Author's Note

Many thanks to Anon for commissioning Madame Bluebelle and her assistant Oliebol to stay at Hotel Nightshade!

Madame Bluebelle

Withania trotted through her hallway to answer the front door. She wasn’t expecting anyone, but having had her questionable hotel open for a while now, she had grown accustomed to unexpected visitors. When she pulled the wooden door open, she was faced with a wall of periwinkle blue. A huge mare towered in front of her, her hair fashionably tied back in a crown. Without a word, she stared down at Withania expectantly.

“Presenting Madame Bluebelle, mother of Prince Blueblood, Duke of the Canterlot Mountains!” pipped up a voice much to small and young to be the enormous mare.

Withania’s gaze moved down. And down. And further down until she saw a small donkey not much larger than a foal standing next to the mare, looking quite dignified in his pose as he introduced his mistress.

“Uh, hello,” replied Withania, trying not to stare. She was vaguely aware of Prince Blueblood as some kind of member of the royal family but had no idea that he had a mother - not that it would be strange, of course - or why his mother would be standing on her doorstep. “How can I help you, uh, my lady?”

“Oh she’s so rustic!” exclaimed Madame Bluebelle, looking down at Withania, “She’s even an earth pony - how authentic!”

“Madame Bluebelle has heard of your excellent reputation for specialist spa treatment,” explained the donkey, “And she wishes to book a weekend of your best service.”

Withania baulked at these words, sensing a horrible misunderstanding. But then as Madame Bluebelle turned slightly to judge the flowerbeds in the front garden, Withania noticed her earrings were a small silver knife and fork, and her cutiemark was a stylised fork with the outer prongs forming a horseshoe. The look on the donkey’s face seemed to convey that this was not a misunderstanding, and he was waiting for her response.

“W-welcome to the Hotel Nightshade…” she stammered, stepping back and motioning for her guests to enter. “Please, make your way to the sitting room and I’ll er… I’ll get… refreshments.”

Madame Bluebelle immediately swept past like a locomotive, filling the door frame as she passed through, and the donkey obediently trotted in after her.

“My name is Oliebol, Madam Bluebelle’s personal attendant, here is payment in advance, which I assure you will suffice. I’m sure you know that Madam Bluebelle is a lady of extreme class, but she is quite familiar with traditional and alternative treatments. Please, continue as you normally will.”

“This is perfect, Oliebol,” boomed Madam Bluebelle from the sitting room, “Wasn’t I saying how I wanted to get back in touch with nature, and just look at how much nature there is here. I feel like we’re still outside right now in this cottage, and our host looks like she grew up in the garden! How quaint!”

Withania raised her eyebrow at Oliebol. She was rather biased toward unicorns on a good day, but at the same time, she could tell by merely the size of the coin purse Oliebol was handing her that putting up with this client would be well worth the trouble. She took the purse into the kitchen and looked around for some means of catering for “royalty”. Some fresh water in a tall glass would have to do. Her eyes lingered on the form that she normally had her clients fill out before their stay, but something told her that she would be better off handling this customer on the fly, rather than trying to get her to fill out paperwork.

She returned to her sitting room to find Bluebelle sitting in her armchair - or rather, filling it like a cupcake that spilled over the edges of its paper wrapper. She’s not exactly rude, thought Withania to herself, Just presumptuous… but then I suppose I am a hotel now. She offered the water to Bluebelle, who picked up the glass with her magic, looking at the plain water as if it were a novelty. Withania put the tray to one side and pulled out the large gym mat from under the sofa. Normally at this point she would be flirting with the client to make them feel more comfortable, but that seemed wildly inappropriate. This wasn’t so much a sexual encounter, this aristocratic mare was literally expecting some kind of trendy spa treatment. Well… that’s exactly what I’ll give her then, concluded Withania, Turning into a plant and then back into a pony is pretty relaxing as far as I’m concerned, I’m sure it’s good enough for a unicorn.

“Thank you once again for choosing my uh… resort. If you’d like to lay down on your back here, we’ll get started. Uh, Oliebol, are you… joining us?”

“Oh don’t mind little Olie, he won’t get in the way,” said Bluebelle, lumbering to her hooves and arranging herself on the mat. Considering the way she carried herself, she made laying down on her back seem somehow quite dignified. Withania had already decided on hind legs first, and seeing Oliebol sit politely on the end of the sofa, she decided that getting on with it was the best course of action.

Madame Bluebelle certainly took care of herself. Despite her enormous size, she was clean and smelled quite fresh. Her hooves were probably cleaner than the glass Withania had served her with. She gently guided Bluebelle’s hind hooves together and stretched the legs out before opening her mouth and feeding them into her throat. The start would be easy enough, she knew, but part of her was daunted by the size of the mare she now had to try and swallow. It would probably be easier if this was the kind of kinky encounter she was used to, but doing it with a straight face was significantly harder.

“Did you see Luna this morning?” said Bluebelle, speaking to Oliebol conversationally as Withania slowly worked her jaws up the periwinkle hocks. “I’ve said before that she needs to spend time in a spa herself to clear up those crow’s feet, but it appears she hasn’t taken my advice on board.”

Withania was glad that she wouldn’t be able to speak for the duration of this exercise since it saved her from having to make small talk. She focused her mind on the task at hand, vision filled with the vast thighs of a mare at least twice her size. As strange as this was, Madame Bluebelle triggered her taste buds just fine, and the idea of devouring a pony this big was beginning to excite her. She swallowed to settle her throat, and determinedly pushed forward, feeling her mouth stretch wide as she began to engulf Bluebelle. She felt like some kind of kook, providing a crazy quack medicinal session.

“I’m sure Luna has a lot on her mind,” replied Oliebol. “How do you feel, my lady? It must be quite strange being on the other side of the gate for once…”

Withania’s ear twitched at this. So Madame Bluebelle did know what she was getting into… yet somehow Withania didn’t feel the least like the dominatrix in this scene.

“It’s a little slimy, but the sense of compression is delightful, it reminds me of when I could fit into stockings! Imagine how I looked in stockings, Oliebol, surprising as it may be, I looked even more stunning than I usually do. Ms Nightshade, don’t wait on my account, feel free to give it your all!”

Withania already was giving it her all. The sense of carnal pleasure was rushing through her, relaxing her muscles to ease over Bluebelle’s vast hips, but where she would normally lift her prey up and gulp them down, she realised that lifting Bluebelle was quite beyond her, and her hind legs would only be able to push for so long before she couldn’t gain enough purchase. Still, she closed her eyes and worked her throat muscles, letting them pull her body along and over the richly conditioned fur coat of Madame Bluebelle.

“Would you like a hoof there, Miss Nightshade?” asked Oliebol, hopping off the sofa. Withania couldn’t reply either way, but the little donkey had already walked around and was using his forelegs to massage the flanks of his mistress, looking quite practised. The movement eased the body of Bluebelle under Withania’s snout, and she had to admit, made the task much easier. She worked herself up to her client’s midriff, before coming to a stop, as she couldn’t get her lower jaw under Bluebelle’s vast back that was pressing into the floor mat. “My lady, I think you’ll be more comfortable if you sit up now!”

Withania squeaked as she heard this, but before she could make any other indication, Madame Bluebelle, heaved herself upwards, lifting her weight up with her forelegs. With her lower half already wrapped up in Withania’s comically bulging torso, the rest of her began to press into Withania as she righted herself. Oliebol dutifully moved around with his prodding and kneading hooves, settling Withania’s helpless body so that she moved up to Bluebelle’s shoulders. The widest sections were over now, and Withania could only thank the stars that she didn’t breathe through her lungs these days, she felt like a balloon stretched out and being pulled taut. Most of Bluebelle’s mass was in her stomach, but the size difference between them meant that rather than submerging her prey in a bath of nectar, Withania was merely creating an insulating layer around the big mare.

“Ah yes that is better,” remarked Bluebelle, “I feel better already! What is it they say about you, Ms Nighshade? You use plant nectar or some such? I can feel it working into my skin, it’s quite therapeutic.” Withania made a muffled response that no one could understand, and then determinedly swallowed a few times, climbing up to Bluebelle’s neck. “Well, this seems like the beginning, see you on the other side, Oliebol!” she said cheerfully.

Withania forced her mouth open a little further and swallowed Bluebelle’s head with two decisive gulps. And then sighed with relief. “Whew! Uh, my apologies for the delay, my lady. I hope you’re comfortable, and we’ll start the next stage. If you feel a little tight in there, don’t worry it’ll pass very soon!”

An enormous lumpy mound of green filled the sitting room, a huge belly with a relatively small Withania attached to one side of it, looking more than slightly unsure as to what exactly to do next. A belly-bed didn’t cover this one, she was pinned to the side of her own gut, unable to move at all.

“Oh I can cope!” came Bluebelle’s booming voice, albeit slightly muffled from inside Withania, “Let me just get comfortable, and you can continue!”

Withania yelped as her entire body lurched. Normally her prey could slide around inside her, but Bluebelle was bigger than Withania was, and when she moved, Withania moved. Madame Bluebelle twisted around and lay down on her front, and before Withania could say anything to object, the massive mound of her stomach lumbered up over her head - and rolled right over her.

“Ah that’s better,” said Bluebelle conversationally. Withania’s body was pinned entirely under her own huge belly, with only her head and shoulders sticking out helplessly. The weight on top was immense and she didn’t stand a chance of freeing herself.

Although on the plus side, she didn’t exactly need to. All she needed to do now was wait for Madame Bluebelle to dissolve into nectar, and while this was going to be a little harder as there was a great deal more pony to dissolve than usual, Withania didn’t have anywhere else to be.

“Are you okay, Miss Nightshade?” asked Oliebol, looking concerned.

“Aha, yes, quite fine, don’t worry about me!” she replied. She couldn’t admit it, but she was quite enjoying the feeling of being pinned, and being under her own weighted belly was… curiously exciting. “This might take a bit longer than I normally do though… uh… feel free to help yourself to the kitchen if you get bored…”

“Oh no need to stand on ceremony,” said Oliebol, waving her words away, “I’m normally the one on the inside. Madame Bluebelle is a lady of fine taste, and I’m usually honoured to indulge her.”

“Huh… Fair enough. Umm, so yes, my lady,” said Withania, addressing the massive belly pinning her flat against her sitting room floor, “I’ll now conduct a massage that will, umm, make you feel like clear water, and you’ll awaken from the treatment feeling as fresh as a daisy!”

“How exciting!” said Bluebelle, “I can feel myself becoming soft already, it’s delightful!”

With any luck, my body will react and start producing more nectar, fast, thought Withania to herself, Then I won’t have to worry about socialising with her…

“Oliebol, I don’t suppose you brought any snacks? I feel quite peckish. Melting inside an earth pony is working up my appetite.”

“Regrettably, I didn’t think to pack any.”

“No matter… Oliebol, please join me in here, I’m sure you’ll suffice until tomorrow.”

“Wait, what?” said Withania. Bluebelle was about to get digested, less than an hour from now and she wouldn’t have a body left to be hungry. But before she could register any protest, Oliebol positioned himself like a crouching cat in front of Withania’s face and pushed his muzzle into her mouth. “Mmmmpf!”

“I’ll be with you shortly, my lady!” he grunted, pushing forward as Withania’s mouth popped open over his head. There was nothing she could do to stop him, and to her astonishment, the little donkey wriggled and pushed, moving through her mouth and throat like an eel. Withania wasn’t sure if she could fit anymore, but then she felt the oddest sensation as Madam Bluebelle opened her mouth inside Withania’s stomach, and along with a gulp of dissolving nectar, gobbled up Oliebol as he passed through Withania’s throat. She could feel Bluebelle’s neck pulse and work the little donkey down into her own hungry belly. Her belly was eating things. And pinning her down. However, at least she was effectively alone in the room now.

“Mmm,” moaned Bluebelle, her voice rumbling through Withania, “Delectable as always. Don’t forget to remind me to have you reformed, Oliebol, I’m bound to forget otherwise…”

If Oliebol replied to this, Withania certainly didn’t hear him, but she could feel the pressure in her belly alleviating as Bluebelle’s immense structure began to soften.

“Oooh,” came Bluebelle’s voice again, “Something’s really happening now, I feel like I’m squashing together… it’s all very wet in here now, but it tastes lovely… I could drink this massage potion by the pint I daresay…”

Withania didn’t respond, relaxing with her legs starfished out under her mumbling belly. Although Madame Bluebelle hadn’t been completely immersed in her nectar, it had still worked into her body and the lumpy shape of the great mare began to smooth out into even curves, the vibrato voice being replaced by liquid gurgles and trapped bubbles. The huge mound of Withania’s belly sagged and flopped over her like a huge water balloon, and she was content to rest and absorb energy and nutrients from the soup that Bluebelle was turning into.

Her eyes snapped open again, and the sunlight had shifted all the way across the room. Glancing up, Withania saw that her belly appeared to have diminished significantly. It wasn’t exactly small, but she fancied her ability to right herself and stand up at least.

I bet I’m huge… that massive mare and her donkey assistant… I should’ve turned them away! she thought to herself. The room seemed smaller somehow, and to her surprise, her hips weren’t as large as she expected. Definitely looking like she’d put someone away there, but she’d expected bigger. Withania lumbered into the hallway, and then caught her reflection in the mirror.

The reason why she didn’t seem too pudgy, was that she’d become as large as Madam Bluebelle herself had been. Her hips and belly were as rounded as the big mare she’d eaten but were still proportional to her overall size. And suddenly the doors in her house seemed awfully small. It was going to be a lot of mass to work off in the garden. Better to get started right away by planting the seed for Madam Bluebelle, she figured, feeling the familiar nudge in her nethers.

Much to her surprise, a smaller seed followed a larger one, which she realised must be Oliebol. Madame Bluebelle had already melted enough when she devoured Oliebol that the little donkey had ended up getting digested by Withania - not his mistress.

“Why do I get the feeling that you have to put up with this a little too often…” she said to the smaller seed on the frog of her hoof. “You know what Oliebol, I’ll give you the sunny patch. Trust me, it’s the best spot in the garden.”

Being large certainly had an advantage, Withania felt like a dragoness as she turned the earth around the empty plots, and lugged the watering can over the other hotel guests, but everything also felt dainty and fragile, especially the stack of clay flower pots that her rump knocked off of her workbench in the greenhouse. Sadly her larger stature wore off before her extra pudge did, and by the next day, a decidedly chubby, but very huggable Withania waited next to the maturing flower for Madam Bluebelle.

The noblemare was so large that even the hardy Tegmen flower was completely unable to support her weight, and had bent in half to grow on the ground next to its stem, the huge bud of periwinkle blue looking like the oddest pumpkin Withania had ever seen. As it began to unfurl, Withania busied herself with trimming a nearby shrub, so as not to be caught staring. From the corner of her eye, however, she grinned as the flower bloomed to reveal Madam Bluebelle on her back, sprawled out and drooling quite uncouthly. As the sun hit her face, Madam Bluebelle snorted and opened her eyes.

“Unnnng, heavens above I’ve slept outside… in a flowerbed no less…”

Uh oh… thought Withania, sensing a meltdown over a little dirt in a pristine coat.

“How rustic! This has been every bit as au naturel as I was told! Oliebol? Oliebol!”

“Good morning, my lady, I’m afraid Oliebol hasn’t emerged yet. You ate him during your treatment, but fortunately, I was able to transform him as well. He’s in the corner, there,” said Withania, pointing with her sheers toward a tall, slender flower with milk-chocolate brown petals. Oliebol’s bud was quite the looker, in her opinion, and she hoped that the little donkey had enjoyed a rest of his own.

“Oh, how exquisite,” exclaimed Bluebelle, walking over to her assistant. “Even something as plain as you can look beautiful in surroundings like this, Oliebol. You’re always here when I need you.”

And with that, she licked her lips and plunged her mouth over the flower bud in one go with an audible gulp, leaving Withania sitting jaw agape, sheers in hoof.