Five days later...

Flitter leaned down to turn the page in her book, nudging the paper with her nose. That motion set her whole body wobbling; she had to wait a few seconds before she could continue reading. She sighed, the sound echoing through the sparsely decorated cloud chamber. After all, any room large enough to contain Flitter in her current state would also be large enough to produce echoes.

Then the door opened with a creak; Flitter started, accidentally knocking her book to the floor. Sighing again, she shot her sternest glare at the intruder.

It was Cloudchaser, who answered that glare with, “Sorry.” She grabbed the book and flew it back up to its original resting place—the impromptu table formed from the top of Flitter’s belly fat.

Flitter’s glare softened a bit. Given her current state, it was difficult for her to look intimidating, anyway.

Ever since that incident at Sugarcube Corner, everything about Flitter had softened a bit—and then some. She had digested the whipped cream, thousands upon thousands of gallons worth, and converted every ounce into fat. Her face alone was twice as large as before, thanks to her double chin and thick, round cheeks. She could barely move her head, because of how her bloated shoulders swallowed her neck. They had almost swallowed her forelegs as well: the visible part of the limbs, about a quarter of their length, poked out of thick sleeves of fat that resembled tires on the side of her body. Her hindquarters were even thicker, with her haunches bloated into even larger tire shapes, into which her hind legs sank until just the hooftips were visible. Only her wings could still move freely—and at her current size, those feathery limbs were almost as useful as hummingbird wings on a prize-winning watermelon.

But the biggest change to Flitter—and for that matter, the biggest part of Flitter—was her belly. It was a round hill of pure blubber, lifting her off the ground three or four times her normal height, and bulging out even further horizontally, under its own weight. Her gut spilled over every side of the cloud mattress underneath—the cushion had been mashed together from several princess-sized mattresses, yet it still wasn’t enough to completely support Flitter’s round bulk.

At least she still had her mane styled, with her favorite pink bow tied behind her head. Flitter may have transformed against her will into a gigantic ball of flab—more blubber than pony—but she’d be damned if she didn’t try to make it look good.

“Anyway—” Cloudchaser’s voice snapped Flitter out of her contemplation, “—you’ve got a visitor. It’s...” She rubbed her forehooves as she hovered at Flitter’s eye level.

Flitter sighed. “Lemme guess. Pinkie Pie?”

“Yeah. She says she wants to apologize.” And now Cloudchaser was scratching the back of her head. “I think she sounds pretty sincere. But if you’re not ready, I can tell her to leave.”

“Nah, I’ll have to see her sooner or later. Might as well get it over with.”

Cloudchaser nodded and disappeared back out the door.

Wait a second, Flitter thought. This is a cloud house. How did Pinkie even get up here?

But before she could pursue that thought any further, Pinkie arrived. She pranced straight through the wall, giggling to herself as she did. But the smile shrank as she looked up—and up, and up, and up—at Flitter. “Um, hello, Flitter.”

“Hey.”

“I really messed up.” Now it was Pinkie’s turn rub her forehooves nervously. “So I wanted to say that I’m really, really sorry for what happened.”

A small, bitter part of Flitter’s mind wanted to hold onto her anger, but that grew increasingly difficult with every passing second. Pinkie was the very picture of contrition: her ears folded down, her normally unruly mane drooping slightly, and a faint blush darkening her already pink cheeks. Staying angry at Pinkie in this state was almost as unthinkable as kicking a puppy. “Okay,” Flitter said, “I forgive you.”

“Thank you, thank you!” Pinkie leaped forward—eyes closed and forelegs widespread—and plastered herself against Flitter’s huge gut. The obese pegasus jiggled as Pinkie sank a few inches into her belly fat.

“What are you doing?” Flitter asked.

“I’m hugging you, silly!” Pinkie opened her eyes. “What, is it not working? Is my hug a dud? Oh, crud! Don’t worry—I’ll fix it, or my name is mud!”

“What.”

Pinkie stepped away from that enormous belly and somehow disappeared from Flitter’s sight. Less than a second later, pink hooves wrapped around Flitter’s head from behind, as Pinkie reappeared on top of the blubbery pegasus. She hugged tightly, nuzzling against Flitter’s chubby cheeks, and her own slight stomach pudge squished against Flitter’s enormous shoulder fat. Once Flitter got over her initial shock, she had to admit—

“There! Is that better?” Pinkie asked.

“Definitely,” Flitter replied, wobbling under Pinkie’s affection. “Nopony else hugs as good as you do, Pinkie.”

“Aaawwww...” Pinkie nuzzled her one more time before pulling away and standing up. “But that’s not the only reason I’m here.”

Atop the blubbery hill that Flitter had become, there was enough space for a mare to trot back and forth comfortably. And that’s exactly what Pinkie did as she continued talking: “I was saying to myself the other day, Pinkie, saying sorry is nice, but sometimes that’s just not enough! Sometimes you gotta go out there and show you’re sorry, by fixing that mess you made!”

“Pinkie...”

“And you know what I said to that?” Pinkie paused on Flitter’s backside, then bounced up and down in place—heedless of how the pegasus wobbled like gelatin beneath her—as she continued chatting. “I said, Wow, Pinkie, you are so right! But what can I do? Normally I’d bake Flitter some kind of tasty treat, but I don’t think she’d like that right now. Should I—”

“Pinkie! ...Um, what are you doing?”

Pinkie stopped bouncing up and down, and instead pranced in place—still on Flitter’s backside. “Wow, I thought clouds were the most-est comfortable-est thing to walk on! But your tushy-tush feels even better! Wheee!” Her hooves sank into Flitter’s fat with every step, sending ripples across her blubbery body.

“Well, at least I’ve got that going for me.” Flitter chuckled. “But really, Pinkie, I don’t think I really need any help from you about this. Between me and the doctor and Cloudchaser, we’ve already worked out a diet and exercise program to get me back to normal.”

“Oooh!” Pinkie bounded back up to Flitter’s shoulder, then leaned over to look her in the face, her own head upside-down. “And how soon will you be flitting around again, just like normal?”

“Ummmm...”

“Oh. That long, huh?” Pinkie yanked her head back and sat down, her own plush rump squishing into Flitter’s still-jiggling mass. “And that’s what I thought I could help you with, Flitter! I can’t really help you budge this pudge, but for the next ummmm I can help you do everything else that needs doing!”

Flitter raised one eyebrow. “‘Everything else’?”

“You know, everything that you can’t do for yourself because you’re a big, round, squishy, cute ball of chubby-chub!” Pinkie began bouncing on her rump—Flitter had just stopped wobbling, and now Pinkie set her off again. “If you wanna listen to music, I can set up the gramophone for you! If you wanna read, I can go get the books for you, and even read ’em out loud if you want! If you need to wash up, I can roll you into the shower and scrub you down! And if you get hungry, I can... tell Cloudchaser and let her feed you.” She stopped bouncing. “So, what do you think?”

“Hmmm...” Flitter waited for her own wobbling to stop before answering. “Oh, what the hay. Sure, you can help me.”

“Yaaaaay!” Pinkie leaped into the air, and her landing set Flitter jiggling once more. “What should we do first, huh?”

“Well, I was reading a book when you walked in, so—”

“Books! Hooray for reading!” In the blink of an eye, Pinkie snatched up Flitter’s book from its resting place on her gut. She reclined, sinking slightly into Flitter’s fat as she read aloud: “‘Colt Mane swiped his sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes, then slicked it back with his free hoof. Booby traps in a ventilation shaft? he thought. This Diabolik certainly lives up to his name...’”

—————

“Heave ho!”

With a mighty shove, Pinkie rolled Flitter those last few feet into the shower. It was a huge stall, wide and tall enough to comfortably fit four mares as tubby as Flitter.

“Boy,” Pinkie continued, “it sure is convenient that you and Cloudchaser added such a huge bathroom to your house!”

“Yeah, hehe. Convenient.” Flitter tried to shrug, but the movement was obscured by her fat still jiggling after being rolled in here.

Pinkie bounded over to the shower head—it was a detachable, hoof-held design with a long hose, and she held it in her surprisingly prehensile tail. She also grabbed a long-handled loofah and jumbo bottle of two-in-one shampoo-and-body-wash. With one kick, Pinkie turned the shower on, the water streaming out at the ideal temperature. “Time for brushy brushy!” she proclaimed—around the loofah handle in her mouth, somehow—as she bounced back to Flitter then clambered up, onto the obese pegasus’s back.

Standing tall atop that hill of flab, Pinkie started with Flitter’s voluminous shoulders. She wetted an area thoroughly with the shower head, then squirted just a bit of shampoo on, and then used the loofah to work up a heaping helping of suds and spread them around, and finally rinsed the area off again. “Lather, rinse, repeat,” the instructions on the shampoo bottle said, so that’s what Pinkie did.

Flitter was conflicted. She had fantasized before about taking a long, sensual shower with another mare—as often as not, an earth pony whose soft curves hid a surprising strength. Pinkie Pie certainly fit the bill, but nothing else about this shower really matched her fantasy. For one, Flitter was a big blob of blubber, not her usual, trim shape. And instead of whispering sweet nothings into Flitter’s ear, Pinkie hummed a nursery rhyme as loudly as possible. And instead of caressing hooves, Flitter just felt the scrub-scrub-scrub of the loofah—and the waves rippling across her fat body with every motion. Though Flitter had to admit that the scrubbing and jiggling did feel awfully nice in their own way.

And then, without any warning, Pinkie started on Flitter’s mane. This time, she did use her hooves—running them up and down through her hair, and scratching her scalp wonderfully. Pinkie lay prone, her slight stomach pudge pressing tantalizingly into Flitter. The pegasus could feel her own flab embracing Pinkie’s soft but comparatively tiny curves.

“I really like your mane!” Pinkie said as she brush-brush-brushed Flitter’s mane. “My friend Rarity would be so jealous. You know what she’d say if she could be here?” Then, affecting a surprisingly convincing posh accent: “Oh, darling, your mane is so wonderful, darling! It’s as soft as fine imported Saddle Arabian silk, darling! You simply must tell me how you got this wonderful texture, darling! Darling, darling, darling darling...”

“Oh, yeah, that’s the ticket,” Flitter said, responding more to the scalp massage than to the impersonation. Closing her eyes, she leaned into Pinkie’s hooves and sighed.

Soon—far too soon for Flitter—Pinkie finished washing her mane and moved on. Then she washed Flitter’s tail, which was almost as nice. After that, she scrubbed down the sides of Flitter’s enormous gut, or at least as far as she could reach without falling off. She even cleaned around Flitter’s legs—probing with the loofah into the crevices where Flitter’s torso flab met the sleeves of fat around each limb. In, out, in, out went the loofah—spreading suds and sensuously scritchy-scratching her sensitive skin. Flitter shivered with pleasure at Pinkie’s deft touch, the slight jiggles from her own movement lost among the larger wobbles from Pinkie’s loofah work.

Eventually Pinkie leaped down to floor and set down all her cleaning implements. The shower head landed on the tile at an odd angle, loosening a bit from the hose. “Okay!” Pinkie chirped. “Time to roll you over, so I can scrub the rest of you!”

“Alright...”

Flitter wriggled as best she could to roll over, while Pinkie planted all four hooves and shoved against that gigantic, blubbery stomach with her head. Flitter wobbled and jiggled and shook from the movement—and eventually, she rolled a few feet. Both ponies repeated the process—push, wobble, roll, push, wobble, roll—until Flitter was on her back, in the center of the shower.

Pinkie grabbed her cleaning supplies again; the shower head loosened a little more as she picked it up. Once more, she ascended to the peak of Mt. Flitterchub. Starting at the deep divot of Flitter’s navel, she resumed cleaning: rinse, wobble, shampoo, lather, jiggle, rinse, shake, repeat. As Pinkie turned the shower head this way and that, loosening the hose even further, water sprayed from the base as well. But if she noticed that she was getting just as soaked as Flitter, she certainly didn’t react to it. Her normally-floofy mane and tail straightened as they grew wetter, gradually hanging lower and lower.

Pinkie started humming as she worked—quietly and tunelessly at first, but as her voice grew in volume, a distinct rhythm emerged as well. Then she began stamping her hooves and occasionally bouncing, the meaty thump of hooves against jiggly flab marking time for her song. And then she started singing:

“With a brush, brush, brush,
and a scrub, scrub, scrub,
we’re gonna wash, wash, wash,
all your chub, chub, chub!”

As she continued singing, Pinkie danced atop the wobbling mass of Flitter’s gut, swaying the shower head back and forth to form an impromptu indoor rainstorm. The shower head loosened even further, ensuring even more water sprayed onto Pinkie. Her mane was completely straight now, and her head-bobbing whipped it back and forth, flinging droplets in every direction.

Flitter’s eyes widened and her heart beat faster at the sight of Pinkie dancing atop her belly. The way Pinkie shook herself—the slight jiggle to her every movement—the water running down her curvy body—how surprisingly good she looked with a straight mane... This was a side of the party pony that Flitter had never seen before, and it lit a spark inside her even hotter than the shower water.

“For some fun, fun, fun,
in the tub, tub, tub,
it’s just a brush, brush, brush,
and a scrub, scrub, scrub!”

“Hey... hey Pinkie?”

“Yeeeees?” Pinkie spun to face Flitter, the motion loosening the shower head just a little bit more.

Flitter took a deep breath. “Has anypony ever told you... with your mane straight like that, you look—”

A sudden splash interrupted her. The shower head had unscrewed so far that the water pressure was enough to push it all the way off the hose. “Whoa!” Pinkie cried as the shower head flew into the air, while the hose slipped from her tail’s grasp, whipping back and forth as it sprayed a jet of water. The shower head ricocheted off the shower wall—then the floor—then a glancing bounce off Flitter’s gut to send it almost straight up—and finally it zinged off the ceiling and bonked Pinkie’s noggin with a loud conk!

Pinkie stumbled backwards, her eyes spinning in opposite directions. “Ooooooo... pretty stars...” she sing-songed. Her back leg stepped in Flitter’s belly button, sinking in just past the hoof. “Whoooooooo!” Pinkie cried as she lost her balance and fell on her rump. And, as luck would have it, she landed right on the shower hose—its wet length sliding easily between her plump cheeks. Her eyes widened, and she shook her head, somehow producing a sound remarkably like a ringing bell. Once her head cleared, Pinkie looked down at her belly—already bulging with water from the shower hose, and nearing the size of a beach ball.

“Uh, Pinkie?” Flitter felt the first flurries of worry somewhere in her massive gut.

“Yippee!” Pinkie smiled as she prodded her paunch, filling larger under her hooves. “Look at me, Flitter! Now it’s my turn to be big and round!”

“Um...”

“We can be balloon buddies!”

Pinkie bounced up and down on her rump, laughing as her bloated gut sloshed from the motion. The pink belly pushed her hind legs apart as it inflated—and now her backside was thickening as well, her rump and haunches rounding out as water rushed into them. As the pink stomach sidled up against the inside of her legs and haunches, every pleasured hoofy-kick was another jiggle across that swelling surface. Meanwhile, Flitter’s exponentially larger stomach rippled from Pinkie’s motion, wobbling harder with every passing second; with every bounce, Pinkie inflated larger and sank deeper into Flitter’s flab.

“Oooh, oooh!” Pinkie continued. “You know what would be even better? We can be BBFFs!”

“...Do I even want to know?”

As she answered, Pinkie punctuated each word by squeezing her belly between her forelegs: “Best...” Squish. “Balloon...” Squish. “Friends...” Squish. “Forever!”

Her hooves sank deep into that wobbly mass—already large enough that another Pinkie could have fit inside, and swelling still larger under her touch. Even as her hind legs splayed further, her gut squished around the sides of her haunches, which themselves filled larger than beach balls. Pinkie lifted into the air as her rump inflated with water, while the rest of her movement grew more sluggish—water was filling her whole torso, and her hind legs were visibly thicker.

“Uh, Pinkie?” Flitter called up to the pink water balloon pressing down on her own gut. “Don’t you think that’s enough? You still have to finish washing me, remember?”

Pinkie perked up. “Oh. Right!” She tried to grab the hose, but found her belly blocking the way. No matter how far she tried to reach, how hard she squished against her bloating stomach, she could barely get even halfway around that wobbly, water-filled mass. Her belly was so large, it was resting against Flitter now—it would have lifted Pinkie off the ground if she tried to stand on all four hooves. But standing was out of the question anyway, considering how her hind legs were stiffening, sticking straight out as more water inflated them.

Pinkie gave up on reaching around her gut and stuck her right forearm straight down instead, but this was no more successful. Thanks to her swelling torso and ballooning haunches, her leg could only reach to the edge of her cutie mark—which had stretched enough that the balloons were quickly approaching life-size. “Errrgh! Urrff!” Pinkie puffed her cheeks out as she strained harder, stretched farther. However, all she could do was squish her hoof deeper into her backside, her haunch jiggling beneath her touch as it ballooned larger and larger. Then—skoosh!—her left foreleg filled with water and stuck straight out. Pinkie glanced between that inflated limb and her right foreleg, still trying in vain to reach around her enormous backside. “Uh-oooooh!” she said, in a sing-song tone that didn’t sound particularly concerned. With another skoosh! her right foreleg stuck straight out as it swelled to the same size.

“Sorry, Flitter!” Pinkie said with a smile. “I’m too full to move any of my legs! Looks like I’m stuck!”

Flitter sighed.

“How big do you think I’ll get before somepony shuts the water off? Yaaaaay!” Pinkie waggled her thickened forelegs, whose bases were sinking into her water-swollen shoulders. Her hind legs were already halfway swallowed by her ballooning haunches. And at the angle they stuck out, they no longer supported Pinkie’s sitting up. So when she waggled her forelegs, and the small pool’s worth of water sloshed back and forth inside her, that was enough to unbalance her. Pinkie slowly rolled forward, her belly pressing directly against Flitter’s more massive one. Perched atop her bloated gut, Pinkie was twice her old height, and still ballooning larger. Then she stopped rolling forward, but the liquid sloshing inside her had too much forward momentum—and there were just enough wet suds to lubricate this patch of Flitter’s gut. The pink water balloon slid down the curve of the lilac blob.

Words failed Flitter as Pinkie’s face rushed towards her: “Uuuhhhhhhh...”

Pinkie, meanwhile, shouted “Wheeeeeeeeeeee—Ooomph!”

“Uuumph!”

The ponies’ faces collided—their lips locking together, both their mouths open.

Pinkie laughed. Then her cheeks swelled—larger than apples, then larger than softballs—in a matter of seconds. Flitter’s eyes widened as she whimpered. Water rushed from Pinkie’s mouth into Flitter’s, filling her cheeks until she began gulping it down. “Ulp! Ulp! Ulp! Ulp!” For the second time that week, Flitter felt her stomach fill completely—and then begin to swell, as the flood of liquid persisted.

Pinkie, meanwhile, was nowhere near finished. There was twice as much water pumping into her rump as there was pouring out her mouth, so she continued to inflate, if slower than before. She giggled again and waggled all four of her swollen legs—sinking further into her sides—her round body wobbling and rubbing against Flitter from the motion. Pinkie’s neck was inflating as well and beginning to merge with her swollen shoulders, already brushing against her cheeks and the base of her jaw.

Flitter had no idea what to think of this development. On the one hoof, kissing Pinkie was surprisingly nice, even under the circumstances—her lips incredibly warm and soft against Flitter’s own. On the other hoof, Flitter didn’t appreciate being inflated again. It was bad enough being a blubbery behemoth, but swelling with gallon upon gallon of water underneath her layers of fat? That was just insulting.

But, on the other other hoof, growing larger felt better than she ever expected. She’d already added several feet to her diameter, stretching to contain the water rushing down her throat. But now there was so much more of her to stretch—not just her skin and muscle, but her feet-thick layers of adipose as well. Every inch of that thickness grew more and more sensitive the further she bloated. As more water pumped into Flitter, inflating her to the height of six normal mares, ripples of pleasure from every cubic inch of her body lapped against her brain.

Perched atop her, Pinkie grew rounder by the second. Her haunches were merging with her torso; her cutie marks began to look more like weather balloons than party balloons. Her legs were three-quarters sunk into her haunches and shoulders, still occasionally wiggling for the few inches of freedom they had. Pinkie’s head was already swallowed a few inches by what had once been her neck, and her bloating torso squashed her swollen cheeks against her face.

Just as Flitter inflated to half the volume of the room—twice her size from before this shower mishap—the flow from the hose sputtered and came to a stop. Pinkie ceased inflating and, a second later, began deflating, as the liquid continued rushing from her mouth. Flitter, meanwhile, recognized what had happened and would have sighed with relief, if her mouth were free.

Her house’s water supply was completely exhausted. The end of this ordeal was in sight.

—————

Cloudchaser grit her teeth and pushed herself to fly faster, turn tighter. As she cycled through the air, her wake cut the surface of the Ponyville Reservoir.

It took every able-bodied pegasus in Ponyville, working together, to create a waterspout to carry Cloudsdale’s water supply. Creating a smaller spout, to carry a week’s worth of water for a single cloud home, was much simpler. A single pegasus could do it, if she were as fit as Cloudchaser.

Of course, Cloudchaser normally didn’t have to get the water alone. Normally, Flitter was there to help.

Cloudchaser muttered to herself as she completed another circuit, and the first droplets of water rose into the vortex she’d created. She made a few dozen more circuits to get a great liquid mass airborne, then two more circuits for good measure, then pulled away. It wasn’t the prettiest waterspout she’d ever made, but it got the job done. As the water arced through the air and landed directly in the tank’s refill spout, Cloudchaser’s chest swelled with pride. “Aw, yeah. I still got it.”

—————

A strange gurgling sound came from the shower pipes and the hose. Flitter groaned. That’s right, she thought. Today’s when we refill our water. Wonderful.

Once more, water rushed up the hose and straight into Pinkie’s enormous backside, and the pink balloon immediately went to work regaining the volume she had lost. This time, the water was cold, having come straight from the reservoir. Pinkie shivered at the sensation, spreading ripples across her entire body and even shaking Flitter beneath her.

Flitter responded unconsciously by twitching her own legs—and found them immobilized, even more so than before. A few minutes ago, her limbs were surrounded by thick sleeves of flab; now, her limbs were filled with water, swollen to twice their normal width, and slowly sinking deeper into those thick sleeves of flab. Something similar happened just behind Flitter’s shoulder blades: water rushed into her wings, which flared to the side involuntarily as they filled. Their motion shook the great blubber-coated water balloon of her body, as she continued inflating even larger.

The ripples of pleasure to Flitter’s brain had become proper waves now, slowly but steadily growing more intense as her skin and fat stretched further to contain the countless gallons rushing into her. She was more water than fat by now, and far, far more blob than pegasus, and becoming more so by the second.

Pinkie trailed behind in sheer size, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. Her diameter was over four times her old height, approaching five times; she inflated larger than Flitter had been before this shower. Her legs sank further and further, up to the hooves now, into her ballooning sides. Her swollen shoulders pressed her ears flat against her scalp and squished her bloated cheeks even harder, as her head also sank deeper into her round body. Pinkie’s eyes were scrunched shut as her inflating torso slowly enveloped her—but she hummed a upbeat tune, her muffled voice echoing through her water-filled body as it swelled ever larger. Another sound soon joined her humming: the soft brush-and-squeak of her backside against the cloud above, as her own inflation and Flitter’s growth below pushed her up to the ceiling.

Flitter’s bloating body sloshed even more, signaling the continued growth of her wings. A few seconds later, her primary feathers poked out from underneath her—each swollen to the width of a normal mare, and growing lengthwise just a bit faster than her torso was expanding. While her inflating wings spread across the floor, her barrel spread upward and outward, swallowing her legs even further. Now only the tips of her thickened hooves protruded, as the flow of water pumped Flitter to nine times the height of a normal pony, and larger still.

Pinkie’s backside pressed harder and tighter against the ceiling—she was well and truly stuck between it and Flitter now. With no room to expand above or below, and water still pumping into her rear faster than it could exit her mouth, Pinkie spread out to the sides even more than before. With a slosh and a gurgle, her hooftips disappeared into her inflating torso—leaving Pinkie just a balloon with a head, less than haflway poking out her front.

Weighed down by her ever-increasing mass, with all of her limbs too inflated to move, Flitter could do nothing but think—yet even that proved more and more difficult with every gallon that pumped into her. With the relentless flow of water filling her larger and larger, her skin and fat sang with the pleasure of elongating further and further. And cold reservoir water—having worked its way through the Pinkie balloon—poured, gallon after gallon, into Flitter, heightening her stretch-induced sensitivity even more. Every touch felt so wonderful: her inflating feathers brushing against her bloated torso and poking the walls; her back squishing against the floor tiles as she spread ever wider; her legs, completely enveloped, as her hooves finally sank into her torso. And, of course, there was Pinkie. As Flitter inflated ever larger, her body squeezed around Pinkie’s—and every inch of Flitter that embraced the smaller mare, sent escalating waves of pleasure straight to her brain.

So, under that flood of stimulation, the only thing Flitter managed to think was: Pinkie would probably think of this as a hug... I gotta admit... this is a really nice hug.

Then, Flitter’s right side brushed against the wall, and she simply lost herself in the haze of pleasure—face flushing, eyes rolling back in her head. Seconds later, her rump and her bloated shoulders contacted the other two walls, while her left side touched the massive shower curtain. More water pumped into her, and she pressed harder against the three walls, spreading over their surface as she filled larger and larger. The walls pushed back against her, stimulating Flitter even further, prompting her to moan into Pinkie’s mouth. Constrained on three sides, and partly stuck beneath Pinkie, most of Flitter’s gargantuan body spread up as she continued inflating—until a mere minute later, when her belly squished into the ceiling. Flitter moaned again as the water kept flowing. Her flab crept around the shower pipe, squished into the corners, squeezed tighter and tighter into every cubic inch of space around Pinkie’s ballooned body, and pushed the shower curtain several feet outward.

This shower stall was large enough to comfortably contain fifty adult ponies—twice or three times that, with pegasi hovering in the air—and now Flitter, with help from Pinkie Pie, had completely filled it.

As the pressure increased on nearly every side, and the shower curtain caressed her bulging left side, Flitter moaned once more, louder still. Then she felt something give as her rear pressed into it—the shower handle, finally moving back to the Off position.

The water stopped, and all was still for a few seconds. Then Pinkie—a squashed sphere with just the tip of her muzzle poking out, only small in comparison to Flitter—let out a watery, resigned groan as she once more began deflating. She ran backwards through her growth: First her head emerged, then her hooves. As her legs peeked halfway out of her receding torso, they too began shrinking to their normal size. Her body regained definition—distinct haunches, shoulders, and belly emerging from the ball of her torso.

Of course, every gallon that Pinkie lost was another that Flitter gained. As the one shrank, the other bloated around her, holding her tighter and tighter—until the pegasus belly pushed Pinkie away from Flitter’s face, finally breaking their accidental kiss and ending Flitter’s inflation. Pinkie, for her part, was almost back to her normal size—the little bit of remaining water gave her a sloshy belly bulge. But she didn’t exactly have space to appreciate it, since she was completely surrounded by Flitter’s mass, which pinned her to the wall, upside down.

“Woooweeeee!” Pinkie proclaimed. “That was fun! I wanna do it again!”

Flitter’s only response was a vaguely satisfied moan.

“Wait a second...” The smile fell from Pinkie’s face as she glanced around herself, and suddenly remembered why she was completely surrounded by Flitter-colored flab. “Aw darn it. I really messed up again, didn’t I?”

Flitter moaned again.

“I’m sorry, Flitter!” Pinkie wriggled towards the shower exit, slithering between Flitter’s mass and the wall. “But don’t you worry. Auntie Pinkie will get this fixed in a jiffy!”

—————

“Hey, Flitter! Dinnertime!” Cloudchaser waltzed into the jumbo-sized annex, with her sister’s dinner balanced on her back. Finding the room completely empty, she shrugged, set the tray down, then walked over to the only other room where Flitter could plausibly be.

There was no door over the giant bathroom’s entrance, so Cloudchaser paused outside and called, “Knock, knock! Flitter, are you decent?”

The only answer was a rhythmic sloshing, and water splashing against tile.

Cloudchaser gave another shrug and entered. “Flitter, I got your... din... ner...” Cloudchaser’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

The source of the sloshing was Flitter—who was twice as big as the last time Cloudchaser saw her, and wobbling rhythmically as Pinkie Pie leaped up and down on her back. Every time Pinkie landed, a few gallons of water poured out Flitter’s mouth, down the shower drain.

“Wheeeee!” Pinkie shouted, flipping at the top of her bounce. “Only a couple thousand more to go!”

Slowly, silently, Cloudchaser backed away.

Author's Note

Merry Christmas, ya loonies.