A DAY AT THE BRONY CONVENTION

I haven't let her down.

Since me and Amelia (IG: @scootalynn) parted ways, quite a few people have asked me to pose for photos with them, and I've always said yes. It's a pretty normal thing to get asked to do at conventions when people like your cosplay, and people keep telling me that my cosplay is amazing. No one guesses that this is just how I look! Whenever I snap a pic, I'll post it to my Instagram and they'll follow me. I even took a few selfies, just for fun.

It's been pretty cool!

Some folks are kind of weird though... That is, I've gotten a couple of odd requests.

Most people just let me do any pose I feel like, but one guy specifically asked me to get down on all fours, on my hands and knees and beg like a dog. Then he had his buddy pretend to ride on my back. That was strange. Then they asked me if they could have a shot of me bending over from behind, and a shot of me licking my own feet – which was actually really easy, since my new body is super-flexible... I ended up uploading these pics to my Instagram anyway – I think they'll show people how versatile I am. Plus, those two guys seemed really excited to follow me. They even said they'll share my IG page with a bunch of their friends online on forums & stuff. I'll bet I get a ton of followers!

Wait.

....

What am I thinking??

– Ah yes, that'll be the mental changes...

M-Mental changes...??

– You heard me. Since that last transformation took out most of your body's remaining defenses, your mind's resistance to the fetishistic whims of others seems to be fading as well! Over the next few hours, I expect your core "personality" to retain very little of the original "Stephen"...

Stephen. That's my name.

Stephen Dirth. Not Rainbow Dash. I had almost forgotten.

I shuddered.

– Ah, it seems your refractory period is just about up as well! I hope you had a good time in your current body... who knows what'll happen next!

I need to hide.

Another restroom. Or get the fuck out of this brony-infested hellhole for good.

I ran.

Pounding the ground with the bare sole of my feet, I became suddenly thankful for the incredible athletic power in my legs & thighs. I accelerate to reach my top speed almost immediately, working my powerful haunches to whiz past stunned bronies at an unbelievable velocity. A few turn around and cheer – no doubt grabbing a chance to ogle my ass as I practically fly by. My chest, securely bounded in its sports bra, begins to tug somewhat uncomfortably at my shoulders. I ignore the sensation.

I keep running.

***

Near the convention exit, across from the registration tables, gather a gang of cosplayers, fans, and photographers. That legendary IG cosplaying duo, The Mango Sisters, has acceded to requests to particpate in a group shot featuring all 6 main ponies. Issy Mango, her F cups bulging succulently from a too-small D cup bra, has been attracting a great deal of con-goers alongside her sister, the similarly busty G cup Essra Mango. Issy, dressed provocatively in a custom-made (though not by her) Rainbow Dash outfit, has been flaunting her curves all day, getting more attention than usual due to her low-cut neckline and intentionally-undersized underwear. Essra cosplays a slightly more modestly-dressed Applejack (also custom-made... though not by her), content to allow her sister a little extra time the limelight... for now, anyway.

Their manager thinks aloud.

– Ok, so we've got a Fluttershy, a Rarity, a Twilight, and you two playing Rainbow and AJ at the center of the photo... shit, we're missing Pinkie Pie...

– I'm sure someone will turn up, groans an impatient Issy.

The manager turns to the gathering crowd, projecting his voice.

– Does anybody know where we can find a Pinkie Pie?? We need all of the Mane 6 for this shot – this pic's gonna make the front page of Equestria Daily!!

***

I can see the exit.

A big crowd has gathered to my right for some sort of photoshoot with a couple of showboating Insta sluts. I actually recognize them. Ignoring the cluster of syncophant onlookers and continue running, running towards the light – I can see the promise of blue sky! I can taste Freedom. Deep within me, I yearn to stretch my wings and fly.

I'm getting out of this bitch!

– Ding ding ding ding! Time's up, Rainboob!

All at once, my mind becomes an open receptacle, almost indistinguishable from the minds around me. What they want, I want – right down to my very cells and mitochrondria. I feel my DNA begin to unravel in eager submission to their foreign whims. I stumble. Suddenly, the exit – though in reality mere yards away – feels strangely remote, inacessible. Undesirable.

Why leave the con, when so many here need me?

My wings begin to fold up, shriveling, slurping back up into my spine.

I panic.

Flinging myself under the shawl of a nearby abandoned artists' table, my ovaries begin to burn with a renewed hormonal fury. They want Pinkie Pie – but even more, these bronies want a chesty hottie with a voluptuous figure to match The Mango Sisters. I feel my breasts begin to swell once more with a tingly, fiery, burning sensation as my nipples balloon sharply, biting painfully against my bra, stinging from the sheer blood pressure.

I stifle a yelp of pain and perverse joy.

The hair on my head and tail seems to forget itself, poofing maniacally into a chaos of ecstatic whips, fluffs, and bursts, trading in its electric jaggedness and detonating itself into a floofy maze of unbounded effervescence. With a jolt, all of my hair & skin becomes pink, Rainbow Dash's lightning cloud cutie marks erased in the process, replaced with an etching of three party balloons slapped across each of my burgeoning hips. My trim and toned physique was becoming ever-so-slightly chubbier, a mild layer of soft cellulite dusting my flesh where muscle had once been – all except my ass & titties, which were plumping themselves greedily with luxurious veins of taut fat. My gym shorts became miniscule short-shorts, cutting off absurdly close to my now camel-toed, overexcited quim. At some point my modest panties become a G-string, and the heated turmoil of my transformation cools to a stop.

Wriggling out from beneath the dark underbelly of the table and standing up, I found myself now wearing an absurdly tight blue tank-top which barely contained the strain of my bulging E cup breasts. My marginally chubby midriff bares itself past my navel. Curving sumptuously beyond the exposed skin of the small of my back, my tiny, tight shorts struggle to restrain my thick, fat rump, riding up sharply into the veritable canyon of my asscrack. As I walk towards the tittering crowd encircling The Mango Sisters, my asscheeks bobble alluringly behind me, fully two-thirds of their luscious half-melons on full, succulent display, the tattoo of my party-balloon cutie marks clearly visible on the side of each fat cheek. My boobs, free of their sports-bra prison, jiggle prominently, cresting obviously above the low cut of my top with every step I take.

I approach the crowd of con-goers, eager to join the party.

– Hey, there's a Pinkie Pie!

– She'll do perfectly!

– Wow, what a babe!!

– Hi guys! I find myself blurting cheerfully.

The Mango Sisters' manager approaches me and invites me to join their Mane 6 photoshoot. I'm more than happy to! He situates me near the middle of the shot, between Issy Mango's Rainbow Dash and a rather plain-Jane-looking Fluttershy. I crush my boobs together with my elbows, maximizing my already generous cleavage, and stick my tongue out, bending over and wagging my big, bushy tail with excitement. The cameraman takes a few photos.

– Say, "My Little Pony!!"

I yell the loudest.

After the group shot, I make sure that my username gets tagged properly when they share it on Instagram, Equestria Daily, and who-knows-where-else, and a lot of people come up to me asking if I'll take photos with them.

Of course I say yes!

Most guys seem to insist on holding me by my hips, wrapping an arm tightly about the small of my back, resting one hand on the upper curve of my butt and holding their phone up with the other. One guy actually slapped my ass! It jiggled pretty hard, but I slapped his ass right back. I really think it was just his way of thanking me for the photo op. A few other guys just had me pose for them solo, so I tried my best to do some cute poses for them... stuff like leaning up against a column to shimmy my ass against it while sticking my chest out. They really seemed to like that!

The crowd began to disperse, and I sauntered off into a merch aisle rimmed by tall, decadent shelves stocked with MLP trinkets, flicking through my Insta app & squeeing with glee upon seeing all of my new followers!

– Having fun, "Pinkie Pie"?

There's that sour voice in my head again.

Of course I'm having fun! I've made quite a few new friends, and I've almost gotten my first 200 followers on Instagram – already! It's barely been an hour!

– You're not bothered by the leering, sexually-charged way these bronies gawk at you? Face it – to them, you're not even really a real person; you're just a pair of tits and a fat booty. Maybe a pussy.

No way!! These bronies are are good people! They're kind, loving, & tolerant. You should give them a chance!

I can hear a pair of backwards-capped voices high-five in the next aisle over.

– So what'd you think of that slutty Pinkie Pie, eh?

– A+. Would bang, fer sure!

– Did you see her ass when I slapped it?

– Fuuuuck yeaah! Thicc as fuck!!

– Really makes me wish we'd brought those fuckin' roofies...

– Nah, man, she's definitely got some STD's... did you see her fuckin' G-string?

– She's definitely been to a few parties, hahaaa...!

I looked down at my hips. Sure enough, my G-string straps were easily visible, peeking out the tops of my woefully revealing short-shorts. I felt pretty certain that my asscrack would be visible too if I could see back there.

Suddenly, I feel deeply ashamed, and terrified.

Who the fuck am I??

For a moment, I struggle to remember. Fortunately, not for very long.

My name is Stephen.

I am a 28-year-old man.

Or, at least, I was – before today.

I look down at my E cup breasts, skooshed into a too-small D cup, rising and falling gently in time with the slow rhythm of my breath. My eyes are tearing up.

With this ridiculous figure, how can I live any kind of normal life?? Every boy who sees me is gonna drool over my chest & get a massive, thick, fat, juicy, throbbing boner and...

...

I wonder what it would feel like to have one of those frat-type guys feel up my tits?

I press them together experimentally. It feels wonderful.

Or maybe I could have him squeeze my ass...

I grasp my fat booty, kneading it around. It feels big and squishy in my small hand.

Now with one hand on my booty and one hand massaging my tits, I stifle a gasp of pleasure. My nipples especially are still pretty sensitive.

I wonder if they're still there...? I'll bet at least one of them would feel me up!

Maybe if I ask nicely...