Spitfire's Mid Weight Crisis
"Sometimes, Soarin, a mare just wants to feel like a mare. I'm sure you get that feeling sometimes, right? You just want to be... what you were born to be, I guess. I'm sure for you that means a whole damn harem right? Well for me it just means... someone who cares, who's strong when I need him to be and soft when it counts."
Soarin' went back over these words, remembering back to the last few weeks in the academy when he and Spitfire had met. They had been by far the most talented pilots of that graduating class, and Spitfire was all but certain to get the position of Captain. Her leadership abilities and charisma were inspiring, and her skills with an aircraft had set all sorts of new records.
That night when they had graduated they had shared a bottle of wine- and then two- sitting on the roof of the academy and gazing at the stars. They had talked, and Soarin had expressed his surprise that Spitfire had been wearing a beautiful lace bra under her uniform. They had made love under the stars that night, a session of passionate consequence-free lovemaking before entering into their new lives.
Since then they had been at arms length, respecting one another and the professional boundaries between them. They'd both seen other people, Soarin specifically had been getting his nose in quite a few pies, but he always thought back to that night, and those words.
Reality came calling soon enough when the first runner crossed the line ahead of him, and he clicked his stopwatch before standing up from his seat. Dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, he was out here on a crisp and cool spring day to drill the Wonderbolt cadets back into shape after the winter break.
"Nine minutes thirty, not bad Rainbow- but not great either. Hit the showers, you earned the rest of the day off- just don't get lazy,"
Rainbow Dash halted and slapped her hands to her thighs, leaning over and puffing for breath. While not quite out of shape, getting back into the swing of things took a lot of of someone, and once she caught her breath she straightened out and looked to the taller stallion.
"Not... bad? C'mon Lt, I'd like to see you do that good," she returned.
Soarin rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, "I don't have to, now shut up before I make you go again, Rainbow."
Rainbow Dash grumbled, but knew well enough to not say another word and swept past the stallion for the showers. The rest of the runners followed along, lagging behind but all managing respectable enough times. The cadet corps was in good shape, and with some drilling would be ready for the air in just a few weeks.
Spitfire watched all this from her office, looking through the glass as she sat in her chair and tented her arms in her lap. Rainbow Dash was making a name for herself, and if she got that ego contained might be Captain material. She reminded him of a younger, unbroken, Soarin- before rigorous drilling had broken in his adrenaline fueled masculine ego.
The captain watched them go, and adjusted her eyes to look at her own reflection in the pristine window. Comparing Spitfire to Rainbow, or any of the other female recruits, was quite the contrast. They were all thin, lithe, even in the case of Flitter they barely cracked 125 pounds.
Spitfire gazed at herself. She was curvy, to say the least. Her bust was the biggest she'd ever seen and noting that always sent a bit of a tingle down her spine and left the mare biting her lip. However, as her eyes kept going down her own body she knew what her uniform hid- the stubborn fat that stuck to her body, and always had. Her hands felt down to her middle, and she pinched off the gut fat that no amount of dieting had ever been able to defeat.
Combine that with her thick thighs and rounded ass and Spitfire was always just barely under the point of being overweight. At five foot six she didn't have much height to spread it out, and altogether her figure was what some might call a bit of a shortstack. Her uniform was always tight on her, and the buttons of her top always strained when she took a deep breath in.
A frown came to the mares face, and Spitfire sighed before she spun herself back to her desk. How could she possibly consider herself a proper leader for them? A glance towards a paper on the side of her desk doubled down on these thoughts, and she swept it up before crumpling it up and tossing it towards the bin. Spitfire's most recent fitness report, declaring in quite unfriendly terms that she had slipped up a few pounds and was, officially, overweight.
While she was Captain, Spitfire had no reason to fear her career being ruined over it, she knew that the brass above her in Canterlot was aware of that fact. They'd be judging her, considering if she should be put out to pasture. She hadn't been born yesterday, the subtle hints that she should consider accepting a promotion or a change in deployment said all that needed to be said.
The mare shuffled a few papers aside, and was careful to cover up the calendar below them all when she pushed them aside to clear away the worries of the day. Frustrated as she was, Spitfire didn't plan on getting any work done today.
Spitfire sighed, and slumped forward on the desk. The pose was awkward, but it took the weight of her large chest off her back and effectively gave her two pillows to lounge on as she mused internally. The buttons on her uniform creaked, but held up even as the teasing outline of a frilly bra became visible, and her chest pushed aside her coffee cup and nameplate.
One ultimate question repeated in her mind: Who would want a mare like her? To lead them, or otherwise... who would want a mare like her?
Soarin strode in just minutes later, a bounce in his step and a happy smile on his face. As always he had a certainly fatherly appeal to him, the slight crease under his eyes made him appear older and more world-weary than he actually was, and his body had a solid and firm masculinity to it that was coated with a little more fat than he should probably have, but still keeping within physical requirements.
Noting that Spitfire was spinning around a pencil and hadn't even looked up, Soarin halted halfway to her desk and squinted at the mare. "Uh, something up, Captain? I can come back, I just wanted to drop off the fitness report from today. They're all in great shape- better than usual. I think we can actually start early this year."
Spitfire looked up with a supreme lack of amusement on her face, "That's great Soarin, we can start my last season a week early so they can stick me in a dead-end Canterlot posting before it even starts snowing," she snarked, and blew her hair out of her eyes before drawing back up to sit properly.
The mares arms soon crossed under her chest, and Spitfire continued speaking without giving Soarin an edge in. "Then I can just get fat like all the other ex-officers and strut around like a peacock with all my medals on my chest," Spitfire slapped her hands to her breasts, squeezing them for emphasis, "and settle down with some bronze-medal stallion to raise a nice family loyal to Celestia while all my records get run over by some hot-shot jackass from Ponyville that's probably going to end up a smoking crater before her third season."
Soarin blinked, and opened his mouth to speak but Spitfire, again, continued like a runaway freight train. "Well, what? You just ran them, what was my best? Eleven minutes?" she continued, and a tear began to bead at the side of her right eye before she stuck out a foot and spun her chair back around. "Nine thirty? I couldn't have run that if I had killed myself trying back in the Academy, and I sure as hell can't now."
"Just... leave that report and get out."
Soarin finally got a chance to speak, but he only got as far as "captain" before a hand shot up, "I didn't give you permission to speak lieutenant," Spitfire growled, her words catching slightly but making it clear enough that there was a line here and it was not to be crossed.
Spitfire remained in her office for the rest of that day, with the door locked and her blinds down. Soarin's report was right, this years cadet corps was far more prepared for a return to the season than usual. Rainbow Dash starting up an off-season exercise program was the apparent cause of it, and while Spitfire couldn't help but respect her for that- it didn't do any good for her self doubts. Rainbow was going to make captain, sweep away all her records, and all she'd get to be was some fat, chesty, pegasus.
Spitfire snorted, half way through pacing the room. Celestia would probably give her something like Air Martial and have her show up at recruitment drives. Nothing more than a pair of tits in a uniform to get thirsty stallions to sign up. Hell, maybe she'd let them touch if they went into regular service on a tour of duty.
The only thing Spitfire cared about was this damned academy and fate was taking it away from her. Slowly, but surely, the same problems she thought she had overcome years ago were creeping back up on her. After pacing the room again for a bit she fell down into her chair and clasped at the fat of her middle, squeezing it between her hands until it hurt while tears dripped down her face.
Why wouldn't it just go away?
Spitfire slept in her office that night, slumped over her desk and surrounded by assorted paperwork she had been going over. The old academy records had been semi-soaked by her own tears, and the buttons of her uniform had been left open to allow her girls some room to breathe.
The door opened that morning with a loud creak and the crinkling sound of dozens of bags of snacks being pushed aside. Soarin entered to find Spitfire sleeping on her desk, surrounded by refuse and sleeping peacefully. Two bottles of whiskey laid on the floor ahead of the desk, and they were both empty.
The stallion was silent, for a time. Soarin just watched as the morning sun cast it's glow on the pegasus. She slept soundly enough, and every once and a while she belched softly. He could only start to imagine how much garbage she had crammed into herself that evening, and he sighed softly before flicking the light switch.
Spitfire's eyes fluttered open slowly, and she looked to Soarin with bloodshot eyes and groaned deeply.
"Soooarin, turn that back off, captain's orders," Spitfire gasped and pressed her face back into her own breasts to seal off the light.
Soarin quickly made his way around the desk and behind Spitfire, putting his arms around her and pulling her up into a sitting position despite her protests and the clear pain this caused her.
"Spitfire, what the hell did you do to yourself?"
Spitfire was a limp noodle in her chair, and her heavy breasts pushed out through her uniform and slumped down against her. At some point she had removed her bra, and the mares nipples were on display through the opening alongside a deep canyon of cleavage.
"Ate," Spitfire returned simply, and weakly slapped at Soarin's hands, "Drank, ate some more..."
Soarin looked past her to the desk, and reached ahead to sweep aside crumbs and wrappers that had long ago contained snacks. "Aren't those the old records?" Soarin questioned, and peered closer- noticing the tearmarks his eyes went wide.
The realization of what exactly had been going on slammed into Soarin hard enough he physically recoiled, pushing back from the desk and backing against the window. "Spitfire you're not..."
Spitfire just groaned, and laid back in her chair. As it tilted backwards Soarin began to notice that her enormous breasts weren't the only bulge on the pegasus. A pregnant looking, rounded orb of a stomach filled her lap and had burst the confines of her uniform. The buttons were missing, long since burst off during her gorge.
Spitfire took a breath, and then released a long bubbling belch that blew some of her papers aside. "Not what?" she returned, "I've just been in here, eatin' and drinkin' myself to death. Might as well, rather die with my records intact than see them get overtaken..."
The mare groaned again, and hiccuped painfully while she reached to rub at her belly. "... by some bitch from Ponyville. Uggh, Soarin I think I broke something..."
Soarin was astounded, terrified, and a good deal of other emotions he had trouble quantifying at that moment. Slowly, trying not to upset the mares already overburdened stomach he turned the chair to face him and looked down at Spitfire. She looked absolutely pathetic. Bloodshot eyes, pale face and bags under her eyes. Her hair was a mess, dried tears matted the fur on her face and chest, and a thin sheen of sweat covered her body as a result of her poor choice of food.
"You really... don't look so good, Spitfire," Soarin spoke, his voice filled with concern.
Spitfire returned by giggling, and then laughing, before she coughed and clutched her belly again. "I know. I'm just... just a fat slob. Look at me, Soarin, tell me you'd want a mare like me.”
Soarin blinked, unsure how to respond to that odd comment, and Spitfire soon interpreted his silence herself. "Yeah, like I thought. Not even you want me, and you'd fuck a bagel if it was curvy enough. Hell, have you stuck it in Rainbow yet? Don't worry, I can keep a secret..."
Spitfire smiled faintly and slapped a hand to Soarin's chest, "Juss... hold on, not sitting right."
Spitfire hiccuped again, and braced herself on Soarin for support. The mare coughed and sputtered, and leaned over before a surge of alcohol and high-calorie snack foods blew out of her mouth and onto the floor. "That's... better..." she gasped, and fell off her chair to the floor.
Soarin was left holding the bag, and sighed deeply before he leaned down and started to haul Spitfire up and over his shoulders. "I thought you were better than this," he whispered, and stood up shortly after to bring her out. “What even got into you, Spitfire…”
Once he had deposited Spitfire in medbay, Soarin returned to her office and locked the door.
Cleaning it up would take some time, but it left him alone, in the quiet, and with time to think.
With his shirt undone and his tie loosened, he tossed trash into Spifire's bin and tidied up while he tried to figure out how Spitfire's self esteem had apparently collapsed so quickly.
Soarin was still pondering that even after cleaning up the spillage on the floor, and slumped himself down in her chair to hopefully get a change in perspective. His eyes examined her desk from Spitfire's gaze, and he puffed out his chest in an attempt to feel as much like her as he could.
"Alright. I'm Spitfire. Twenty-seven, best captain the Wonderbolt's have ever had. I've got half the records we've ever had, and probably the unofficial record for best tits. Now, what could break me..." he spoke to himself, and reached over her desk to take a look at what she had been going over last night.
Old records, Spitfire's own, were scattered on the desk. Soarin looked to them, considering what the pattern was. A good deal of them would probably be bested by Rainbow Dash given enough time, but the team formation flying records were probably stable for at least a few generations. These cadets might be good, but they weren't Class of 1990 good.
So he spread those six personal records ahead of him. They were all, he soon noted, flight time and speed records. Spitfire was good in a cockpit, that much was certain.
Two other records were on the desk however, both of which were physical performance records- and had not been held by Spitfire. Rainbow had earned those months ago, and Soarin felt he might be closing in on the truth. It wasn't Spitfire's record as a pilot she was so concerned with, it was something beyond that.
Soarin stumbled on the last piece of the puzzle when he was shuffling those documents away, revealing the calender under it all. Last monday was circled and marked, a small note that she might need to take leave that night.
Soarin pondered on it, before he arrived at the final conclusion. Last Monday was Valentine's day... and Spitfire had been expecting someone to ask her out.
Soarin slapped his forehead down into his hand, and mumbled a single line to himself: "Sometimes, Soarin, a mare just wants to feel like a mare."
Soarin made sure the room was spotless before he left, and once he was out set off to medbay. He had a job to do, he had to buck up and be a what Spitfire needed him to be. When he entered the medbay he had a brief talk with the medic before being told that Spitfire had been released on her own authority and went home.
Good, that would make things easier. The medic was considerably suspicious of the fact Soarin's next statement was a request for condoms.
The cadets were enthralled to be given the day off, and Fleetfoot and the rest got the hint easily enough that they shouldn't question what was going on. In the end, when Soarin left the academy that day and took flight towards the city he knew exactly what to do, more so even than usual.
When Soarin arrived at Spitfire's doorstep he loosened his tie again and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, doing his best to put on the charm before he knocked on the door. There was silence, and Soarin had to knock twice more before a frustrated groan sounded from inside and heavy footsteps could be heard approaching.
"I swear to Celestia if you're selling something you better have your will written out," Spitfire growled from inside, and threw open the door before being blinded by the light from outside.
The mare was dressed just as she was earlier, with her unbuttoned uniform just barely keeping her decent and covering up the more inappropriate parts of her body. Soarin had quite the view of her as he looked down at her, he'd never quite realized how much of a body Spitfire was blessed with. Even disheveled as she was, she still radiated femininity.
Spitfire squinted, and eventually made out the figure standing there.
"Soarin? Shouldn't you be at the academy? Uuughhh they probably made you Captain already didn't they?" Spitfire groaned, "I should have just kept eating. 'least I wouldn't have had to..."
Soarin took a deep breath, and then slapped his hands to Spitfire's upper arms, holding her in place as he leaned down and kissed her firmly on the lips. The mare recoiled for a moment and gasped, but quickly relaxed when Soarin's arms slid around her back and embraced her against him tightly.
Their lips held for close to a minute, and Spitfire seemed to just melt in the comfort of that embrace before eventually she pulled back. "Soarin! What- why, what are you doing? Marching up here and kissing me I don't..."
Soarin backed off from her, "Remember in the academy when we first met? You were my wingmate, and I was eager to kiss your ass for a good grade. You were like, four spots over me in the ranks after all. You shut me up, and told me to just be there when you needed me."
The stallion stepped up to her again, and put his thumb to her chin so he could gaze into her eyes. "Well, Spitfire, I never stopped being there for you, now how would you like..."
His other hand traced up her thigh, and then took her hand gently. "To be my late valentine?"
A hot flush covered Spitfire's face and she squirmed before glancing away. "W-what? C'mon Soarin you're pulling one on me or... something. You just dragged me out of my office covered in puke, I smell like a pig, and I probably taste like day old grease. I'm just a fat mare that's past her prime, you don't need to lie to me. I'll... get over it."
The mare sighed, and despite her words there was a certain pleading in her eyes when she turned back to him. A hope that his words were genuine, and those eyes went wide when she was kissed again.
"You taste fine to me," Soarin returned, "Now why don't you go clean yourself up and I'll make you a decent dinner. Just you and me, valentine."
Spitfire glanced side to side, but a relief soon seemed to come across her and she fell against Soarin, wrapping her arms around him while her chest squished against him. "Fine, but it's been a rough few days... if you're just here for a quick lay I'll make you regret it," she spoke, and pushed off of him before pivoting on her heel and heading up the stairs.
"Cook something good up, I swear I can taste chocolate when I exhale."
Soarin stepped in proudly, and soon set himself to work in the kitchen while the sound of Spitfire showering filled echoed down to him. Her kitchen was stocked well enough, and he easily found the ingredients to make a good meal. Candles were lit, plate were set out, and by the time Spitfire returned from her shower everything was ready.
Spitfire arrived wearing just a tube-top and shorts, and her blazing hair hung loosely down to her shoulders. A warm smile crossed her face and she blushed when she saw the level of which Soarin had done to make it all 'romantic'.
"Soarin," Spitfire spoke, and leaned over the table, flashing her cleavage at him while she did.
"Isn't this a little on the nose? I'm not much of a romantic... although I do appreciate the thought."
Soarin shrugged, and stepped over to Spitfire, "The thought is what I'm here for. "a mare just wants to feel like a mare." Right? Well tonight I'm going to make you feel like a mare... in every way I can."
Gently, Soarin guided Spitfire into her seat and served her some actually decent food before sitting himself down at her side. Spitfire eyed the amount of food on the table, and cocked a brow at him.
"You do realize I ate enough to nearly explode last night, right? I think a big meal is the last thing my figure needs," Spitfire spoke, and sighed softly before feeling down to that stubborn fat along her middle.
"I'm... overweight, Soarin. I have been for weeks, and I don't think I'll ever be able to slim back down again. I mean, look at me- is this the sort of mare that should be leading a flight squadron?"
That same pleading was in Spitfire's eyes when she looked to him, and Soarin met her gaze.
"Spitfire, you're.. I don't know, beautiful. Curvy, attractive. Hell I don't care if you're overweight and I doubt anyone else does- you're our leader. They're all jealous of you, Rainbow especially. Nobody ever succeeded as much as you at such a young age before- Typhoon went seven seasons before she was made captain, you did it in one."
Soarin took a breath before he continued, "Nobody can take that from you. Not Rainbow, nobody else, ever. They're not you, it's not records or numbers or how fast you can run that matters- it's who you are, and Spitfire, you're the most attractive, intelligent, and passionate mare I've ever met. You'll always be my captain."
Spitfire sniffled, and a tear beaded in her eye before she giggled slightly and rammed a fork into her steak, "You're just sayin' that because you like my tits," she teased, and sighed softly before leaning over and smooching Soarin.
"Thank you."
The two ate in peace, and Soarin kept Spitfire's plate and glass full as they enjoyed the quiet company. The way his eyes scanned over her, always being dragged over by her body whenever her looked away- and the reverse- left the two growing increasingly frisky. A subtle dance of the eyes took place over dinner as the two leered at eachother with increasingly bold gazes.
Soarin's eyes were drawn to Spitfire's cleavage, her curvature, and her beautiful eyes and hair. Spitfire in turn was drawn to his solid and rugged frame, the puff of chest floof coming out of his undone top button, and the muscles of his arms.
Over time Spitfire started to notice that Soarin, if anything, was overfeeding her. It took a while before she keyed in, but at the third plate she cocked an eyebrow at the stallion, "You're not trying to make me fatter are you? I appreciate the meal Soarin, but slow down..."
Soarin's face flushed and he opened his mouth to respond. He hadn't even realized it himself, but he'd fed Spitfire more than two thirds of the food he'd prepared. A combination of her appetite and tendency to over-eat alongside his apparent lust to provide for her had led to this, and he slumped back in his chair.
"I uh..."
Spitfire giggled mirthfully, "I'm teasing you, I don't mind- but you better help me work it off... and no dessert, I'm drawing the line here."
Soarin sighed with relief, and wiped the worried sweat off his brow.
Once Spitfire had finished her final plate she pushed it aside and leaned over the table, looking to her companion with a warm smile on her face. "So, handsome, what exactly led you to bailing on the Academy and coming here to make me feel better? I've never known you for a romantic- thirsty, maybe, but you put a lot of effort into this..."
Soarin slipped up in his chair, "Thirsty? Maybe, but you... you're special, Spitfire. You've been there for me more times than I can count, and maybe... well just maybe I love you and I never realized it. You're the best friend I've ever had... maybe it's time to take that a little further."
Spitfire bit her lip and glanced down, and then back up to Soarin. "Maybe... let's put a pin in get married on the beach. I appreciate all this... but I don't want anything to change tomorrow. I want to pretend everything before you got here never happened."
Soarin nodded, "Hey, if you want it to just be two Wonderbolts getting frisky, that's all it has to be..."
One of his feet moved out, playfully rubbing against hers while he acted like a colt in love. "Now..."
Spitfire reached out and put a finger to his lips, "How about I take you upstairs and you make a mare out of me, you romantic stud."
Soarin blushed like a tomato and shot out of his seat with a telling speed, and Spitfire followed not long after to take his hand and lead him. Once again her middle had sprouted a prominent bloat that wobbled ahead of her, and she belched as soon as her body had gotten in motion.
"Mmff, next time we do this... we're calorie counting...." Spitfire groaned, and kept Soarin close at hand as the retreated to the bedroom.
Spitfire entered the bedroom first, and stepped up quickly to the bed before pivoting back and eying Soarin up. Biting her lip as she looked him over, she reached down and started to pull down her shorts. "Mmm, tell me what your favourite part of me is. Go on, what do you want to get your hands on first?"
Soarin removed his shirt as soon as he entered, and boldly strode right up to Spitfire and slapped his hands up to her breasts. "What do you think?" he teased, and squeezed her heavy breasts in his hands while pushing her backwards over the bed.
"My ass," Spitfire joked, and leaned herself out to kiss the stallion while he played with her tits, and allowed him to lay her back on the bed and ontop of her. Her arms reached around him, embracing him, and for a few moments they remained in that position before he hands felt down his back and pulled down his shorts.
Their eyes met for a moment, and Spitfire looked at him with a fire in his eyes while he undid her bra. Her breasts seemed to almost pop free, and pushed aside the cup of her lacy bra to present themselves for him.
"Make a mare out of me Soarin..." Spitfire breathed, and cupped her own breasts together. "Stick it riiiight here, I want to taste you."
Soarin hardly needed a second direction, and as soon as his shorts were dropped he moved himself into position to slip his firm erection between Spitfire's breasts. The warmth and softness of them was amazing, and Spitfire bit her lip while Soarin leaned over her. His muscled chest was just above her, and he braced himself with his arms behind her while she worked on him.
The night was long, and when the two eventually passed out in a heap of sexual fluids and sweat on Spitfire's bed, Soarin wrapped himself around her protectively. They slept together more peacefully than either had in months, and between them neither had felt as truly like a mare- or a stallion- as they ever had before.
