Expanding Consciousness, Expanding Waistline

When Fluttershy’s teats were each nearly as large as her belly—and they had pushed a dozen potted plants, one end table, and three chairs almost up to the wall—the front door finally opened, heralding Tree Hugger’s return. “Blessings,” she said as she squeezed back into her house.

Fluttershy murmured something inaudible.

Tree Hugger wheeled in a portable milker: a fifty-gallon stainless steel bucket, topped with a pump and an assortment of clear hoses and suction cups. It took a few minutes just to waddle over to Fluttershy’s gigantic teats. Then, it took a few minutes more to affix a suction cup and hose to both of her nipples. Tree Hugger found that the cups stayed on much more securely if she licked the nipple first—much to her delight, and prompting some ambiguous moans from Fluttershy.

Once everything was in place, Tree Hugger lifted her hoof to the On switch atop the pump, then paused at the last second. She looked at the bucket below the pump; it was smaller than Tree Hugger’s own belly. “Hmmmm…” she said. She looked back up at Fluttershy’s teats, towering over her—each filled with seventeen times a mare’s weight in milk, and gaining more by the second. “Hmmmmmmmm…”

Tree Hugger attached the remaining hose to the pump’s output valve, then waddled back around Fluttershy with the hose’s other end. “Hey, sis,” Tree Hugger called up to her friend, “Can you hold this for me? I need to procure a larger bucket.” Without waiting for a reply, she tossed the hose up to Fluttershy.

“Hold wha—Umph!” The hose end popped into Fluttershy’s mouth, cutting off her answer.

“Groovy.” Tree Hugger waddled out the back door.

Fluttershy looked down, wide-eyed, at the clear plastic stuck between her lips, then sighed again. She really didn’t know how much more of this she could take. The escalating pressure as endless quantities of milk filled her teats; the tingling of her skin as they expanded larger and larger, the stinging where plants and furniture dug into them—the sensations were nearly enough to overwhelm Fluttershy’s brain.

So she didn’t notice as her left crotchboob, in its continued growth, pressed against the milking machine. She also didn’t notice as her teat bulged around its stainless steel sides, spreading inch-by-inch over the cylinder. She barely even felt when that milk-swollen mass pressed the On switch.

But when the pump activated, Fluttershy definitely noticed the sudden suction on her nipples—the slight decrease of liquid pressure inside her teats, the sudden jolt of perverse pleasure, easily twice as strong as what Tree Hugger had done with just her lips. After a few seconds, the suction relented—then after a few seconds more, it returned. On, off, on, off—the pump’s cycle was precise and mechanical, and milk surged down the hose in time with that rhythm.

“Hmmmm! Hmmmm!” Fluttershy proclaimed through the hose in her mouth, also in time with that rhythm. “Hmmmnn! Hmmnng!” But in between her confused cries, she could also hear a funny gurgling from the hose, and it grew louder by the second. Fluttershy realized what it meant just in time to whimper and fold her ears back.

The first surge of her own milk—nearly a gallon’s worth—rushed up the hose, between Fluttershy’s lips. Half of it filled her mouth, inflating her cheeks once again, while the rest poured down her throat. And before she could process what had happened, the second gallon of milk exploded out the hose, then the third, and the fourth. Too much, too fast for Fluttershy to swallow, the liquid just forced its way down her throat at the pump’s own rhythm. And she began rising into the air, with her belly once again inflating beneath her.

But this time, her belly wasn’t the only thing inflating. Fluttershy could feel pressure—the same pressure already inside her stomach and her crotchboobs—building up in the rest of her body as well. Her back and shoulders grew thicker, rounder, and softer. “Hhrrrrmmm?” she said in response. A glance down confirmed her forelegs were likewise swelling. “Mmmrrrrmmmmmm!” Fluttershy flailed all four of her legs—but they grew stiffer, harder to move, as they filled with more and more milk. After futilely beating a few times against her sloshing, swelling belly, Fluttershy’s legs stiffened beyond her control and stuck straight out. With a Gloosh! they inflated with milk—her hooves swelling to twice their width, her cannons swelling larger, and her shoulders and haunches growing larger still.

And her haunches merged with her rump as those cheeks also expanded. Fluttershy’s derrière had been thin and graceful; now it was bulbous, each cheek the size of a medicine ball and growing larger by the second. Inflating further, they wobbled against each other and sloshed against her enormous boobs. And those huge, swollen teats were still growing—producing milk faster than the milker could extract it. Each was about the same size as Fluttershy’s belly: twenty times an adult mare’s volume, and counting. As they grew even more, inflating with endless gallons of milk, they pushed potted plants and wicker chairs into the wall, spreading over them and pinning each in place.

“Nnnnmmmmm…” Fluttershy moaned into the hose as she feebly wiggled her legs the few inches they could still move. Meanwhile, at her sides, her wings vibrated of their own accord. Without warning, they shot straight up, feathers flaring. Before Fluttershy could react—Gloosh! Gloosh!—one by one, her feathers inflated from the milk rushing into her wings. Gloosh! Gloosh! Her formerly thin, elegant feathers became thick sausage shapes, and her longest primaries swelled enough to brush against the ceiling rafters.

Fluttershy glanced back at her inflated wings, which wasn’t easy, as her neck began to inflate and stiffen as well. She sighed against the flood of milk, filling her larger and larger. Her body’s growth—over thirty times her weight in milk, now—was outpacing her teats. She covered almost a third of the living room’s floor, and as she continued expanding, inch after inch, her sides pushed the coffee table, a couch, and dozens of potted plants towards the walls. A strange chorus accompanied the expanding pegasus’s attempt to fill the room: the scraping of wooden furniture legs against the floor, the rustling of leaves, the whirrrr of the milking pump, the sloshing and gurgling of ludicrous volumes of liquid inside the pony, and the occasional moans and whimpers from Fluttershy herself.

An odd sensation of skin brushing against skin began at the base of Fluttershy’s legs, then slowly crept down: her legs were sinking into her torso at it inflated further. “Hrrmmmm?” she whimpered, waggling her limbs for the few inches they could still move. Her shoulders merged with her bloated sides as they crept over her forelegs, inch by inch. On the other hoof, her rump and haunches stuck out further from the balloon of her body—inflating large enough that a stallion could comfortably stand inside each cheek, and then even larger. As her torso bloated with thirty-five times her weight in milk, more of her feathers bumped against the ceiling. Her wings had to tilt to the side—her feathers swelling larger and blunter—as the great curve of her back rose higher above the floor.

Fluttershy was barely recognizable as a pony anymore. She was one huge, yellow balloon, with slightly smaller balloons attached: her teats, her rump, and her feathers. Her legs had sunk halfway into her torso’s bloating sides—and it wouldn’t be long before her head was likewise engulfed by her own body’s expansion. Already, her inflating neck had merged with her shoulders and now brushed against Fluttershy’s swollen cheeks.

As Fluttershy gulped down more than forty-five times her weight in her own milk, she expanded larger and larger, spreading over half of the room’s floor, and then even farther. She dominated the room, sweeping to the sides more and more of Tree Hugger’s plants and furniture with her endlessly inflating bulk. Behind her, the potted trees bent and the wall creaked under the ever-increasing pressure of her teats, still filling larger with countless gallons of milk. And to her left side, her belly now brushed against that wall, as well.

“Mmmhhhhnnnnnnnn…” Fluttershy moaned against the liquid surging into her, pumping her up to unthinkable sizes. The back of her head and base of her jaw were sinking into her inflated neck now, and the curves of her inflated body sloshed against her bulging cheeks. Her ballooning torso swallowed her legs even further; now only her puffy hooves still extended from her bloated sides. When Fluttershy desperately tried to flex her legs, her hooves barely moved an inch.

Her wings—each swollen larger than a twenty-pony raft—spread across the ceiling. Every individual feather inflated rounder and softer by the second; her largest primaries could have comfortably fit an adult mare inside. And it wasn’t just her wings pushing against the ceiling now. Her enormous ass, ballooning ever larger atop the globe of her body, and her even more enormous crotchboobs, squished between her and the wall, both bulged upwards. Spreading over the ceiling as gallon after gallon pumped into them, those yellow balloons trapped over a dozen hanging flowerpots with their inflating bulk.

Meanwhile, as Fluttershy gulped down over sixty times her volume, her left side covered more and more of that wall. She’d halfway covered the front door and completely squished over the window—anypony looking in from the street would have just seen a yellow-coated wall. Larger and larger she inflated, filling with unthinkable quantities of her own milk, hundreds upon hundreds of gallons. She spread across two-thirds of the floor, then farther, inexorably approaching the two free walls. Her hind hooves sank completely into her bloated haunches, while just the tips of her forehooves poked out of her swollen torso. And Fluttershy’s neck and shoulders squeezed further around her head—bulging around her huge cheeks and brushing the backs of her ears.

Fluttershy moaned again, through the flood inflating her larger and larger. She didn’t know what to think anymore; in fact, she found it increasingly difficult to think at all. The sensations of ballooning larger—seventy-five times her volume and still counting—filled her mind, as much as she filled this room. Her skin was fire where it stretched to contain these endless quantities of milk. The liquid inside her felt as heavy and dense as lead—yet the eddies and currents within were like a massage for her insides. Her immobility—legs engulfed by her body, wings too inflated to move—was more thorough than any shackles, yet softer than any blanket. On the far side of her mind-boggling circumference, her nipples were bright lights in her mind, shining with nearly obscene pleasure as gallon after gallon of milk poured out. And Fluttershy’s milk still tasted pretty good, even when it was pumped into her at this speed.

So in the midst of this figurative flood of sensations, and this literal flood of her own milk, all Fluttershy’s conscious mind could do was wonder: How much more could she take? When would this end? Would this ever end? Or was it just her fate now to inflate, to grow larger and larger for all eternity?

And that was when Tree Hugger returned. She waddled in from the back door, squeezing her thick belly through the doorway, with a wooden bucket on her back. “Okay,” she said, “I found a bucket that’s twice as big! So now we’re…”

The bucket fell from Tree Hugger’s back as she stared at the wall of yellow creeping towards her. Her gaze traveled up—and up, and up, and up—to take in the bloated behemoth that her friend had become. There was just too much of Fluttershy to see all of her at once. And it was looming closer and closer by the second.

“Whoa.”

Fluttershy, for her part, could only see Tree Hugger from the corner of her eye. Her inflating torso had swallowed her head halfway—pressing her ears flat against her skull, squeezing her puffed-out cheeks against her face—so she couldn’t turn her head to any side. And she couldn’t wave to get her friend’s attention, either: at that moment, her fore hooftips sank completely into her expanding torso, disappearing with a quiet slosh. All Fluttershy could do was call out to her: “Mhmmhmmmrrr! Hhmmm mmhhhh!”

“Wow, you’re right.” Tree Hugger smiled, reaching out to pat that massive yellow stomach.

“Mmnn hhh hhmmmm mmhhhh? Hhhrrmmm?” Fluttershy’s head sank deeper, her swollen body bulging over her cheeks and muzzle, inch by inch.

“That is so deep, Fluttershy.”

Fluttershy whimpered.

Tree Hugger skidded back towards the door. She grabbed the handle and pulled, as she said, “If you can just vegetate here for a skosh, I can—”

The door only opened partway; Fluttershy’s massive belly blocked it. The gap, though narrowing by the second, still had enough space for a normal-sized mare to fit through. Tree Hugger, her gut swollen with brownies and milk to three times its normal width, had no chance.

“That’s a bummer.”

“Hhhhhhrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmm! Mmmmmm—” Fluttershy’s last cry was cut short as her bloated torso squished over her snout, engulfing her head completely. Where it sank into her torso, a dip remained. And the hose stayed firmly lodged in there, continuing to pump even more liquid into the jumbo-sized balloon that had once been a pegasus—one hundred times her volume and then even more. Her thick, inflated wings spread across the whole ceiling and pushed against the walls now; even her smallest feathers could have fit two stallions inside. Meanwhile, her body inflated tall enough to reach the ceiling as well. Her teats covered the wall behind; her left and front sides covered those two walls—leaving just a scant few feet along the back wall as the only space uninvaded by Fluttershy’s still-growing bulk.

And that’s where Tree Hugger was—standing on her hind hooves with her back to the wall. But even so, there was barely enough room: already, Fluttershy’s inflating mass pressed against Tree Hugger’s own stuffed gut. The two bellies squished against each other, then the exponentially larger one began spreading around Tree Hugger, inch by inch.

However, Tree Hugger just stared at the advancing wall of yellow fur, entranced. She wore a serene smile on her face, as if she could see all the mysteries of the universe in the wobbles and jiggles of that ballooning mass. As Fluttershy spread over her hind legs, pinning her to the wall, she just reached out and poked the unfathomably large belly, giggling as ripples spread across the yellow surface.

“Righteous,” was the last thing Tree Hugger said before she was completely engulfed by Fluttershy’s inflation.

But that still wasn’t the end. Fluttershy’s gargantuan crotchboobs continued producing endless volumes of milk; the milking machine continued sucking gallon after gallon out, then pumping it all down her throat. Her blimp of a body expanded to occupy every corner and every crevice remaining in the room. And even then, she filled with yet more milk, and the pressure built up inside. Tree Hugger found she could breathe out, but couldn’t breathe back in. With a very undignified squeeeeeeak, the air was forced out of her by Fluttershy’s expansion—first from her lungs, and then from the rest of her—squashing her flatter and flatter against the wall.

The wall creaked behind her—as did the other three walls and the ceiling. On every side, chairs and tables broke under the unrelenting pressure of Fluttershy’s continued inflation—the snaps and cracks of breaking furniture barely audible over the sloshing and gurgling from the vast body of liquid. A crack appeared in the front window. Seconds later, the entire pane shattered outwards, and Fluttershy’s side bulged through the now-empty frame. The front door bent before breaking off its hinges; the back door followed soon after, and a yellow bloating belly squished through both frames. More shattering glass could be heard overhead as her bloating feathers smashed through every skylight.

At last everything was still. Tree Hugger was completely flattened. There was no more furniture to break; there were no more doors or windows Fluttershy could squish through. The walls and ceiling bulged outward, but they could bend no further. Fluttershy had filled the room—and then some—but there was just no space for her to inflate any further.

But the milk would not stop, and neither would the pressure.

A loud gurgle came from somewhere deep in Fluttershy’s massive bulk. The house answered it with a long groan.

The room exploded. Shattered pieces of the walls blasted into the front and back yards; roof beams and shingles flew hundreds of feet into the air. From the rubble emerged a yellow balloon. Fluttershy, now unconstrained, swelled to her full size, higher than the still-standing corners of Tree Hugger’s house. She was nearly two stories tall—or three if you counted the thick, round wings sticking straight up from her back—a wide yellow globe with indents where her head and legs had sunk into her body, and rump cheeks and teats nearly as large as the room she had just demolished.

And somehow, that milk machine kept working, pumping Fluttershy’s whale-sized body even larger.