut or gelatinous butt through doorways.

The clothing he wore now fit him well, formerly snug pieces now easily covered his rounded gut and jiggling moobs instead of riding up. Even his desk wouldn’t so much as creak or groan under the weight. To Blossom, that was a problem. Even though his appetite had increased, it wasn’t enough to keep the pudge on, dozens of pounds falling off him like autumn leaves, reducing the colt to just 160 lbs. Her smirk grew again, going over the plan in her mind. ‘DDDDRRRRIINNNNGGGG!!!’

The battered red bell chimed, the sonorous clanging ringing out. Within an instant, the motionless class suddenly scrambled to their feet, rushing towards the door. With Cirrus, it took slightly more effort, his entire form jostling as he rose up. Rising, he carefully tucked his paunch back into his pants. “Alright class, I hope you all have a wonderful Summer holiday, enjoy yourself, and drink plenty in this heat. I’ll see you all back here in September!” Ms. Windy called, falling mostly on deaf ears as the rush of fillies and colts dashed past her.

Finally, she was free from the stifling air and out into Ponyville market. Her bag was slung over her shoulder, various pieces of stationary jostling around as she walked through, appreciating the cool breeze on her skin. Before heading back home, Blossom took a slight detour through town. Taking a deep breath, she could smell the tender blooms that lined window boxes, hanging baskets and flower beds. Pink dahlias, blue hydrangeas, white and purple lilies.

Passing tall patches of sunflowers, she weaved her way through the streets and alleyways, heading for home. Turning the corner, her house now in sight, she caught sight of Cirrus. Even though she had wasted time looking at all the flowers, she’d still outpaced Cirrus. Giggling at each exaggerated step he took, causing his body to sway around slightly, his bubble butt wobbling around.

“Hey Cirrus!” She called, his flabby neck twisting to get a look at her.

“Oh… uhh, hey Blossomforth…”

“Silly, you don’t have to call me that. You’re my friend.” She smiled, giving him a slight tap on the arm. A light blush darkened his cheeks.

“S...sure thing, Blossom. Oh… can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“Well, uuuhhh… my mom’s going to be taking a break for the entire Holidays. Would it be alright for me to come around to yours?” Blossomforth smiled, her plan falling into place.

“My mom’s gone, fixing some issues with her out-of-town shops. I’d be glad to have you come around.” With only a few paces to her door, a low gurgling rumble emanating from Cirrus’s flabby middle suddenly stopped her. “Hehehe… sounds like you need an after-school snack. How about you come over in a little while?”

“OK, sounds good to me.”

“Alright then, I’ll catch you in a while.” Unlocking the door, she slipped inside, rushing into the kitchen. Pulling out trays, bowls and piles of ingredients, she was more than ready to treat Cirrus. Retrieving a tub of butter, she grinned, thinking of all the ways she could fatten him up. “I hope your belly is ready for this Cirrus…” She mumbled. Now was the time to bake.

Half an hour later, she was finished. A hand wiped away flecks of sweat from her brow. Atop the counter, an entire stack of warm gooey brownies sat. The smell alone was incredible, and she could bet the taste would be equally amazing. A sudden knock at the door drew her attention. Opening the door, she found Cirrus waiting. “Hey! Glad you made it, come in!” Nodding, he stepped across the threshold.

“Thanks Blossom, I just took a shower and got out of those sweaty school clothes, you know? I’m not late, am I?” Switched out his wardrobe, a t-shirt in a size more fitting for a grown stallion covering his top with an equally sizable pair of jean shorts stretched around his bottom and tree trunk legs. Not big enough, judging by how the topmost button was tightly clasped together, the zipper struggling to stay up, due to how his belly was tucked into them.

“Oh no, not at all. In fact, I just finished baking.” Walking through, Cirrus sniffed the air, his gut letting out another needy growl, the odor of freshly baked goods reaching him. She pulled a chair out for him, gratefully taking the seat. Plopping down, Cirrus adjusted himself, feeling the comfy seat cushion mould around his ass. Before he could even speak, a plate of cookies was dumped in front of him.

Grabbing one, he felt the still warm treat between his pudgy digits. The chocolate chips slightly melted, smearing onto his finger. Taking a bite, a small moan escaped his lips. “Mmm, so good.” This is what he’d missed all this time. Sure, store-bought cookies were great and all, but they couldn’t compare to Blossoms own creations. Soon, though, he was picking up the pace. His belly no longer screaming for food, it was instead content on working through the saucer sized delights. All the while, he made a half-hearted attempt at responding to Blossom’s attempts at conversation, his mouth being too full to respond.

Finally, he finished the plate, leaning back the best he could. Placing a hand to his tummy, he gave it a poke. His finger sank into the pliant, gelatinous flesh, eventually meeting the rounded swell of his stomach.Though minor, he noticed how tight his pants were. Just twisting his waist made the fabric cut into him, feeling like they would snap off. “BUUUURRRPP!!! Ooof… sorry.” Belching, he blushed, already making a complete pig out of himself. All he got in response was a small giggle, Blossomforth giving his gut a pat of her own.

“It’s okay. Now, do you have any room for dessert?”

“Sure, I have some room…” Within moments of speaking the words, the crumb filled plate was replaced by one heaving with brownies. Cirrus got to work, funneling the rectangular treats into the growing pit of his gut. Every moment he chewed and gulped them down, was one of decadent, hedonistic pleasure, reminding him of some of his novels. Blossom was content on observing his spiralling gluttony, each cuboidal chunk of cocoa goodness a literal calorie bomb. Compared to the batches she’d whipped up last year, they had been ‘upgraded’. They had more butter and more sugar snuck in, guaranteed to make him blimp up even faster.

As he pushed more down, getting ever closer to the bottom of the pile, the tightness from his middle got worse. A generous amount of crumbs dusted his lips, mumbling out praise between each mouthful, letting more detritus spill onto his shirt. Rubbing his stomach the best he could, he grabbed the last brownie, sluggishly chewing it. The sweet, chocolatey lump slid down his throat. As it did so, he could feel the strain on his trousers intensify for a moment, before a loud snap emanated. The button flew right off, and the zip flew open, allowing his overfull belly to ooze out of the confines.

Moaning, he kneaded his now exposed gut, the initial pain of the pants now gone, replaced with the dull ache of being stuffed to the gills. “Oh, I’ve missed your food so much, Blossom, Uuurrpp!” He belched, shifting himself minutely; rewarded with the furniture emitting creaks of distress.
“Don’t mention it, Cirrus, your welcome to visit anytime you want.” He smiled, taking it as his que to leave. With some effort, Cirrus stood up, his exposed belly surging forward. Shuffling, he opened the door, Blossom right behind him.

“T...thanks for the food, Blossom. If your cooking is anything like it was last year, I don’t think I’ll be able to keep away!”

“Aww… thanks. Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of new ideas for cooking.” She grinned at her pun. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye!” Carefully, Cirrus made the quick trip back home, virtually hauling himself up the stairs and into his bedroom. Moaning, he lay back on the plush covers, listening to the gurgling as the mountain of sweets broke down into more fat. Still, he couldn’t complain too much, Blossomforth’s cooking in his opinion was second to none. As he felt a wave of exhaustion pass over him, he could only mutter out a few words. “I forgot how good her cooking was...”

Day Six - Developing Urges

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Morning dawned on Ponyville. Celestia’s sun was rising into the sky, casting the first rays of light upon the town. 6 days had passed since the start of the holidays, and ponies were no less eager to leap out of bed. Some ponies were fine with sleeping through the early hours of the day, swaddled in their cosy bed sheets. Cirrus was snoring gently, resting upon his back. The partial food coma from yesterday at blossoms house ensured that he fell into a quick sleep. Suddenly, his bedside clock rang, a high-pitched beeping echoing around the room, Cirrus stirring with a groan.

Reaching over, he shut it off, rolling back into the covers with a small smile. A smile that dropped almost immediately as a long rolling growl emanated from his stomach. Cracking open his eyes, he was greeted with a rounded mound. Placing a hand upon the swell, he gave it a small rub, feeling how soft it was. Working his way further up, he felt his moobs slowly jiggle with each breath. Before he could contemplate them further, another moaning rumble emanating. “Alright alright…” Cirrus mumbled, inching himself to the edge of the bed, rising to his feet.

Standing up, he could immediately tell something differed from yesterday. Padding slowly towards the bathroom, he let out a loud yawn, scratching his ass as he went in. Entering, waddled over to the faucet and grabbing a flannel. Last night, He’d decided to not button up his pyjama shirt, on account of the stifling heat of the day, in addition to the large slab of blubber that clung to his waist. Now, the full extent of his binge was apparent. Just from a small glance, an already sizable amount of flab had been put on. His belly swelled out to a greater degree, just starting to sag over the waistband of the pyjamas.

More mass had forced his sides to sag out, developing a set of wobbly love handles, resting atop his widened hips. Placing a hand to the side of the dome, Cirrus subconsciously hefted the small slab of flab up, feeling the new mass added to it as he attempted to adjust his pyjama bottoms. In addition, the newly accumulated gains had expanded his behind. The blue pyjama bottoms still fit, though they were stretched out wide. All in all, he’d managed to gain roughly 20lbs, leaving him at 180. Washing his face, he could swear his clothing creaked and groaned with every small sway he made. “Hmm, wonder what that was...” He murmured, grabbing a towel from the rack, drying his face. With each swish, his abundant butt flesh sloshed around in a gelatinous manner.

Before he could continue his self-inspection, his stomach roared once more, announcing its displeasure of being so empty. Thumping down the stairs, he entered the spotless kitchen; the work surfaces bereft of snack. Opening the cupboards, he pulled out a box of oatmeal, pouring out a good amount, dribbling in some milk. About to take a seat, he paused for a moment, before giving the bland meal a dusting of sugar. Plunging his spoon in, he stuffed the boring, yet nutritional broth into his mouth.

Although this was his usual morning meal, his stomach, stretched out from the night, was begging for something more. Spooning another mouthful, he was already feeling less and less enthused with it, his stomach gurgling for something more filling… something more ...fattening. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask Blossom if she’s got something cooking at her place.” Staring back at the soppy mush, his mind agreed with his stomach. “I just hope she’s up at the moment.”

Leaning over, his pudgy digits grabbed the receiver of the wall mounted telephone, the hanging coiled cord dangling over his arm. Punching in her number, he held his breath as the phone rang. A few moments of the dial tone echoed through, before a small click and fumble of plastic on plastic crackled through “Hello?”

“Oh, hi Blossom, it’s… erm… Cirrus.”

“Hey Cirrus, it’s a lovely morning isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is nice out, isn’t it?” Despite it being morning, he could swear her voice was as perky and energetic as it usually was.

“So, can I ask, why did you call?” Cirrus paused, coiling the cord around his finger like a spaghetti strand.

“Well, uh, my breakfast options are limited right now. Can I grab a bite to eat at your place?”

“Huh, I was just about to make my breakfast and all. Yeah, you can swing around for something… how do waffles, hay-bacon and eggs sound?”

“Good.” He said, biting back the urge to drool.

“Great! I’ll see you in a bit!” With that, he replaced the receiver back into its cradle. Grabbing the disappointing bowl, he dumped it into the sink. He could wash it up later, it’s time to get something both filling and tasty.

Closing his door, Cirrus exited his abode, the look of anticipation practically etched onto his face. Deciding that his pyjamas weren’t the best to be walking around in, he’d spent a while switching outfits. A loose pair of brown shorts swaddled his rear, whilst a nice roomy t-shirt covered his torso. Well, they would have been spacious, if it wasn’t for the accumulated mass ballooning his figure outwards. Even with only a few dozen pounds, his attire was already failing to cover him fully, his belly button just starting to peek out from under the cloth. Even his shorts had become tighter, the button clasping the sides together groaning from the effort.

With just a pair of flip-flops on his feet, he sharply knocked on Blossom’s door, the impact causing his chunky arms to jostle slightly. Seconds later, the mare herself was standing in the wooden frame, a dirtied white apron tied neatly around her waist. “Well, morning there big boy, you hungry for fresh homemade waffles?” She cooed out, twirling a spatula around.

As he was about to respond, his stomach cut him off, gurgling in agreement with her question, only intensifying as the delicious smell wafted towards him. “I’ll take that as a yes, come on in.” Entering, the door closed with a responding click, the tempting odour buffeting his face. Following her through, she gestured to the same seat from yesterday, planting his ass upon the cushion. Leaning back, the wooden chair creaked under his weight, Cirrus’s slab of belly rolling forward onto his lap.

“Here ya go, I hope you enjoy.” Blossomforth smiled, depositing an enormous plate crammed with piles of waffles. Thick streams of syrup were creeping down the pile, emanating out from the deep reservoirs. Off to the side, a greasy assortment of fried eggs and hay bacon glistened in the kitchen light. With nary but a thought, he snatched up the utensils, eagerly cutting out a great gouge in the fluffy treats. Wolfing them down at a breakneck pace, he didn’t mind the mess he was making, crumbs and spots of syrup spotting his lips. No, he only cared about satisfying the roaring beast his belly had become.

Between moans and quiet belches, he made quick work of them, polishing off the rest in a matter of moments, migrating his attention to the second plate. Forking the greasy slabs of hay, combining them with the yolk, and then stuffing them into his ever hungry gullet. Like a machine, he plowed through the egg whites, taking a bite or two out of his remaining waffle, now little more than a half soaked, half eaten crumb pile. Blossom could hardly contain her glee, both at his appreciation of her meal, and the effect said meal was having upon his form.

With every moment that passed, she watched as that gut inched steadily forward, rolling his shirt up once more. Growing progressively more taught, it swelled past his pants, continuing to smother his lap with the ample adipose slab. She could hear it moan and growl as he went from running on empty, to stretching the organ out into a tight dome. “So… are you interested in something extra?”

Reaching out, she prodded his protruding gut, gurgling aggressively from the appendage. “I… err, think I’ll pass. I’m feeling full to be honesuuuurrrppp!” He belched, flecks of food spraying out. Giggling, she pressed down again, pushing out another gaseous eruption. “Excuse me…”

“It’s alright… It’s just all that extra gas inside you, I’m sure you’ve got room for a little more.” From behind her, she whisked out a large bowl. Fresh strawberries and sugary cereal clusters complemented a hefty serving of strawberry yoghurt. Grabbing the spoon next to him, Cirrus plunged back in, ready for more.

With a clatter, Cirrus released the utensil, letting out another rumbling belch. He surveyed the carnage he’d inflicted upon the table. Only a few specs of crumbs, grease and syrup blotches remained. A heaping mountain of food packed into his tummy, which was gurgling constantly, finally satisfied. “Oh, man… that was really something.” He mumbled, licking his lips and fingers, before slowly getting to his feet.

“I’m so glad you enjoyed yourself. I appreciate your love for my cooking.”

“Well, I can’t fault it…” Waddling towards the door, he tried to ignore how utterly packed his gut was, and the occasionally slosh or blorp it gave. Grasping the door handle, he squinted into the still rising sun, shielding his eyes as he tried to exit. Key word, try. As he moved through the narrow entrance, an odd sensation gripped him. Looking around, he watched as the frame was lightly grazing the sides of both his swollen gut, and his bouncing butt seconds later. All the weight he had lost was flooding back like a tide of fat.

He felt a small push against his bottom, Blossomforth raising her hand in a mock guilty fashion. “As always, you can swing around whenever you want Cirrus.”

“Thanks Blossom, I’ll see you later.”

“Bye!” Closing the door, Cirrus was alone once more. Plodding back over to his house, he could feel the makings of a food coma, fatigue tugging at his eyes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He yawned, slinking back into his house, landing on the couch with a thud. As he settled down, he tried to ignore the groaning and creaking of the wood. “Alright… I’d better nap this off.” Mumbling, his eyes drooped, allowing him to collapse into the plush expanse, a grumbling snore starting up moments later.

Day Fifteen - Growing Greed

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“Huh… so much for sunny weather. Only two weeks since the holidays started and it’s already raining.” A slightly put out Cirrus groaned, trying to distract himself with the gripping adventure novel he was busily leafing through. Over the top of the pages, he could see the thick grey clouds rolling and churning angrily. An uneven staccato beat of droplets hitting the glass filled his room, just loud enough to be distracting.

Laying on his bed, he adjusted his position slightly, the bed springs making a groan of protest. Ignoring it, he shuffled up higher, using the pillows to prop himself up nicely. Finally getting to a comfortable spot, he reached across, plucking a large cookie from the package sat beside him. Taking a bite from the sugary treat, he let out a small grunt of enjoyment. A small burst of crumbs tumbled down his chin, joining the rest of the detritus littering his paunch.

Turning the page, he was suddenly interrupted, his belly roaring. Being filled with sugar, the food had rapidly broken down, leaving the void empty. At first, he tried to ignore it, focusing instead on finishing the chapter. But a second, more fierce burbling and glorping made him reconsider. “Alright fine, it’s getting close to lunchtime, anyway.” Tucking a bookmark in, he closed the tome with a light thud. Lazily rolling to the side, he dangled his legs over the edge. Planting his flabby feet on the carpeted floor, he rose, with considerable effort on his part.

Stretching, he grabbed the cookies, the once full box mostly bereft of its chocolate chip discs. Just like the crumbs that had stuck to his top, so too had his holiday binge stuck to his figure. Stood up, it was very apparent where most of his gains had accumulated. His gut was now prominently sticking outwards, the swollen mound sagging down under its excess weight. The top of his waistband was almost entirely obscured as it sloshed around, Cirrus’s belly button looking more cavernous day by day.

His butt was a similar story. Like a pair of basketballs, the jiggly orbs had been squeezed into the struggling pair of sweatpants. Even though it was the largest pair he owned, it could only just cope with the copious amount of thigh and ass pudge filling the fabric out. It was so poorly fitting that several tears criss-crossed the material. From these gaps, soft malleable adipose tried to squeeze free. Each footfall making the stitching groan ever so slightly, exposing more and more with each shuffling wobble.

The rest of his clothing was in a similarly dire situation. His t-shirt rolled up the impressive orb, the sleeves tearing and allowing his ham-like bingo wings to sag out. In addition, it cupped his ballooning pair of moobs, the flabby pecs undulating with each breath. Padding through the door, he could feel his belly kissing the frames edges ever so slightly. Ignoring it, he instead focused on adjusting his pants yet again, stopping a developing wedgie as he pulled the material out of the ever deepening canyon of ass cleavage.

“Stupid trousers must have shrank in the wash…” he grumbled, plodding towards the stairs. Planting his foot onto each step elicited a strained groan, as around 210 pounds was concentrated upon each plank. Carefully he descended towards the ground floor, each exaggerated step forcing his body to jostle and wobble around like jelly. This motion rippled through his entire body, his developed double chin swaying as he panted for breath.

Finally reaching the last step, he made a beeline towards the kitchen, thoughts of sandwiches, chips and fizzy cola filling his mind. But, at the same time, making all that required him to dig through the pantry, fishing out all the items from shelves and from the fridge, then make it all. Another needy grumble rippled his gut, catching sight of the telephone. “Should I call her? I mean, I’ve already eaten so much of her food…” His monologue was cut short by his complaining stomach.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt asking. It has been more than a week since I visited.” Sighing, he grabbed the receiver, dialing Blossomforth’s number.

“Hello?”

“Hi Blossom, it’s me, Cirrus. I was wondering if I could pop around to yours and grab some lunch, if that's OK with you?”

“Yep! Come on round, and I’ll whip you up something nice.”

“Sounds great! Thanks for it, Blossom.”

“Don’t mention it, Big Boy.” She giggled, cutting the line off with a click. With nothing but the dial tone coming back, he replaced the phone. Heading to the door, Cirrus could still hear the patter of rain hammering against the windows. Twisting the key, he opened the door, the porch blocking most of the rain. With his gut once more grazing the edges of the frame, he locked up, stuffing the key into his pocket with some difficulty; for how tightly the clothing clung to his thickened thighs.

Sucking in a breath, he felt the first drops of cool rain splash against his warm, slightly sweaty forehead and fat gut. Enjoying the feeling, Cirrus looked up and down the road. He could see the occasional mare or stallion dashing across the wet cobbles. Often they would be clad in a weatherproof coat or brandishing an umbrella. Out of the corner of his eye, his eyes were drawn towards Blossom’s house. In one window, she waved at him, a wide smile beaming out. With a smaller, shyer wave, he reciprocated the gesture making his way to her house.

Despite how close they were, there was still over 100 pounds of excess blubber anchored to his frame. Standing under her porch, he panted. His gut growled, each successive one becoming louder and louder. The door opened just as Cirrus was about to knock, leaving his clenched fist hanging in the air. Sheepishly, he lowered it, Blossomforth tittering in response. “Hey Blossom.”

“Hey Cirrus. Why don’t you come in, I’ve got quite spread for you.” Nodding along, his chubby cheeks sloshing around as he crossed the threshold, grunting slightly as the thinner door frame slowed him down. Craning his head, he watched as his butt was busy moulding itself on the wooden door frame, struggling to pull himself through. Grinning, Blossom leaned forward, pressing a dainty finger into his blubber belly. She cooed in fascination as it sank into the doughy adipose, rapidly filling the divot when she released.

A little surprised at her prodding, he didn’t say a word, following Blossom into the dining room. Grabbing the chair, he pulled it out, carefully plopping himself into the cushioned embrace as he sighed in relief. The chair, however, let out a moan of displeasure as his doughy behind enveloped the space, pressing into the spokes of the frame. His gut rolled forward, spreading across his lap like a weighty apron, voraciously growling intensifying as Cirrus caught the scent of many delicious items.

Within a few moments, the previously space in front of him had a large bowl of steaming soup, with chunky buttered white rolls piled up beside. “I hope it’s not too hot for you, I added plenty of cream and cheese to cool it down.” Grabbing a spoon, he dipped it in, blowing on it briefly before clamping his mouth around. Despite being soup, it was just as delectable as anything solid she could make. Swallowing, he refilled his spoon, not caring to cool it down.

Soon, his thoughts were of nothing but pleasure. The warm crusty rolls were dipped into the broth, before sloppily stuffed into his gob. He grinned, relishing the taste, his mostly empty stomach now having something to work through. From the sidelines, Blossomforth watched on, the soup almost gone. She hurried to put the last of his next course together, grabbing the heaving plate. The instant she was finished, the sound of metal on ceramic rang out, the bowl finished in its entirety. Using the last of a roll, he wiped the sides of the dish, gathering up the last dregs, stuffing it into his mouth.

“Mmmm… oh wow, that was so gooBBBUUURRRPPP!!!” he belched heavily, slapping a hand to his even rounder middle.

“I don’t suppose you’d care for some toasted sandwiches then?” She tittered, the bowl being switched out for a wide plate, piled up with several triangular cut, golden brown delights. From the corners, gooey yellow and orange cheese spilled out. Without responding, he grabbed the closest one, his mouth instantly filled with a mixture of onion and hay bacon.

Like before, he fell into a rhythm, funneling the crunchy morsels one by one into the swelling glob of blubber, inching its way forward, covering more and more of his lap and crotch. Blossom wasn’t sure how aware he was of his own enormity. If so, he wasn’t trying to curb it at all, as over half a loaf and more than half a block of fatty cheese joined the creamy soup. Even if he didn’t care how much he was putting in his body, he was aware as raucous belches filled the room, each one jostling his chins and jowls.

As the plate diminished, what didn’t diminish was the tightening of his clothing. More food was crammed in as his belly spilled forth, pressing into the bottom of the table. The button on his trousers had been forced apart, the sheer excess of belly flab forcing it down. His legs had swelled outwards, forcing the material to become skin tight. His shirt was relegated to a rolled up covering for his juicy moobs, the sleeves featuring rough tears where his bingo wings refused to be contained. With an exercise ball sized gut, and 2 empty plates, he was sated.

Opening his mouth, a long, wet belch erupted, sending stray crumbs flying. “Mmm, that was great Blossom.” He mumbled, attempting to get to his feet. With all the extra food and fat accumulation, he struggled, leaning heavily into his stomach with another burp escaping. Panting, he slowly stood, Blossom helping where she could as she pulled.

Now, she could appreciate how much ballast he had taken on, her arms straining, fingers sinking deep into the doughy love handles. “Whew… you are filling out Cirrus… In all the right places…” She muttered, the corpulent colt too busy to hear.

Finally, back on his feet, he slowly waddled to the door, fabric complaining with every step. “Cirrus, you need any help getting through?”

“I’ll... pant… be fine, thanks.” He said, cooler, more humid air entering the abode. Taking a shaky step forward, Blossom's words came back to him, his considerable gut just too wide to fit, with his bulbous butt filling the space behind. Wheezing, he attempted to pull himself through, hands tugging the frame in desperation. “Little help?”

Almost immediately, he felt Blossom’s hands smoosh into each ass cheek, squeezing the handfuls she grabbed and pushed. Every push and prod wobbled through his body, his distended stomach most affected. It gurgled and groaned audibly, processing the heavy meal into more adipose. Together, they pushed fold after crease through, rolls of abundant flesh slapping against the frame. With the relaxation of strained wood, he stumbled onto the path outside. Rain splashed against his exposed body, spinning around. “Again, thanks for Lunch, you always do such a superb job.”

“No problem Cirrus, Glad to have you around. Just call me whenever you want, OK?” He nodded, plodding through the rain, waving her goodbye. As he moved out of earshot, she closed the door, musing to herself. “If he gets any bigger, that cute tooshie won’t be able to get in. There must be a better way…”

Day Twenty Nine - Daytrips and Clothing Rips

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“Buuurrrrpppp!!! Ooof, that hit the spot…” Already, 4 weeks of the holidays had come and gone for Cirrus. 4 long weeks of doing very little aside from eating, walking to Blossom's house to eat more and growing larger because of eating said food. A quantity which always increased day by day, his gut needing that little more to be filled, satisfied to work away at the mountain of junk stuffed into his blubbery tummy.

Sprawled across his sofa, he was surrounded by piles of trash. All of them food or drink packaging, picked clean. He cared little about them, focused on the still half full bag of corn chips. The TV was blaring some cartoon or other, Cirrus half focused on the antics of the characters, whilst he busied himself guzzling down the last dregs from a litre cola bottle. Feeling the last drops slip down his throat, he let it drop to the floor, joining a battered cookie box he’d decimated minutes earlier.

“Uuurrpp!” He belched, giving his blubber ringed gut a pat. The simple collision caused it to jostle and wobble about, betraying just how empty it still was. To further compound this, a needy growl erupted moments later, stuffing more cheesy chips past his lips. “Yeah, I don’t think this’ll cut it. I need something a bit more filling. I hope Blossom’s around…” He sighed, stuffing the last of the chips into his mouth, licking the orange dust from his fingers.

Glancing down, he found food detritus had accumulated upon his expansive stomach. Chocolate stains, more cheesy flavouring and spots of cola dotted across the pillowy mass. A pillowy mass that was dominating his figure. It seemed a majority of his gains were focused here, creating a mound of doughy lard that filled much of his lap. So large that he could hardly see past, only catching slight glimpses of his titanic tushie.

Like somepony had strapped a pair of jumbo sized water balloons to his rear, each orb of buttery flab jiggled and wobbled from the slightest suggestion. So large in fact, that even his largest pair of undies could only just contain the sheer quantity of lard. A pair of blue boxers he’d bought when Blossomforth had blimped him up last year, they were utterly insufficient to contain all his leg and thigh fat. Many rips and tears snaked through the fabric, the most prominent being one across the middle, much to his embarrassment.

And they weren’t even the worst pair. He blushed as he remembered the other articles of clothing he owned. Well, owned was more accurate. The vast majority was in the trash, so badly destroyed and worn by the ever-expanding quantity of obese colt. Every day, his wardrobe would shrink smaller as he grew larger. “Well, it would be pretty embarrassing if I went around dressed like this.”

Turning the TV off with a dull click of the remote, he maneuvered himself to stand. Shuffling across the cushions, using them to grip, he planted his chubby feet squarely upon the ground. Panting slightly, he braced himself, pushing as hard as he could off the ground. Using his apron-like gut as a weight, he eased himself up. Resting his hands upon his hips, he gasped, the simple motion of even standing putting an immense strain upon his legs and core.

Waddling forth, he could feel every booming step resonate through him, the shock wave causing those hundreds of excess pounds to bounce about. His moobs were reaching sizes full grown mares would be jealous of, easily able to overflow his flabby hands. They would readily slap into the slab of upper belly fat, the motion carrying through into his doughy back. The larger his belly grew, so too did his clumps of back and side fat, each fold progressively expanding the lower down they went, the largest resting comfortably upon his shelf like ass.

Bingo wings encircled his upper arms, comparable to hams for their size. They were so large; they forced his arms outwards, squishing into his moobs whenever he tried to grasp anything in front of himself. Dangling below were his forearms, tube like as fat found more places to squeeze into, the blubber close to his elbows pressing outwards as the excess poundage squashed into them.

Below his rounded complexion, pendulum like chins swung back and forth with every tiny motion he made. On the verge of forming a new follower, they merged with his blobby jowls, which melded with his rounded cheeks. Each cheek was as round as a tennis ball, and much like his chin, was in perpetual motion. All together, it formed an exceptionally obese colt weighing over 325 lbs, struggling to support so much weight on his youthful body.

Trundling forwards, he forced one bloated leg in front of the other, wincing slightly from the sheer amount of flesh that rubbed or collided together, making movement even more laborious. Rounding the corner, he came face to face with what was rapidly becoming his mortal enemy. If the simple act of walking forwards was like competing in a race, then climbing his house's flight of stairs was like ascending a hill. An exasperated groan left his lips, grabbing the banister like he was seizing a lifebuoy.

Planting his foot forth, he winced as almost all his weight was planted forwards. Grunting, he pushed as hard as he dared, forcing himself up one step. “Hah… huff… just 20 to go.” He complained, mentally gearing himself for the next hurdle. Unlike with walking, where he could just lift his feet up a few inches at a time, it required him to make exaggerated bends of his fat swallowed knees. This was in combination with his bulky thighs having his heft blanket of belly flab to further compete with.

Anypony his age would have made it up and down the stairs multiple times. Instead, he was only a third of the way up, literally minutes spent upon the creaking, groaning floorboards. Sweat matted much of his form, with a considerable amount dotting his forehead, wiping futility with the back of his hand. Besides the uncomfortable stickiness, his exaggerated movements were proving problematic for his boxers. Every few steps he was forced to pull them back up, the exaggerated wobbling and jostling causing the fabric to slip down the globular domes and thickened thighs.

Taking frequent breaks, he couldn’t help but look at the photos on the wall. Photos of himself, all looking pretty skinny. Well, skinny in comparison at least. Back then, he could still stretch a pair of sweatpants around his blubbery rump. A privilege he no longer could indulge in.

With one last bellowing grunt, he reached the upstairs landing. Five minutes of battling with the laws of physics that hounded his obese physique. Even though he’d only eaten minutes prior, the ‘extreme’ exercise had drained much of his energy. Leaning on the wall, he could hear burbling, demanding groans of hunger resonate all around. And through all this, he could feel his pampered body ache, lactic acid burning in his legs just as much as his lungs burned with each heavy gasp. “Wheeze… That gets… puff… harder every… day. I need to… cool off… gasp…”

Noticing the bathroom door was open ajar, he perked up slightly, hauling himself through the gap. Remembering to turn sideways, he squeezed himself in, padding onto the cool tiled floor. Waddling into the cubical, he grasped the tap, adjusting to a mild temperature. Sliding the glass door shut, Cirrus huffed as the first spots of water dribbled across his form, grasping onto a small bracket firmly screwed into the tiles.

His ballooning last year had certainly facilitated a number of changes around the house. One of those being the fact that simply standing in place was a killer on his legs. A seat had been added to remedy this problem. Sitting upon the tough plastic, he felt his butt cheeks ooze and smoosh out, the edges of his ass overhanging and sagging down. The tiniest forces of gravity tugged at the drooping blubber. “Geeze, my ass is so fat…” He mumbled, the water finally reaching the correct temperature.

Picking up a flannel, a liberal quantity of shower gel was deposited into the middle. Lathering it up slightly with his fingers, he set about the long task of cleaning each and every fold. A tough job to be sure, but one he came to enjoy more and more. Scrubbing around each inch of his obese body, he marveled at the soft, velvetyness of his skin. How each roll wobbled from every swipe and swab, sending sudsy flab smacking and squishing into slabs of adipose. A great network of streams trickled down his form. Like some great rounded mountain range, water flowed through the crevasses and valley’s made between his rolls. Mirroring his cascade of chins, a small waterfall of runoff poured from the saggy slab of face fat, spattering onto his moobs and upper belly roll.

WIth such a large quantity of flab squashed into the wall, he could feel how his soft malleable blubber interacted with the hard surface. His flesh would slide and mash together in such a visceral display, his back fat and ass cheeks spreading and squashing against the tiles behind him, the loose flesh easily flattened out. It was peculiar, but not in a bad way. Snatching up a bottle of shampoo, he set about cleaning his mane, which thankfully was a much easier task to accomplish. A few minutes more, Cirrus hauled himself to his feet, shutting the water off with a clunk.

Emerging, he made a beeline for the sink, a large mirror was set into a cabinet which hung above. Opening the door, he spied his prize, a large comb, sitting on the top shelf. Rather conveniently, it was just out of reach, the obese colt panting and puffing, his immense gut squashing into the porcelain. Thinking, he lifted his belly up, grunting as he muscled it forwards, practically filling up the sink with the abundance of adipose.

“My gut is so big too, everything about me is so big…” He half whispered the end, wincing as he pulled a knot out of his hair. Every brush stroke he took, another wave of motion was sent through his mountain of doughy flesh. Pulling his gut out, he got a full look of himself in the mirror. Every roll, crevasse, clump and slab of excess bulk blobbed forth and pressed together. It made him feel amazing. As weird as it felt, he was enjoying this feeling of becoming a fat ass.

“Cirrus, if you keep stuffing more and more junk food into that gut, you're just going to get even fatter.” He quietly spoke to his reflection, craning his neck around, inspecting his bubbly ass and trunk like thighs. A loud slap rang out, clapping a hand to his butt. It wobbled and jiggled like jelly, the motion causing his moobs and gut to bounce around much the same. “The fatter you get, the hungrier you keep getting. You keep this up, and you’ll be twice as big and fat by the end of summer…”

He blushed, imagining himself even larger. His body stuck in every door, his ass overflowing the sofa, and his gut bellowing for more food, to which he eagerly stuffed down more and more. A belly so large, a pony could use it as a beanbag chair, so utterly immense that he could eat all day and not get bored. He smiled, feeling giddy as he continued to inspect and wobble his form, revelling in the sensations.

However, the water still generously coating his body had gradually cooled, leaving him feeling rather chilly. Giving his rump one last squeeze, he attempted to wrap a large bath towel around himself. The soft, fluffy fabric only made it around halfway to his podgy middle, the dimensions preventing him from getting the two ends to connect. For what felt like the upteenth time today, he let out an exasperated huff, pulling open the door of the airing cupboard and fishing out a second towel. Together, the pair comfortably wrapped around his form, as he began the tedious process of drying every pocket of pudge.

10 minutes later, he reemerged, squeaky clean and bone dry, ready to face the next challenge of the day, finding something that fit. Plodding into the bedroom, he pulled open his dresser, rummaging through each drawer for attire. As he pulled article after article out, his heart sank. “Wha… I can’t have nothing to wear? Right?” Dragging out more and more, he was becoming increasingly aware his clothes fit into one of two categories. The first, the ones from when he was thin, as in genuinely thin. Anything he hadn’t even bothered to try to climb into. The second were the ones which were utterly ruined. Every shirt, pair of shorts and underwear had their buttons burst, seams torn, or covered in several gouging tears.

Poking his fingers through more holes than he dared to count, he sighed, tentatively checking each article. Exchanging his underwear, the other pair was even more torn up, the damage allowing him to slip them on. Same for his shorts, grunting with frustration as inch by inch, the waistband managed to squeeze around the unbelievably large curvature of his butt. Compressed so tight, he hadn’t a hope of buttoning them up, using the apex of his belly to cover it. His T-shirt was laughably pathetic. The sleeves tore completely as he forced the mounds of arm flab through, creating a vest, which soon looked like a bra. So large was his midsection, his shirt rolled up his upper belly folds, the fabric bunching under his moobs.

Looking in the bedroom mirror further confirmed how pathetic his wardrobe was. Only marginally better concealed than before, his overabundance of adipose ballooned forth. “There’s no way I can go to Blossoms looking like this. I guess I could wait ‘till tomorrow… I need to get some new clothes.” He groaned. “I guess this was always going to happen.”

Grabbing his school backpack, he began to pack for a day trip, his wallet quickly stuffed in the top, alongside a set of keys. Hefting it onto his back, a gurgling grumble roared from his middle, reminding him already of his delayed visit to Blossom. Reluctantly pushing a soda bottle in, he just prayed the trip wouldn’t take too long.

Unfortunately for Cirrus, he’d rather misjudged his long distance walking abilities. True, it was only flat ground, but the sheer distance wore on his energy rapidly. It was rather fortunate that a multitude of benches lined Ponyville's streets, and even luckier they were reinforced well enough to take his poundage. And every time he sat down, he ate and drank from the limited quantity of snacks he’d secured.

Still, he’d eventually crossed through the sliding doors to Ponyville mall, making a painfully slow beeline for the Wide and Tall shop. However, because of its lower popularity compared to most of the trendy shops, it had been crammed at the far end of the building. And that meant more walking for Cirrus.

Walking was also met with a myriad of stares. Oddly enough, a pony as obese as him wasn’t a common sight in Ponyville, colts even less so. All around, he could feel their gazes, watching him with looks of shock. His jiggling cheeks tinged red, embarrassment flushing into them, trying to distract himself by guzzling down more soda.

“Celestia above, how on earth did a pony get that overweight?” A mare gasped, clapping a hand to her mouth.

“Now that’s what happens if you eat nothing but junk food all day.” A mother pointed out to her children disapprovingly.

“Hey! Who let a baby whale into the mall?” A stallion laughed, his friends guffawing along with him.

His blushing intensified, slurping louder to try to blot out their remarks with bubbly, sugary soda. So distracted, he stumbled upon his destination. His bottle bone dry, he popped it into a bin, waddling through the automatic doors. It’d been a while since he’d entered through those doors, the last time being several long months ago, and the place was no less empty now than it’d been back then.

Despite it being the holidays, Cirrus could only see one pony. A stallion, wide in a muscled sense, browsing through racks of shirts.

“Ah, hello there!” A voice called from his right. Spinning (or rather staggering) around, a mare stood. A tape measure around her neck, she leaned on a small cart, laden with a number of boxes. “Can I help you with anything young sir?”

Cirrus was taken a little aback. Given the number of ponies pointing and judging his flabby form, it was shocking to see somepony ignore all that. “Uuuh, yeah. I err, need to get to upgrade my wardrobe.” He stuttered, rubbing his arm slightly. “Something that fits how ‘big’ I am.”

“Say no more. Do you know the size you're looking for?”

Cirrus paused before shaking his head. “Don’t worry. If you’ll step over here, I’ll take some measurements, OK?”

“Sure, I just hope you have something that fits a baby whale…” Mumbling the last part, she guided him over to a small podium. Clambering onto it, he spent the next couple of minutes meticulously scrutinized. He blushed, feeling the tape measure wrap around every contour, bulge and roll he possessed, squeezing into the soft blubber. Taking notes of his size, the seamstress hummed to herself, considering the notes. Finally, she finished, prompting him to step down.

“So, I’d say you're looking for a size XXL at the least. Same for your underwear and pants too, unless you’re planning to tuck your stomach into them, in which case you’d want to go for the XXXL.”

“I… err... what?” He stuttered, causing her to grin in response.

“Common thing some ponies do to help keep themselves from wobbling around… at the front at least. You think you’re the biggest pony to come through those doors? Sure, you're younger than most, but I’ve seen every body type here, isn’t that right Bench Press?” She called to the stallion Cirrus had seen before, who gave a grin and thumbs up.

“Now, since today’s been pretty quiet, lets see if we can find anything you like, OK?” Cirrus slowly nodded, sending his chins bouncing. “Great! Now, let's have a look at the colts section, shall we?”

Half an hour later, Cirrus emerged, two full bags of clothes in his hands. He’d elected to not wear them now, his sweaty body would have only soaked them. It hadn’t been an easy fitting, with one pair of shorts meeting an untimely demise after they had burst open like an overfilled balloon. Still though, the clerk had at least been nice to him, even though he’d spend ages agonising over sizes, colours and designs.

And those ages had worn on his appetite. Rolling, needy growls bellowed forth, like a monster closing in on its prey. His mind made up, Cirrus made a beeline for the food court, his eyes greedily pouring over the many fast food options. So distracted, he bumped into somepony.

Shocked, he was about to apologise, when he saw exactly who he’d collided with. “Cirrus! It’s been a while, how are you?” Blossomforth smiled.

“Blossom? Why are you here?”

“Shopping, duh. Just picking some cute little clothes for myself, you?”

“The same, heh.” Cirrus raised the two bags slightly.

“That’s cool.” She paused, her grin widening. “Hey, you wanna get something for lunch, my treat!” Cirrus looked like he wanted to protest, before his belly answered for him, visibly trembling from how loud it was. Smiling, she took him by the hand, leading him over to a vacant table, enclosed by a booth. Squishing his gut past the table, he eased himself into the plush seating, the material deforming from Cirrus' immense weight. “Just wait there, I’ll grab you something delicious big boy…”

Before he could say a word, she was already darting between tables, joining the small queue for ‘Pizza Cabin’. A few minutes later, a steaming, 11-inch circle of molten, gooey cheese and hay-pepperoni slid in front of him. Needing no prompt, he snatched up the first slice, grease already slathered across his fingers. Taking a big bite, he relished the flavour, swallowing quickly as he took a larger, sloppier bite.

Cirrus was lost in a world of food, oblivious to the world around him. No amount of stares or disgusted looks he got from other patrons could touch him, polishing half the pizza off. He didn’t even notice Blossomforth disappearing, returning with a pair of near identical boxes from ‘WC Roalnalds’ Stuffing the last hunk of pizza down his throat, the blubber bound colt let off a belch, his moobs quivering from their tight confines.

Seamlessly, he opened the boxes, two fresh hayburgers sitting there, dripping with various condiments and excess grease. Wrapping his lips around them, he continued to take monstrous bites, the taste of fried hay, lettuce, tomato and ketchup barraging his taste buds. Further and further, he descended into gluttony, grabbing salty chips by the handful, crunching them down with hefty gulps of milkshake.

Even as his gut swelled forwards, forcing his ill-fitting shirt to roll up further, hunger consumed him. Polishing off the last of the toasted buns, 3 wrapped tacos from ‘Taco Gong’ were dumped before Cirrus. His greasy fingers unwrapped the crunchy shelled treats, only just finishing his mouthful before tucking into the Mareican cuisine. On and on he ploughed, Blossom finally taking a seat to watch the glutton continue to pack on the pounds.

Second by second, she watched his glorping stomach processing the thousands of calories, the slight tightness disappearing as new layers of adipose tissue blanketed his figure. The air was thick with the sound of piggish consumption, straining and tearing of clothing, and tortured squeaks and moans of springs and wood of the booth. Then it stopped. Licking his fingers clean, Cirrus laid back, a resounding belch erupting.

“Enjoy that big boy?”

“Mmmm hmmmm.”

“Feeling satisfied yet?”

“Nopuuuuurrrppp!!!”

“Alright… I’ll just get some more then.” Smiling ear to ear, Blossom trotted off, bearing down upon a doughnut shop. Placing her order for a dozen of the greasy calorie bombs, she pulled her phone from her pocket. Flicking through her contacts, she dialled a number.

“Hey, can I get a taxi for two from Ponyville Mall? Yes, half an hour is fine. Oh and make sure it’s got lots of space in the back”. Ending the call, she plucked the weighty package from the counter, thanking the worker.

“I wonder just how much food Cirrus can stomach?”

Night Twenty Nine - Dreams of Flabsolution

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“Cirrus? Cirrus Sweep? Are you paying attention, young man?”

A sudden, familiar voice reached his ears, eyes opened blearily, raising his head. Squinting, the massive colt finally realised who he was looking at. His teacher, Ms. Windy, was standing directly in front. She looked down, giving Cirrus a look half-way between annoyed and concerned. Blinking, he looked around, familiar charts, posters and diagrams lining the walls of the room. Suddenly, he realized the sound of whispering and muffled laughter coming from multiple angles behind and to his sides.

“Wha, what…” mumbling, he rubbed his eyes, trying to grasp what he was doing back in school. “But… it’s the summer holidays, we’ve still got 2 months left…” Turning his head, he spotted Blossomforth a few rows back, giving him a small wave. Fully aware of his surroundings, anxiety bubbled in his chest, everypony watching him with varying degrees of amusement.

“Cirrus, are you feeling alright?” Windy spoke once more, drawing the colt’s eyes away from his classmates and back to the front.

“Err, yes. Yes, Ms. Windy.” He nervously stuttered. Confused, he was becoming increasingly aware of how poorly his desk accommodated his size. He was sure that he could fit just fine in the old one. However, this was true around 160 lbs ago. Instead, a much more familiar amount of weight sagged forth from his figure. Weighing as much as three colts made seating a significant challenge. Every slight adjustment and move drew the horrendous sound of plastic and metal creaking.

“That’s wonderful to hear Cirrus. Should I repeat the question for you?” He nodded, his double chin smacking against his jowls and neck. Smiling, she stepped back, pointing a ruler to a picture chalked to the blackboard. A light ‘clack’ rang out as it connected, gesturing towards a pony of indistinct gender, munching on a chocolate bar. “Now, what happens when we eat too much food?”

A simple question, the words bouncing around in Cirrus’s mind like pinballs. “Err, well, we… get fat?”

She smiled widely, replacing the image. It showed the same pony, their belly and butt much wider, their face buried in an enormous cake. “Correct Cirrus. When a pony eats more food than their body needs, excess energy cannot be used by the body. If the individual performs rigorous physical activity, such as running, swimming or flying, then this should be kept in check.” Nodding, Cirrus attempted to keep his attention focused upon his teacher.

‘Guuurgglleee’ A low grumble emanated from his middle, loud enough to draw the notice of the closest classmates. Feeling their eyes upon his chunky back, Cirrus gave his stomach a rough pat, sending a shock wave of ripples outwards. A small magical pop drew his eyes up, discovering a small mountain of chocolate bars had been dumped on his desk. Unsure what exactly was happening, he reached out for one. Wrapped in black packaging, the hefty rectangle rested upon his outstretched hand. Wincing as a small jolt of hunger emanated from his core, Cirrus discarded the packaging, taking a bite whilst returning his attention to the board.

“However, if their body cannot burn it off, all that excess sugar and fat are processed down into raw energy, which is given to specialised cells called adipose cells. Or as we call them, fat cells.” The image changed again, this time bringing up a diagram showing what looked to be a deflated ball, gradually becoming rounder, arrows forming between them. “As you see, a fat cell is normally very flat. As the excess energy is converted into fat, it swells the cell larger and larger, until it reaches full capacity. After that, a new cell is created, allowing more storage of excess weight.”

Starting on his second bar, Cirrus’s hunger had yet to diminish. Continuing to listen intently, small spots of chocolate dotted his lips as he reached out for a third. “This storage of energy is useful for animals, especially during the winter, where it acts as both insulation and an alternative supply of energy when food is scarce. This is true for us ponies too.”

“Because of how food has become more available, and we don’t need to freeze out in the elements, weight gain has become more common. No need to go out and forage for roots amongst the snow and ice when the greengrocer is across the street. No need to harvest eggs, milk, sugar and wheat to make a cake when the baker has one ready for you. Abundance and laxity means that it can become far too easy to eat more than you need.” Cirrus nodded, cramming a finger of fudge into his maw.

She changed the image, this time showing Cirrus a picture of a stallion sitting upon a sofa. His flanks were wide, wide enough to kiss both arms of the family-sized couch. His gut oozed forwards, resting on the floor like a mound of unbaked dough. Plentiful rolls sagged over one another, forming great wobbly piles of pudge. Great moobs blossomed outwards, contained by a t-shirt that had been reduced to a bra. Pillow sized arms, tire-size neck roll, and an enormous slab of a triple chin formed much of his upper torso.

“When a pony gets very fat, a new term applies to them, obesity. This can become a self-perpetuating problem. They get hungrier, their body demanding more food as their mind becomes more addicted to the sugary, fatty delights. They get more tired, so they rest more often, and eat and drink to remedy this. Larger and larger they get, their body becoming so filled with blubber that they eventually cannot walk. Either supporting themselves alone, or with somepony enabling them, they end up sitting around day after day.”

At those words, Cirrus could feel Blossom’s eyes boring into the back of his skull, his unease of the situation rising once more. It didn’t help when Ms. Windy grabbed one of the discarded wrappers, turning it over in her comparatively dainty fingers. “Now, here’s a question for the class. This bar contains 250 calories, and Cirrus here has eaten 9. How many calories has he eaten roughly?” A smattering of hands rose. “Yes, Blossomforth?”

“If each bar is roughly the same amount, he’s eaten 2250 calories!” She answered promptly, the sound of glee present in her voice.

“Perfect answer. Additionally, it’s also 500 calories less than the recommended daily intake is too. Just two more bars and you’ve reached it...you’re ever so close.” The butterball of a colt didn’t say anything, only just realising he’d decimated 9 full bars like they were snack-sized. Embarrassment burning his rounded cheeks, it didn’t perturb him from grabbing the final bar.

‘Drrrrring!!!!’ The battered red bell clattered, blasting the colt's ear with the sonorous sound of relief. Recess. Almost in unison, the whole cohort rose to their feet, the sound of chairs sliding over linoleum mingling with the excited shouts of each student. For Cirrus, however, it was easier said than done. Pushing his chair back was hard work, making sure to not tip over. The next problem arose because of his burgeoning gut. So much blubber oozed forth that much of the space below the desk was occupied.

With a feeble shove, Cirrus forced his desk out of the way, grabbing onto the wood top. Grunting, his pillar thick legs straightened out, the overstressed chair practically sighing in relief. Beads of sweat ran down his face, faint pants escaping his mouth with each hard fought inch. Awkwardly stepping into the corridor between the desks, Cirrus’s blush returned, realising he was the only pony left aside from Ms. Windy.

Waddling between the lines of desks, his generous plot sloshed back and forth like jelly. Every pendulum like motion that generated collided with a chair, drawing a wince with each loud clatter they made. Reaching the bag store at the far end, his bag was in the lowest row. Bending down, his posterior jutted out, filling every inch of fabric and drawing them tight against the immense swell of each ass cheek.

Staggering slightly, his fingers gingerly grasped the straps, giving it a sharp tug. ‘SSHHRRRIIIPPP!!!’ Standing bolt upright, Cirrus craned his head around, groaning at what he saw. A near perfect line had been torn straight down his ass crack, offering a frayed window to a pair of white boxers stamped with little red hearts. Gulping, he glanced towards Ms. Windy, who’d busied herself with clearing away the presentation. “At least she didn’t see it…” he mumbled under his breath, slinging his rucksack over his chunky shoulder.

Squeezing his way through the door, his gut pressed near painfully into the frame as the sharp edges caught and ripped more parts of clothes. Frustrated, he waddled outside, his nostrils filled with fresh, cool air. The sounds of shouting and laughing drifted over, fillies and colts up and about doing a myriad of activities amongst themselves.

Before he could even consider joining them, a needy gurgle rose, Cirrus staring down in bewilderment. “Aww come on… I ate a few minutes ago.” Rubbing his hand across the plush, doughy surface, Cirrus waddled over to one of the picnic benches. Swinging his hips over the seat propagated a sloshing motion through the hundreds of excess pounds, the tear in his shorts widening in response.

Seating himself, the blubber bound colt shrugged the backpack off, unzipping it. Rather than a scattering of stationary and books, the entire volume had been packed with junk food. Glancing back and forth, he upended the sack, causing it to spill out across the table. “I can’t eat all this, right?” Quietly mumbling, he plucked a family-sized bag of crisps from the top.

With a satisfying pop, he opened the bag, grabbing the first greasy potato slice. Stuffing it in, the tangy taste of salt and vinegar burst across his taste buds. He smiled, causing his flabby cheeks to dimple. Easily polishing one off, he grabbed another, followed by a handful. Cirrus rapidly fell back into the siren call of food. Practically shoving his face into the bag, it didn’t take long for it to diminish to little more than crumbs and salt grains.

Licking his hands clean, he eagerly moved to a cheerful white box. Flipping it up, a myriad of doughnuts were presented; the glazed ones practically shone in the sunlight. With little more thought, they rapidly disappeared into the void of a gut, noisily churning and glorping away at the pile of calorie dense junk, excess calories rapidly increasing.

“UUURRRPPPPP!!!!” A loud belch exploded forth, flecks of jam, pastry and sugar ringed around his mouth. With a good amount of gas released, Cirrus continued his gluttonous quest. Packages of brownies, tortilla chips, biscuits, huge sandwiches, the colt cared little for what he ate, nor that there was more food present that could actually fit into his backpack.

No, he couldn’t help but continue to gorge like he’d been starved. Of course, such rampant gluttony wasn’t without consequence. Though he didn’t feel the least bit full, his body bulked out instead. His blubbery ass couldn’t help but store a few extra pounds, the tear in his shorts becoming wider and wider, joined by extra tears down the seams. His shirt rolled upwards, the fabric slipping over battening side folds, cupping his moobs.

As his mouth dried out, he grabbed a liter bottle of cola. Breaking the seal, the brown sugary liquid was guzzled down in short order, another belch following shortly after. With every bite and gulp, his body swelled outwards, thousands upon thousands of excess calories turning into fat cells. The wooden bench had developed a sizable dip, the wood bowing, ominous creaks and splintering noises being heard through the cacophony of stomach noise and slovenly eating.

So engrossed, Cirrus gave little worry to the food pile up on the table out of nowhere. He cared little that some frosty milkshakes were labeled as ‘weight gain shake’. He didn’t even care as Blossomforth helped to stuff all of it into his mouth like a conveyor belt. His thoughts were little more than pleading demands for more, vocalised as needy cries of “More!”, punctuated by sweet, greasy belches.

As his top was eviscerated by the combined powers of his moobs and back fat, the flexible seat could take no more. Polishing off another box of jam and chocolate stuffed doughnuts, a sharp snap rang out, the sudden feeling of free fall interrupted by the ground milliseconds later. With one final burp, his shorts detonated, his heart stamped boxers on full display. Stuffed to the gills, he slumped back, head colliding with the ground.

“Woah!!” Cirrus shouted, his eyes flicking open, greeted by near total dark. Blinking, he rubbed his eyes, before wiping away a thin line of drool dripping onto the pillow. “Oh, it was a dream…” He mumbled, replaying the odd scene in his head. Glancing over to the bedside table, moonlight illuminated the clock face, the hands pointing to 2:42.

“I really should stop having so much cheese before I go to bed.” Cirrus mumbled, flipping the pillow over, revelling in the cool fabric. Yawning, he adjusted the thin duvet, bed springs groaning at even the slightest movement. Closing his eyes, he relaxed, his massive body weight spread across the whole mattress. Totally silent apart from thin breaths, he was ready to sleep once more.

‘Grrruuggrrrlleee…’

“Well… I guess a midnight snack couldn’t hurt…”

Day Forty Seven - The Weight of his Actions

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‘Ggggrrrgglllleeee’ A low grumbling noise echoed, Cirrus squinting as he returned to the waking world. Blinking blearily as he awoke, he let out a quiet yawn, shifting slightly from his position on the bed. Merely sitting up slightly drew an agonising sound of tortured metal, interspersed by the sound of bedsprings pinging. Wiping his mouth and rubbing his eyes, he glanced over at the clock on the bedside table. Displayed in dull red were the digits 10:35 , Cirrus sighing at the sight. “Mmmh… I keep getting up later and later…”

‘Grrrrgggmmmm’ Another bout of complaint rolled forth out from his exceptionally wide gut, slapping it in annoyance. “Alright alright… I’m getting up.” Slowly kicking the covers off, the colt began the excruciatingly long process of getting up. First, he had to get out of the large depression in the mattress. With nearly 400 pounds of pony resting on such a tiny bed, it couldn’t help but sink around his bulk. A near perfect impression of his outline was squashed into the material, reminding him of the chalk outlines seen in murder mystery novels.

Shimmying himself awkwardly, he swung his legs over the edge, planting the fatty appendage on the soft carpet. With a little more jostling and maneuvering, he sat up, hands resting upon the apron of flesh that was his gut. Bracing himself, he planted his hands into the fluffy mattress, pushing up with all his might. Grunting and puffing, each inch that his legs extended was hard fought for. Every iota of strength was channeled through his flab drowned legs and through his amply padded core. Muscles which were coated in inches of soft and heavy pudge that wobbled like jelly. So heavy and so malleable, there wasn’t a moment where some part of his anatomy was sliding, squishing or oozing past another.

With a final gasping breath, Cirrus was finally on his feet. After barely a minute after waking up, he was already feeling wiped. Large beads of sweat rolled across his forehead, down his tennis ball like cheeks, and trailed over his tyre like neck fold. Pathetically wiping it away with the back of his hand, the colt couldn’t help but inspect how much he’d let himself grow. All those weeks ago, it was fairly easy to keep himself deluded about his gains.

After all, there was still a plethora of garments that fit him stashed away in his drawers, and the short walks he took when he wasn’t busy stuffing his face made him feel fit. Cirrus had, however, run out of any excuse. Weighing as much as 4 ponies your age really put into perspective how much of a fatty he’d grown into. That, and that the clothes he’d bought from the Wide and Tall shop were already inadequate. The elasticated underwear he wore strongly conformed to the vast swell of his ass cheeks, a near innumerable number of tears and rips dotted across the fabric.

He blushed, remembering the repairs Blossomforth had made to them. Comically large hearts had been stitched over the most egregious holes.

Pinching the swell of his belly roll, he grimaced, the slab of blubber yielding to his touch, fingers sinking into the doughy mass. It was like grabbing a pillow, an exceptionally heavy one at that. Under its incredible weight, the fold ringed blob easily passed his knees, providing yet another difficulty to simple locomotion. And if that wasn’t bad enough, those overburdened legs were swallowed up in stacks upon stacks of lard. Clinging in giant slabs, his thighs and calves had blown up considerably. Like the tree trunks of a healthy apple tree, the simple width they possessed quashed even the simple process of walking.

Satisfied he’d got his breath back, the oversized colt swung his leg forward, light slapping emanating as they displaced half a dozen overhanging rolls and folds. Like ripples on an ocean, he could feel every inch of his form undulate. From his ham like bingo wings, to the rubber ring like back rolls, to the impressively large moobs swelling on his chest. Moving his other leg in an exaggerated arc, they repeated the concussive dance of flesh, with a slight bias towards the left side of his figure. Every step was hard fought for, his figure rocking and bobbing around like a rowboat in a storm.

Reaching the stairs, Cirrus stared down the short decent. Sure, it was far easier going down than up, but each step down was a nerve-wracking experience. Audibly gulping, his pudgy hand grasped at the bannister as he took his first step. All 400 pounds of blubber was concentrated onto just one leg, the wood groaning in protest, bowing in the middle. Placing his other foot allowed for the weight to be distributed more evenly, the bowing lessening in its severity. Every heart pounding second reminding him of just how obese he’d become. Gravity acutely affected every overhanging slab of fat, fully intent on pinning him to the ground; not a fact that Cirrus wanted to admit to himself.

Clearing the stairs, he plodded into the kitchen, feet slapping on the tile. Moving as swiftly as he could manage, cabinet doors were pulled open, revealing plentiful piles of junk food. Cookies and cupcakes, doughnuts and brownies. Grabbing as many boxes as possible, Cirrus clutched the stash to his chest, hard plastic pressing into soft moob flesh. “Mmm, it all looks so good!” He mumbled, waddling into the living room. The increasing mass of Cirrus had progressively tortured the sofa, much in the same fashion as his bed. Such was clear by the two round divots worn into each cushion.

Dumping the treats onto a wide coffee table, Cirrus grasped a sofa arm, depositing himself into the cushioned embrace of the couch. Resting his weight upon the cushions, he could feel the spherical mounds of his ass fat squish outwards, neatly expanding to fill enough room to accommodate 3 adults. Almost the instant he’d sat down, his stomach let out a needy, demanding bellow. Needing little more encouragement, he dove in. The sounds of plastic crumpling, labels tearing, and ravenous munches permeated the room.

With little regard for decorum, the blubber bound colt tore through box after box. A baker's dozen of doughnuts vanished, followed by fifteen cupcakes, their multicoloured icing splattered across his wobbling cheeks. Crumbs liberally dusted his chest, joined by stray chocolate chips and sprinkles. Enough dessert to feed several families resided in his belly, ever so slightly swollen from the heavy mass of pastries and sweets. And yet, he still felt, unsatisfied. Upending the last box, letting the specs of sugar tumble into his gaping maw, his gut still yearned for more.
“You’ve… got to buuuurrrppp kidding me… I need more!” A deep belch rumbled forth, his stained lips rippling from the force. Tapping his bulbous double chin, he caught sight of the telephone, sitting just beside the couch. Shimmying himself along, he grabbed the receiver, cradling it in his flabby palm. With the promise of more sustenance, he eagerly dialed Blossomforth’s number, chubby digits fumbling to press buttons designed for far thinner fingers. As thought’s of meals galore racing through his food addicted brain, the sugary voice of Blossom came drifting through his ears.

“Huff… come… on… wheeze… just a… pant… few more… houses… puff… to go!” Cirrus laboured to speak, plodding along the pavement. After a brief chat with Blossom over eating arrangements, the colt spent the best part of three quarters of an hour making himself decent. Getting off the sofa, climbing up the stairs, getting a quick wash in, squeezing himself into the few pieces of attire which didn’t resemble torn rags. Every action that wasn’t eating, sleeping or sitting was a chore; Physically exhausting beyond any reasonable degree.

His breath was heavy, his heart pounding so loud it rang through his head. What was considered to be but a simple walk down the street had become a marathon. Quivering and wobbling, his figure danced maddeningly, his ill-fitting t-shirt rolling upwards exposing every inch of his lower belly roll. His underwear became uncomfortably lodged between his wrecking ball like buttocks, forcing him to hitch and pull them out, followed by Cirrus pulling his shorts up. Not that he could see his underwear, mind you. Aside from when he could look in the mirror, everything below that immense apron of belly vanished. Only with the most exaggerated of movements in his legs, could he hope to see the tips of his toes.

Wheezing, panting and perspiring in the sun, the only thin veil of good news was the lack of anypony else. The last thing he needed were ponies gawking and pointing like he was some circus sideshow. Passing by another of his neighbours' abodes, he finally arrived at his destination. Struggling up the steps of the porch, he knocked firmly, his bingo wing shaking with each thump. Leaning against the wall, tongue lolling out of his mouth, he waited those agonising seconds as a shape materialised through the frosted glass. The brass handle turned, Blossomforth standing and smiling in the doorway.

“Hey big boy… I made plenty of lunch for you. I hope you have the space for it all.” She giggled, pressing a hand to his exposed belly button, smirking as it growled in response. “Come on in, or it’ll get cold.” Nodding sharply, Cirrus waddled into the open door. Only for him to become immediately stuck. Grunting and straining, he forced his apron gut through, inch by blubbery inch. Like dough rising out of a pan, flesh oozed through the doorway.

“Nnnngh… come on stupid… mmmff!” Cirrus harrumphed, wincing as he noticed the red marks forming along his love handles. Worse still, after getting most of his belly through, a sudden grip surrounded his butt. Grabbing the door frame, he heaved and tugged, the deluge of sweat renewing. “I... I can still… wheeze… fit through… hah…” But, no matter how hard he pushed and maneuvered, his colossal ass was still wobbling outside. Despite how malleable his flab was, it had eventually reached a limit.

“Cirrus, stop.” Blossom simply said, resting a hand firmly upon his shoulder. “You’re just going to hurt and tire yourself out if you keep doing that.” She paused, scratching her chin as the struggling colt relaxed. “Hold on, I’ve got a plan.” Stepping forwards, she planted her shoulder directly into his gut, shoving hard against the Cirrus. The force would surely have him to stumble if he wasn’t so perfectly wedged.

“Whoa… what are you… doing?” Puffing as she grabbed at his love handles, pushing them out of the doorway.

“You’re much too large to get through. The gate for the back garden is much wider, you’ll definitely fit.”

“Great, more walking…” He mumbled, wincing once more from a slightly too forceful shove. After a minute more of manhandling the abundant flab, he was free. Groaning, Cirrus turned around, plodding down the porch steps, taking a right. Following a series of paving stones that emerged between the browning grass, he could hear creaking metal, a deadbolt being slid off soon after. Just as he’d reached the brown door, it swung open, Blossom smiling as she held it wide open.

Reciprocating to the best of his ability, he marched on, sucking his gut in the best he could. Mercifully, only a slight portion of his gut kissed the edges, buttocks entering without a problem. Heavy breaths fluttered from Ciruss’ mouth, unaccustomed to standing for such a long period, so much so that he ignored the beautifully tended garden, a whole plethora of brightly coloured blooms filling the beds. Focused on putting one foot in front of the other, he spied a sizable table, a rugged-looking bench parked just in front. Treading onto the patio, he took a final few steps, before planting himself down with an exaggerated huff and pant.

“Cirrus, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good… lemme just, catch my… huff… breath. And my… strength…” Sighing contentedly, he spread his weight across the seating, vaguely aware of how bent it was becoming. Just a nice cool breeze, shielded from the sun by the bulk of the house. It was rather pleasant.

“Hey Cirrus, how about you eat out here, instead of going inside?” He nodded, humming in agreement. “Alright… how about you just spin around to the table, and I’ll get everything set up big boy… you need any help with that?”

“Nah… I’m good thanks.” He replied, nodding appreciatively as Blossom disappeared through a sliding glass door. Taking quick steps, he shuffled himself around, misjudging how much clearance was between the bench and table. Despite a good amount of room between the pieces of furniture, the swell of his upper roll pressed into the table's edge; whilst his lower roll tucked under. The bench, good enough to seat several ponies, was simply inadequate for his size. He’d neatly enveloped the entire top of the seat, his fatty ass sagging over the edges.
Settling some more of his gut between his legs, Cirrus let out a sigh of relief. Soon, however, the sound of sandals slapping on paving slabs emanated from his side. With a practiced flourish, Blossom slid a large platter across the tabletop. Six double hay burgers stacked together in a small pyramid, the golden fried hay glistening with melted cheese and sauce between the brioche buns. Beside this, a good few handfuls of fries sat. Last, a large jug of water and an ice filled glass sat, condensation dribbling down the sides.

Thin trails of drool escaped his gaping maw, grabbing a burger and stuffing it into his mouth. Devouring his first bite, a muffled thank you escaped, Cirrus’s cheeks tinged red. “Don’t worry about it! Besides, words are cheap; seeing you satisfied with my cooking is all the thanks I need…” Nodding, Cirrus continued his feast with fervor, decimating one calorie dense sandwich after another, greasy sauce dipped fries interspersed occasionally.

From six to five, from five to three and three to zero, Cirrus polished off the family sized meal with relative ease. A low, rolling belch erupted forth, his ketchup and grease spotted lips rippling. Quaffing mouthfuls of ice-cold water, Blossom whisked the plate away, disappearing from view. Moments later, Cirrus caught the whiff of melted cheese as a 18” pizza was placed down. Already cut into several slices, Cirrus took no time at all, wrapping his fingers around the doughy triangle.

Passing it over his lips, a flood of gooey mozzarella cheese mingled with the excellent tomato sauce. Pleasure signals rocketed to his brain and was more than happy to devour every slice present. Sloppy chewing and audible gulps accompanied the destruction of the Neightalian cuisine, his pace diminishing somewhat as he moved onto the last slice. Licking the cheese and grease from his fingers, he glanced down at his gut. Demolishing all that food had caused his stomach to swell outwards further than he remembered, forcing part of his upper roll to squish into the table more.

However, these concerns were quashed by another plate. Three oat burritos and a generous amount of nacho’s accompanied it. Despite his body telling him how full he was, he ignored it. Chomping through the first one was like biting into a pillow; the insides were packed to the brim with rice, beans, oats and plenty of sauce, stuffed into a fluffy tortilla. Such intense culinary delights continued to distract Cirrus from the vast pile of food currently residing within his gut, furiously working away at the mountain of calories.

Nevertheless, he marched on, conquering each densely packed Marexican delights, the crunchy corn chips interspersed with the soft rolls. As with the other dishes, they too had been wiped from existence, leaving nought but crumbs and spots of sauce upon the plate and Cirrus. “You up for dessert, big boy?” Blossomforth asked casually, placing a hand upon the swell of his exposed belly flab.

Internally, Cirrus’s body wanted to quit. Several pounds of food sat in his impossibly stretched belly, resting heavily upon him. “Yes… please… uuuurrrppp!!!” He belched, adjusting his position the best he could. Amongst the gurgles of his overworked gut, the splintering and creaking of wood was faintly detectable, the overstressed seat singing its death throes. Regardless, it didn’t stop Cirrus from delicately working his way through a pile of brownies and doughnuts, or as delicately as a morbidly obese colt can manage.

Through a fusillade of signals telling him to stop, the pile of food in his gut grew ever larger, shrinking as his body hastily converted it into more and more layers of fat. Now at a crawl, he persisted in his consumption. Inexorably he forced another greasy jam-filled treat down, the last gooey brown following on seconds later. Upending the plate, the smattering of crumbs tumbled into his gaping mouth, disappearing into the black void.

Ccrrrrrrr...rrack!

Suddenly, the bench was torn in two. Falling the short distance, a loud slap rang out as his ass contacted the ground. The immense impact, the power of which he hadn’t experienced in a long time, drew a tsunami’s worth of ripped out. Rolls and folds shifted and danced like gelatin, slapping together to form a microcosm of smaller tremors. Leaning his arms back, he caught himself, preventing the momentum from pushing him onto his back. “Cirrus! Are you alright?” Blossom exclaimed.

“Yea… I’m fine uuuuurrpppp!! Can you… uh, help me out?”

“Of course! Just brace yourself for a sec, OK?” Cirrus nodded, feeling Blossom force her arms under his shoulders, looping around. “Ready? 1...2...3 nnnnnrrgghh!” Digging her feet into the ground, Blossom pulled with all her might. Her wings pounded, each flap bringing the 400 pound colt an inch higher at a time, eventually getting his feet planted on the ground. A few strenuous beats more, and Cirrus could stand under his own power.

“Sorry about the chair.” Mumbling, he felt Blossom’s hand gently resting on his back. Taking the hint, he waddled towards the house, thankfully slipping through the glass door.

“It’s fine, Cirrus, my family never liked it much. Besides, you don’t have to apologise for being a growing boy.” Passing through the kitchen, his belly growled in protest, the smell of cooking heavy in the air. Guiding him to the living room, she presented him with a wide faux-leather couch. Settling into the plush expanse, a wave of fatigue flooded over him, not dissimilar to the one brought about by a large Hearth’s Warming lunch.

“Bbboouuurrpppp… uh, hey Blossom? Can I take a nap here? I’m feeling pretty… yawn… wiped.”

“Sure thing! If you want, you can stay the whole night! You want a blanket or anything?” She cooly responded, only just able to contain her excitement.

“Nah… I get too warm in bed nowadays. Thanks for the offer.” Nodding, he gave her a small smile, forcing his cheeks to dimple cutely. Letting out another yawn, his eyelids drooped, his head flopping onto the back cushions. Sleep rapidly claimed him, he could feel Blossom’s hand gently rubbing his lower belly roll.

“Good night Cirrus, by tomorrow, this belly is going to be bigger and softer… and you’ll want even more food to fill it up. So sleep well, big boy, because you’re going to be an even bigger boy soon.”

Day Sixty - Zenith of Poundage

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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?

Summertime Gluttony

by MetalBrony20

Day One - Planting the Seeds of Temptation

Day Six - Developing Urges

Day Fifteen - Growing Greed

Day Twenty Nine - Daytrips and Clothing Rips

Night Twenty Nine - Dreams of Flabsolution

Day Forty Seven - The Weight of his Actions

Day Sixty - Zenith of Poundage