Rumble kicked the soccer ball into the air with a flick of his foot, before stretching out his arms and catching it as it fell back to the ground. He smiled as he heard and felt the satisfying smack of leather in his hands.
"Still got it," he told himself, carrying the ball under one arm as he flexed the other, admiring the lean muscle that ran along his upper arm before tapering at his elbows, before continuing with an impressively powerful-looking forearm. Rumble had always been the athletic sort, especially when it came to soccer. He'd joined the Ponyville local team some time ago, and had made a name for himself as a very talented goalkeeper, acquiring no less than five clean sheets in eight games. At age thirteen, Rumble already had the kind of athletic physique that many grown stallions would be proud of, and his soccer coach had been hinting that he should seriously consider a career in the sport once he left school.
Hopefully, he'd be able to get some practice in while he was staying with Thunderlane and Blossomforth. Rumble's parents had announced some time ago that they were heading to Whinnyapolis on a business trip for two months, and that they had arranged for Rumble to stay with his older brother and his marefriend for the duration. Like most adolescent colts, Rumble had protested strongly that he was perfectly capable of looking after himself... and, like most adolescent colts, he had been shot down almost immediately. Thus was how he found himself waving goodbye to his folks as he stood on the street corner, before turning and heading for the bungalow that Thunderlane and Blossomforth shared. The house was well-kept, with a neat and tidy front garden, and a pair of gnomes standing on either side of the front door like sentinels. Certainly, there were worse places to spend two months. Rumble sauntered up to the front door and pressed the doorbell, causing a metallic ringing to come from inside.
"Thundie, sweetheart, could you get that?" a sweet mare's voice called from inside. "My hands are a little full." Rumble smirked. Thundie?
This was followed by a grunt, then the sound of heavy, lumbering footfalls. Rumble's smirk widened. Oh, that was Thunderlane, alright. The sound of somepony fumbling with the latch, and then the door opened to reveal Rumble's big brother—his very big brother.
Thunderlane's enormous 500-pound frame was currently packed into a white tank top, stretched to its limits around his massive gut, riding up so that his deep navel was in full view. The grey sweatpants he was wearing were clearly struggling to contain his gargantuan rear end and thick, tree-trunk thighs, and his hips just about filled the doorway in which he stood. It may have been Rumble's imagination, but he could have sworn he could detect the faint aroma of grease emanating from Thunderlane's rolls. No matter how much Rumble tried, he could never quite connect the blubbery behemoth before him with the lithe, athletic stallion from just two years prior.
"Hey, bro!" Thunderlane beamed, a grin crossing his plump face as he gave Rumble a slap on the shoulder with his meaty hand, setting his flabby upper arm off jiggling as he did so. "Good to see you again. So, you're staying with us for the next two months, huh?"
"Looks like it," Rumble smiled, giving Thunderlane a hug, taken back slightly at just how far his hands sunk into Thunderlane's fleshy sides.
"I see you brought your soccer ball," Thunderlane added. "Good to see you're still getting practice in. I saw you in action against Tall Tale last week, y'know. You were on fire!"
"Oh, that," Rumble nodded, smiling modestly. "That was nothing, really. I was hoping to get some penalty shots in with you guys sometime. A little practice can never hurt."
"Well, I'm not exactly built for physical exercise anymore," Thunderlane chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. "But I'm sure Blossomforth would be happy to help you out."
"Help out with what?" came a female voice from the kitchen door. Rumble stepped out of Thunderlane's way, ready to greet Blossomforth...
Holy sweet Celestia.
The last time Rumble had seen Blossomforth was in January, when the snow had still been thick on the ground and she'd been bundled up in a sweater and jeans. Rumble knew she had a figure to die for, but none of it had exactly been on display when he saw her last, covered by several layers of wool and cotton.
Her summer wear for the middle of May, though? That was something else altogether.
Blossomforth was dressed in a very tight-fitting hot pink sleeveless crop top, stretching around her ample breasts and leaving very little to the imagination, even with a bra on. Down below was a pair of denim shorts that covered the top half of her thighs and pretty much nothing else. From there, it was all shapely legs, all the way down to a pair of flip-flops the same colour as her top. Just the sight of her was enough to send the adolescent colt's hormones into full-on panic mode. Rumble could already feel blood rushing to his crotch, and silently thanked the gods above that he was wearing baggy cargo shorts.
"Hey there, Rumble," Blossomforth said cheerily, giving him a warm smile. "Long time no see! How are you?"
"I'm... I'm good, thanks," Rumble replied, swallowing as he felt his mouth go dry.
"Rumble was just wondering if you'd help him out with some penalty shots sometime," Thunderlane said. "He's still keen on practicing his goalkeeping."
"Oh, of course!" Blossomforth replied, nodding and smiling. "Any time you want, Rumble."
"Maybe later, thanks," Rumble said, smiling back. "Right now, I just wanna get unpacked and relax for a bit." And take care of a little problem down below, as well.
"No problem," Blossomforth said, nodding again. "Come on, I'll show you to your room."
As they headed upstairs and Thunderlane waddled back into the living room, Blossomforth took the opportunity to get a look at Rumble's slim figure. She felt a pang of sympathy for him—the poor thing was practically skin and bone! Somehow, though, Blossomforth thought that wouldn't be the case for too long.
What Rumble didn't know was that Blossomforth had always had something of a Midas touch when it came to fattening up stallions. Blossomforth had had two coltfriends in her life before she met Thunderlane, and both of them had ended up ballooning in weight just like he had. There was Rock Crawler, a muscular jock type who she'd hooked up with as a sophomore and spent two years with. He'd entered his senior year as one of the fattest students in Ponyville High. Then there was Fresh Breeze, who she'd spent most of her college years with. He'd been pretty skinny when they first met, but soon needed XXXL pants after spending enough time with Blossomforth.
Not even coltfriends. When she was just ten years old and had first gotten into baking, she'd gotten her next-door neighbour, eleven-year-old Cirrus Sweep, to act as her taste tester. A year of that, and Cirrus had grown fat enough to need teenage-size clothing. For whatever reason, Blossomforth just loved to get stallions nice and fat—always had done.
And Rumble, she felt certain, would be no exception.
A few hours later, both Rumble and Blossomforth stood in the back garden. Blossomforth had swapped her flip-flops for a pair of sneakers, and was carrying Rumble's ball in her hands. Rumble stood against the wall at the back of the garden, a look of determination on his face.
"Okay, Blossomforth," he called. "Give me your best shot!"
"Here it comes!" Blossomforth called back. She set the ball down on the ground and took a couple of steps back, before running forward and kicking it towards Rumble. With an almost graceful dive, Rumble jumped forward with outstretched hands and knocked the ball to safety.
"Nice work, Rumble," Blossomforth smiled. Rumble, however, looked disappointed.
"Not really," he muttered. "If I did that in a real game, I could have knocked the ball straight at a striker's feet, and then I'd really be screwed. Come on, let's try that again. I know I can do better than that."
Blossomforth obliged. Another kick, and this time Rumble managed to jump up and catch the ball, hugging it close to his chest as he touched the ground.
"Much better," Rumble grinned. "Come on, let's keep going."
And so they continued, with Rumble pulling off a variety of different saves. Some of them earned his approval—others, his disappointment. Eventually, after about twenty shots, Rumble decided to call it an evening.
"Thanks, Blossomforth," he said, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow and consciously reminding himself to look Blossomforth in the eyes, not the chest. "Great practice today."
"Whew!" Blossomforth panted, bent over with her hands on her knees. "I think you gave me just as much of a workout, Rumble. Say, what time is it?"
Rumble checked his watch. "Um... ten past six."
"It's getting on for dinner time, then," Blossomforth nodded. "You hungry?"
"Yeah, I could eat," Rumble replied, tossing the ball to one side. "Worked up an appetite, you know?"
"Oh, I know," Blossomforth smiled, as they headed back indoors. "Thunderlane won't be joining us tonight, I'm afraid. He's had to go to Sugarcube Corner—something about a new brand of chocolate. So it's just you and me, little buddy."
Rumble nodded as they stepped back into the dining room, whereupon Blossomforth immediately kicked off her sneakers.
"Ahh, that's better," she sighed, wiggling her toes in pleasure. "I need to get some new sneakers, ASAP. Just take a seat there, Rumble. I'll have dinner out in a sec."
Rumble obliged and took a seat at the table, while Blossomforth headed through a door into the kitchen with a slight unconscious wiggle of her hips. Rumble wasn't bold enough to stare at her ass, but he liked what he caught out of the corner of his eye. He took the opportunity to take a look around the kitchen. Wooden floor, cream-coloured walls, wooden cabinets—it all looked fairly standard, save for a frankly hideous art deco-style end table in the corner of the room.
Before long, Blossomforth came into the room bearing a steaming bowl of... something. Whatever it was, it smelled gorgeous.
"What smells so good?" Rumble asked.
Blossomforth smiled as she set the bowl down in front of him. "Homemade stew, my mom's recipe. I've never known a pony who didn't immediately fall in love with it."
Rumble took a look down at the bowl of thick brown liquid, with chunks of what looked like cauliflower in it. It certainly looked good. Taking a spoon in his hand, he dipped it into the stew and took a mouthful.
Oh... oh, wow! he thought, his eyes widening. Two thoughts immediately came to mind. The first was that if Blossomforth's cooking was this good, it was no wonder Thunderlane had gotten so fat living with her. The second was that in a similar vein, it was a miracle that Blossomforth had managed to keep her slender figure. The stew was positively divine. Rumble could detect the beautiful flavour of thick broth and vegetable stock, along with rosemary and tomatoes, all coming together to produce an utterly delectable tidal wave of flavour crashing down over his taste buds. A positive beam crossed Rumble's features as he swallowed.
"Holy Celestia, that was amazing!" he exclaimed, immediately scooping up another spoonful and shoving it into his gob.
"I knew you'd like it," Blossomforth chuckled, smiling appreciatively.
"Aren't you eating?" Rumble asked.
Blossomforth shook her head. "Not hungry just yet."
Before long, Rumble had polished off the full bowl of stew. Licking his lips, he gazed down at the table... just in time to see a second bowl being put down in front of him.
"Wha?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I know, I always make too much," Blossomforth sighed, rolling her eyes. "So I figured there's no sense in letting it go to waste, right?" Especially not when it can go to waist, instead.
"I guess not," Rumble grinned. Any opportunity to eat more of this manna was a welcome one, as far as he was concerned. He tucked into it with just as much gusto as he had the first one.
Blossomforth stood by and watched, a smile on her face as she bit her lip slightly. Clearly, she hadn't lost her touch. Watching Rumble devour her cooking so eagerly brought back fond memories of when she'd gotten Cirrus Sweep to try out her cookies for the first time all those years ago. She wondered idly whatever had happened to him. They'd sort of lost contact after she'd moved on to high school. Last she heard, he was still struggling to fit through doors. She could still picture the scene—her ten-year-old self, barefoot and in a little sundress, watching eagerly as Cirrus wolfed down plate after plate of cookies...
Blossomforth snapped out of her trip down memory lane when she saw that Rumble's bowl was nearly empty again. She wasted no time in taking the empty bowl away and swooping down with a third one.
"More?" Rumble mumbled, belching.
"Yep," Blossomforth replied. "Come on, Rumble, I hate to see food go to waste."
And so a third bowl vanished, followed by a fourth. Rumble's movements were beginning to become more sluggish, as he felt the heavy, warm weight of the stew in his belly grow ever heavier with every mouthful. It might have been Blossomforth's imagination, but she could swear his stomach was beginning to distend with every bite. Unfortunately, it looked like Rumble wouldn't last much longer.
Sure enough, midway through the fifth bowl, the spoon clattered to the floor as it slipped from Rumble's grasp and he slumped forward, resting his head on the table as he let out a low, pained groan, his hands pressing into the taut skin around his swollen abdomen. His gorging had given him a noticeable food baby, pressing up against his shirt.
"Oh Celestia, take me now, I have made a mistake," he moaned.
"Need a hand getting up?" Blossomforth asked.
Rumble nodded wordlessly, groaning and belching.
"C'mon, then. Let's get you somewhere where you can sleep this off."
With Blossomforth's arm wrapped around him, Rumble stumbled zombie-like to the spare room and fell onto the bed, groaning again as he felt a pang of pain from his overfilled belly.
"Thanks for..." he mumbled, before finally succumbing to a food coma and trailing off listlessly, the only sound coming from him being the gurgling and churning of his stomach.
Blossomforth smirked. Somehow, she got the impression that Rumble wasn't very used to heavy meals.
"Enjoy it, little guy," she whispered, as she shut the bedroom door. "It'll be far from the last."
"Thunderlane! Rumble!" Blossomforth called, setting two trays down on the kitchen counter. "I've got some cookies down here with your names on them!"
The very mention of cookies had Thunderlane rushing into the kitchen at a speed which, by all accounts, should not have been possible with his size. Not far behind him was Rumble. After giving Thunderlane a peck on the cheek, Blossomforth took a look at Rumble.
She was delighted to see that there was indeed a slight bit of pudge around Rumble's stomach from his high-calorie feast the previous night. The gain was subtle enough that you'd never have noticed it unless you were specifically looking out for it, but it was there—and hopefully, it would be a sign of things to come.
"Cookies! My one weakness!" Thunderlane cried eagerly, practically lunging at the tray.
"Ah ah ah! Down, boy," Blossomforth snapped, pushing the tray away from him. "Rumble needs to get some, as well."
"I really shouldn't," Rumble said, biting his lip. "I need to make sure I keep in shape for soccer, and..."
"Oi!"
The trio turned their heads to the open window to see a grey mare carrying a cello case looking at them irritably.
"It's called football, and don't you bloody well forget it!" she shouted, before stalking off.
"...Right. Well, anyway, I need to watch what I eat," Rumble continued.
"Oh, come on, bro," Thunderlane snorted, his chins wobbling slightly as he did so. "A couple of cookies are hardly going to hurt, are they?"
"Yeah," Blossomforth agreed. "And besides, you deserve to treat yourself a little after all the work you've put into training."
"Well..." Rumble faltered, then gave in. "Alright, I guess a couple won't do any harm."
"That's the spirit," Blossomforth smiled, pushing the tray towards Rumble. Dutifully, he picked up a cookie and took a bite.
"Mmm... not bad," he said, licking his lips. And the cookies were indeed not bad—sweet, chewy dough, with dark chocolate chips and pecan mixed in. Just the way a cookie should be.
"Glad you like it," Blossomforth said sweetly. "It's a new recipe Pinkie Pie showed me. I've been experimenting with it."
"I was there when they first unveiled it," Thunderlane added. "Not that they could hold a candle to your own, Blossom."
"Oh, stop it, you," Blossomforth giggled, giving Thunderlane a playful slap on the back.
Rumble laughed as he took another cookie. "Mind if I take another one?"
"Of course not!" Blossomforth replied. "I made them to be eaten, after all."
True to his word, Rumble did only have a couple of cookies.
Well, a couple times five.
"Um..." Rumble blushed slightly as he wiped crumbs from his mouth when he saw that two-thirds of the cookies were gone. "Sorry. I don't know what came over me there."
"It's alright," Blossomforth smiled. "Maybe you just take after your brother."
"As if!" Rumble laughed.
"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" Thunderlane asked, a tone of mock indignation in his voice.
"Nothing, nothing," Rumble sighed, waving a hand. "Look, I hate to break this up, but I've gotta use the toilet."
"Alright, don't go far," Blossomforth nodded. "Lunch will be soon."
"Oh?" Rumble said. "I was going to get some practice in, but..."
"Practice, shmactice," Blossomforth said, waving a hand dismissively. "That can wait. An athlete needs energy, right?"
Rumble smiled. "I guess you're right."
"I dunno if I've told you this already, Blossomforth," Thunderlane sighed, patting his massive gut as he leaned back in his chair, "but your pizza is to die for."
"You say that about all my food, Thunderlane," Blossomforth smiled, sipping on a glass of water.
"Well, it's always true," Thunderlane laughed. "Rumble sure seems to think so."
Rumble burped, then patted his own stomach. "Mmph... yeah, I'm totally stuffed. Gonna take a lot of work to burn these calories off."
"Well, at least give your lunch time to digest first," Blossomforth said. "Don't want you puking all over the garden."
"Thanks, Blossomforth," Rumble said, rolling his eyes. "How does six o'clock sound?"
"Sounds perfect," Blossomforth replied.
At six o'clock, Blossomforth remembered that she had a batch of cupcakes that she needed Rumble's opinion on. Rumble acquiesced.
For the next couple of weeks, Blossomforth continued in her routine of feeding Rumble rich, calorie-filled foods and snacks, watching as the effects became more and more apparent on Rumble's appetite and psyche.
Whenever he felt like he'd had enough, she'd ask him, "Don't you have room for just a little more?" And, more often than not, Rumble did.
Whenever Rumble voiced the idea of heading out for goalkeeping practice, Blossomforth asked if he wouldn't rather sample some more of her baking instead. And, more often than not, Rumble did.
It was happening, the same way it had happened with Rock Crawler and Thunderlane—the transition from fit and athletic to tubby and lazy. The signs were all there; loss of interest in exercise, increased appetite, and of course, a burgeoning belly to show for it.
Rumble's little bit of pudge was now on the way to becoming a fine pot belly, along with a pair of love handles beginning to form. His once defined pecs were beginning to sag and lose their definition, and there was definitely a bit more of a bounce to his butt than there had used to be. That bounce was on full display tonight, as Rumble finally insisted on heading out for practice. Thunderlane was out visiting friends, so it was just him and Blossomforth ready to put on a proper display of soccer skill, the kind that would make the Brayzilian national team proud.
It wasn't going well, to put it lightly. Rumble's form that night was less like Brayzil and more like San Mareino.
"Oh, man," Rumble wheezed, as he limply reached out for the ball as it bounced past him once again. He kicked the ground in frustration. "What is wrong with me tonight?"
"Relax, Rumble," Blossomforth said consolingly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You're probably just having an off day. It happens."
"You're telling me," Rumble sighed. "My muscles feel like jelly. Like I haven't exercised in... in..."
Rumble trailed off, as he looked down at himself—at his bulging belly, his love handles peeking out from over his waistband, his flabby pecs. Blossomforth winced as she could practically hear the gears turning in his brain. Then, Rumble's face blanched.
"Wha.. wha...?" he gasped, stammering. "What happened to me? How did I get so fat?" He started to sweat. "Oh man, this isn't good, this is not good..."
"Rumble, sweetie, calm down," Blossomforth said, raising her hands. "It's not that big a deal."
"Not that big a deal?" Rumble repeated incredulously. "How long is it gonna take me to burn this off? I'm going to need to do cardio every night! This isn't what I wanted, darn it! I didn't think-"
"Is it really, though?"
Rumble blinked. "What?"
"I asked, is it really not what you wanted?" Blossomforth said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder again.
"Wh... what kind of question is that?" Rumble snapped, blushing. "Of course it's not what I wanted! I'm supposed to be an athlete! I can't get fat, for Celestia's sake!"
"I don't think you're being fully honest with yourself, Rumble," Blossomforth said, shaking her head slowly.
"Wha-"
"Quiet for a moment," Blossomforth said, placing a finger on his lips. "Rumble, I think it goes without saying that you've been letting yourself go for the past couple of weeks. This is the first time you went out to practice in almost a fortnight."
"That's because you always had something for me to do every time I wanted to go out!" Rumble protested. "You always had something for me to taste, or..."
"True," Blossomforth said simply. "But I never forced you to do it, did I, Rumble? You could have said, 'No, I need to practice', at any time, yet you never did."
"I..."
"What's more," Blossomforth continued, "I didn't make you eat all those extra helping at lunch or dinner. I didn't shove anything down your throat. That was all you."
Rumble swallowed. "Look, I... I..."
"Rumble," Blossomforth said seriously. "Just tell me this. Can you look me in the eye and say you didn't enjoy letting yourself go like that?"
Rumble looked down at the ground, poking his stomach with a finger and watching as it sank into his flab. He tried to reason with himself, but there really was no getting around it. The feelings of gluttony, of letting himself go, of lazing about and eating what he pleased, when he pleased... he had enjoyed it. He'd enjoyed it a lot.
"I..." He sighed. "Okay, I admit it, you're right. I... I guess I just didn't want to admit it."
"Well, it's up to you, Rumble," Blossomforth said, giving him an encouraging smile. "Keep it on, or work it off. I won't judge you either way."
Rumble bit his lip thoughtfully...
"Morning, guys!" Thunderlane said cheerfully, as he waddled into the kitchen. "Man, Caramel's new marefriend is a- what the heck?"
Rumble was seated at the table. Before him was an utterly enormous breakfast of pancakes, hash browns and waffles, all drowning in butter and syrup.
"Hey, bro," Rumble said through a mouthful of waffle.
"Wha... what's happening here?" Thunderlane asked, blinking.
Rumble grinned. "Let's just say that Blossomforth's given me a new outlook on life."
Six weeks later, Rarity swept in to the sales floor of Carousel Boutique to greet her latest customer.
"Why, hello, Blossomforth!" she said. "Long time no see, darling. What can I do for you today?"
"Hi, Rarity," Blossomforth replied. "I'm just helping my coltfriend's brother find some new clothes. We can't find anything in his size, so I figured we'd get them custom tailored."
"Ah, of course," Rarity said, giving a little bow. "Where is the young gentlecolt?"
"Right here," came a voice... and in lumbered the most obese colt Rarity had ever seen. His T-shirt looked closer to a sports bra, riding up on his massive gut and clinging around his B-cup moobs, his neck fat bulging over the collar. His shorts were stretched to bursting around a pair of thick cottage-cheese thighs, and his huge rear end was practically tearing them apart at the rear, tortured seams stretched to their limit.
"Make sure it shows off my figure," Rumble told the slack-jawed seamstress. "I want to look my best."
END
