Author's Note

This is intended as an idea dump of sorts for my own story concepts. Please do not solicit your own ideas.

Prompt: Spitfire, pregnant and on early maternity leave from the Wonderbolts. It’s a hot summer day, and she’s out on the beach, relaxing in the sun on a beach towel while getting a tan. She’s wearing a string tight thong that does nothing but emphasize her curves, her swelling teats on full display. Eventually, a teenage colt comes by, asking for an autograph. Spitfire obliges, but only if he’ll put some lotion on some of her harder to reach spots...

Contains: Feral, Pregnancy, Belly rubs.

Beachside Belly Rubs

Art by RusticPony

“E-Excuse me, a-are you, erm… are you S-Spitfire?”

Spitfire’s eyes came into focus. She wasn’t sure when she’d dozed off. Certainly hadn’t meant to, although that was kind of expected with sunbathing...

“Ahhh, nyup, nyup~” Spitfire stretched, smacking her lips. The sounds of splashing water and dull thuds of hooves in the sand greeted her, her whole body pleasantly warm from the dry summer heat. She raised her shades to see who’d asked her the question. A gangly colt, no more than a day over eighteen.

“In the flesh,” Spitfire said. “Can I do for ya?”

The colt gulped. His face was a furious mess of red, his wings twitching at his sides. “I didn’t mean to bother, ma’am, but I-I… I mean, could I… if it’s not too much trouble…”

He produced a quill and pad of paper from beneath his wing.

Spitfire snickered. Ah, yes, the Type-G fans: The timid and respectful ones. She didn’t mind these ones too much. They were endearing in small numbers.

“An autograph, eh?” Spitfire grinned. “Now why would you want a scribbling from lil’ old me?”

The colt scrunched up his face. “Because you all are so cool to watch! You guys must train a ton to do all that crazy stuff! I, erm… r-respect that a lot.”

Good answer. If he’d given her some stupid line like, ‘I think you’re a god,’ or whatever, she’d have told him to scram. Appreciation for what she did was flattering, but hero worship was creepy.

Spitfire grunted as she made to sit up. It was harder to do these days, thanks to the massive yellow orb her belly had turned into. She’d been prepared for most of the stuff that’d come with getting pregnant, but having the bump take up so much of her vision when she was on her back was weird.

“Ugh...” Spitfire laid a hoof on her womb, her hoof lingering on her stretched-out nub of a navel. Apparently, the little demons had fallen asleep, as well. The heat had probably mellowed them out like it did her. Guess they took after their momma. “Easy does it… alright, who am I making this out to?”

The colt’s blush grew. He bit his lip, a tiny moan escaping him. “U-Uhm…”

Spitfire raised an eyebrow. She watched the colt’s eyes drift to her fertile swell, her ample hips, and hefty teats wobbling in the noonday sun. She was at a pretty good view to see that he was at full mast, but even still, he made no effort to hide it. Either he was just that damn determined to get her autograph, or he was using it as an alibi.

A sneaky smile crept up on Spitfire’s lips. “What’s wrong, kid? You never seen a pregnant mare before?”

The colt’s eyes flew back up. “S-SORRY! Sorry… aw, man… I didn’t mean...”

“Hehe.” Spitfire adjusted her string bikini, shaking out her wings one at a time. “I suppose I can’t really blame ya. I make pregnancy look good, don’t I?”

The colt did his best impression of a bobblehead.

“Tell ya what.” Spitfire bad the colt a little closer. “I’ll give you an autograph, but in return, you’ve gotta do something for me.”

The colt cocked his head. “What?”

Spitfire tossed him a bright orange bottle.

“Put on a fresh layer,” she said. “And make sure to get alllllll over, alright? Don’t be shy. It’s hard for me to reach some spots these days.”

The colt’s eyes grew huge. “R-Really?”

Spitfire took his quill and notepad, jotting down her signature and cutie mark. “I expect an ace job, recruit.”

The colt stared at the bottle, which lay in the sand before his hooves. “Yes, ma’am…”

Spitfire eased herself back down while the colt knelt beside her. She slipped her shades back on, letting her eyes fall closed. She heard the sllllppppp of him squirting out some of the lotion, directly onto her belly.

“Yup. Just like that,” Spitfire relaxed, feeling his hooves tentatively touch her, then slowly grow more confident. He lathered the suntan lotion onto her womb, feeling her smooth, slick, stretched skin slide and shift.

“You’re due, erm... pretty soon, aren’t you?” the colt said.

“Mmhmm,” Spitfire said. “Bout six weeks, give or take. Bigwigs made me go on leave a bit early, though. They’re convinced I’m gonna pop early…”

The colt couldn’t blame them. Spitfire was huge, her belly alone over half his size. He’d heard rumors that she was pregnant with more than one, but they’d been just that, rumors.

“I saw you two months ago at the show in Canterlot.” A bit of yearning crept into the colt’s voice. “You didn’t perform, but you were interacting with the fans afterwards, wearing your Wonderbolt suit…”

Spitfire chuckled. “Liked that, eh?”

The colt put a little more pressure into his efforts. He rubbed more lotion onto her taut skin, covering her giant bump in a shiny sheen.

“I certainly couldn’t wear it right now,” Spitfire said. “I’ll tell you, it was a trick to get into it even then. Certainly didn’t leave much to the imagination.”

The colt wasn’t about to admit that the image of a massively-pregnant Spitfire in a skintight leotard had been the subject of his fap sessions ever since.

But then again, he didn’t need to.

“The team aerobics instructor was getting frustrated with me,” Spitfire continued. “He didn’t think I should be doing the same routine the team was doing, wanted me doing a lighter load. Think it was him that finally said something to top brass, but that’s fine. The time off’s a nice change.”

“A-Are…” the colt hesitated. “Are you gonna keep performing after you have the kids?”

Spitfire raised her head. “Kids? Who says I’m having more than one, eh?”

The colt backpedaled. “NO ONE! No one at all!”

Spitfire just stared, keeping up her poker face.

The colt relented. “Okay, everyone is. You have to be! It’s just no one’s sure exactly how many, and you haven’t said yourself...”

Spitfire decided to let him off the hook. “I suppose I am a little too big for it not to be kinda obvious… Not that some ponies mind seeing me get all big and full with a lotta foals, am I right?”

She swore, she almost heard his boner get harder.

“I guess it’s kinda what I get for not reading the profiles at the sperm bank all the way through,” Spitfire said with a sigh. “If I had, I’da noticed the guy I picked had a long, long family history of multiples. Combine that with my own family’s history, and… well... “

She gestured to her belly, a giant, fertile orb of life. It gently rose and fell with her breaths, fluttering with every little movement of her foals. Fluid, syrupy warmth coursed through her, a glowing contentment resounding with her soft smile. Being pregnant was an experience that hadn’t all been pleasant, but moments like this were definitely high points.

The colt’s voice grew low and sure. “I think you’re gonna be an awesome mom. No matter what you decide to do.”

Spitfire smiled. She was gonna be a mom soon, holding her children in her arms. She wasn’t entirely sure yet whether or not she’d be going back to active performances once the kids were born, but it definitely wasn’t impossible.

“...Hey, kid?” Spitfire said.

“Yeah?”

“What’s your address?” She tore out a page from his notepad, setting it aside for herself. “I’ll see if I can get you some cool Wonderbolts swag.”