The Weighty Marriage

~ I ~

Party of Terribleness

The kitchen was empty, and sometimes, that's when it was best. Zecora took heart as she stood over the stove. Not many things she could contribute to the household anymore. The rest of the family took on a great many things. But a variety of foods and cooking had slowly become her specialty within the place.

Problem was the tray of tarts left on the plate.

Throughout the house were littered countless trays of different delights. Muffins and slices of pie lingering with heat from the oven. Treats of cookies and brownies, both warmed just a little bit, all for the enjoyment for those who entered the house after being gone for years.

Most of those treats, sadly, munched upon while the girl cooked, all-knowing the supper would be hers to devour. The vast frying of pans and the boiling of pots and the rising of steam were numerous due to all those coming soon. The amount arriving forgave such heavy cooking.

But the girl was saddened to know how she could easily devour it all. How she cooked even more than she should have, family coming included, all so she wouldn't steal from the meals intended for more than herself. Even then she wondered if her hunger could be held back. Or if it was her fate to be this doomed to food.

With every muffin came the broadening of her belly. The fabric of the sweater pulling over her exposed belly. More of its form exposing. That hollowness within being scratched but not filled. Arms and legs and thighs and butt and belly swelling and swelling and swelling and swelling. Would there ever be an end to it?

“How's the food comin' together?” the voice entered from the side and Zecora had to tear from gazing at the boiling water of tasty gravy. She glanced over and saw the young girl walking in. “Seems like you're havin' fun.”

“Making food always tends to be a splendid delight.” Zecora tossed the last tart into her mouth, chewing only twice. She swallowed with ease and indulged in the feeling of it going down into her fatty depths. Now she had to hold onto the feeling to last the next six minutes. “Though I'm rather afraid my new form will lead to many others surprise.”

Bloom leaned her lithe figure against the door frame. She lifted a foot and kept it against the wood, crossing her arms. Slender with hints of taut muscles throughout. This a consistency regardless of the member of the family.

Except for the outsider within it now.

“Worried if it's going to be a good surprise or a bad surprise.”

“My heart hopes for the former,” Zecora replied, “and my mind dreads the latter.”

“Suppose the opinions of my family vary on a few things.” Applebloom tilted her head, exhaling in thought. “Not that they do it to be unkind... but its in their nature to tease as they please. Don't suppose anyone will say anything outright. Even if they do—don't take it personally.”

“Easier said than done, young one.”

“I know—but you have to try your best anyway.” Applebloom turned her head to the side at the sounding of little footsteps: the approaching of the little monster of delight. “May have been a while since they've seen you last. But don't forget it'll be even longer until ya see them again. What they say or think won't matter none come tomorrow.”

Zecora smiled as she turned, the bottom of her belly swishing beneath her sweater, fully exposed at this point—but now felt with less shame. Sometimes it was the words of loved ones that make easy endurance of the strife of life. “I suppose some of the wisdom of my tribe has passed onto you as well.”

Then came in the daughter of Big Mac and Zecora, a mix between them both, unique in her form. Though she was no different from any other kid in many attributes. Like chasing the family cat into the kitchen with a miniature sweater. She was happy about the ordeal; the cat was not.

Only, her foot snagged on something and see fell forward. No tears, but the crying of laughter. Another proof she was the mixture of the two. Still, concern crossed the fattest of them all. She went forward to pick up the little one—only for a sudden release of tension ripping down her bottom.

Zecora blushed heavily as she felt the tear in the back of her pants reach further down the curve of her ass. The denim tearing and exposing the frilly panties beneath it. First it was a slit, but quickly widened into a broad gap. Soon the bottom of the pants were no more as what was tucked behind came spilling out.

Fearful of anyone seeing her like this, Zecora lifted the little girl only to give her to Applebloom. She didn't bother to check the expression of either girl. Only to turn around, with an awkward waddle, and make her way back upstairs. Each step up the stairs tore her pants even further. It was hard to suppress tears while en route.

It wasn't often that dinner was terrible, usually due to great food and family, only now, the latter had changed slightly. More bodies were gathered around the table and only Zecora had the biggest plate of them all. That, and how her ass spilled out from all sides on the chair. She had an elevation to everyone else. This didn't grant her the slightest feeling of power.

Her hugs were the worst. Few went for it and the ones that did bore feelings of regret. She engulfed many into her hold, their bodies laying and sinking into the belly of her fat, some nearly scared of being consumed by the mass. Next came trying to take her giant body through the narrow gaps created by others. Her ass and belly usually pushing them out of the way.

Something she apologized profusely for.

Applejack and Rainbow Dash had instructed others to make no jokes about Zecora's weight. And to this promise others kept true. The same, however, could not be said about all of the family. She could feel countless eyes watching the wobbling of her belly exposed underneath her sweater. The ears perking at hearing her voluminous footsteps. She was the elephant in the room—quite literally.

“You have a very nice daughter there—don't you? To think the last time I saw her was when she was still within your belly.” The cousin's face lit up in surprise in her own unintended remark. She quickly gave an awkward laugh. “I'm almost surprised your rhyme didn't pass down the bloodline. You've lost a little bit of your accent as well.”

“Suppose that is the price to pay,” Zecora said with a forced smile, “to live among loved ones that are different. Perhaps there is something good in becoming more like them—and quality. of them becoming more like me.”

“...and some things thankfully not.”

Zecora shivered. She closed her eyes and exhaled a deep breath. It smelled sweet of tarts. That pained her in a strange way. It was true she was totally different from how she was when the family first came together for their wedding. No strength nor rhythms or anything that had made her zebra.

Or much of an attractive female.

Big Mac gave a huff as he laid back in bed. Everything about him was sore, as was usually the case, but was feeling decently well despite it. Been a while since others had roamed around the house. So many gathered in the halls, each drinking and talking, laughing and joking, though those focused on his wife was rather unkind.

And a few unkind words met with unkind actions behind closed doors and outside in the yard. Matters became cleared up one way or another. His bundle of delight finally netting the cat in a sweater. With everything done, and the house still a mess, he fell asleep rather easily, knowing work would be waiting for him tomorrow.

But he woke up in the night... without the mass of blanket that was his wife.

He shuffled in the sheets only to find none of her broad warmth anywhere close. Even the large portion of the bed her large frame occupied was deprived of her usual warmth. Big Mac sat up in the bed and pulled the chain to the bedside lamp. No trace of his wife anywhere in the room.

But the groans, creaks and croaks sounded below.

Big Mac didn't take long to leave the room and go into the hall, going down the stairs and finding himself in the kitchen. There she sat at the table. Using two chairs to hold her vast bottom. Belly pressing into the edge of the table. Her hands were stuffing tart after muffin after tart into her maw. Tears coursed down her full cheeks.

Comfort eating. It wasn't the only time he'd caught her like this. The filling and hugging tastes of Delicious foods swelling her hollow being. Even though she was so big, it was through eating she could feel full again. She cried, the groan muffled by food, fighting to swallow, failing to not throw another tart into her mouth.

Zecora looked at him only to weep more.

Big Mac knew better than to say anything. Rather he did what good husband did. He saw down, tall but not commanding, close but giving her a seat of space—and not saying a word afterward. She cried a little more. Little yelps and sniffles galore. Everything lowering and the devouring of food slowing. Until the girl was able to breathe without gasping through food.

“Seems like a thing or two has been biting at you.” Big Mac leaned back in his seat, allowing himself to gaze at the ceiling. Keeping his ears open and eyes away. Helped to take away the pressure on others. “Don't have to discuss 'em. Can just sit here if ya like.”

“I... worry I am not the same woman you fell in love with,” the words left her slowly, and she stuffed another tart into her mouth. This one, she slowly chewed, savouring the creamy explosion of blueberries. “In character, I am not the same as the woman you first fell in love with.” She heaved a sigh. “And my figure clues none to what I was before. What you agreed to marry... nothing of it remains now.”

Mac kept his head tilted back, but nodded the same if to let her know he was still listening. Not that Mac was the kind to lose himself during such an important time. But non-verbal cues were sometimes needed to others' subconscious viewings. Empathy and acceptance were hard qualities to mastered for the depended on the succeeding of little things.

Little things most don't think about. Must less consider.

“And when it comes to what married couples do... in all the s-sex we used to have... rarely have we done it recently.” Zecora sniffled and rubbed her cheek, bits of mushed food clinging to her skin. Another rub with another hand then took it away. “I know you're a busy man for all that you do on the farm and for this town. That this time of year is the most stressful of them all. But even then... it doesn't feel like you want me anymore.”

She swallowed her snack as if it brought her the final comfort needed to finish her sentence. “Just adds to the fuel to the belief you don't love me anymore... in all the ways a man loves a woman. And I just don't know how to cope with it. I really don't. Food is all I have, that and my belly, our family and daughter... and the love we once had.”

Big Mac finally lowered his head. He kept looking forward as if processing her words. Then, with a nod, he spoke. “Suppose I can see why you were so wound up if you've been feeling that way all this time. Celestia knows how such feelings can swell if you ain't careful with them.”

He looked over at her with a smile. “Thankfully, I can say you've thought wrong about me, of course.”

Zecora smiled as she sniffled.

“Truth of the matter is I've seen you, and will always see you as the wonderfully smart, strong, caring woman I'm proud to call the mother of my child.” He then leaned back and scratched the side of his neck. “And my coat may get a little redder after sayin' this, but... I've always enjoyed the thickness of your bottom. Gettin' bigger isn't really an issue with me. Only more of ya to love.”

“Are you... telling the truth?”

“Have you ever known me to lie when it matters most? I'd assume you wouldn't have married me then—or stuck with me now.” Mac smiled upon crossing his arms over the back of his head, the tension faded from the air, relaxation reclaiming them. “Just more to hug and to jiggle and wiggle around. Just makes you better in my eyes. So if you're feelin' strange... just know your couple is just the same.”

“So... you love your wife big and chunky?”

“Do I ever.”

Both of them chuckled.

Zecora felt heat course beneath her skin and her belly jut out due to his appreciating eyes. Knowing now the things that gave her shame now turned on her lover—those same qualities now gave her confidence. Powerful and strong, sexy and craving that word missing a 'y,' she began to flirt.

“I must admit there is much I adore about you, farmer boy.” Zecora licked her bloated lips while a fatty arm cleared the contents of the table to the side. She knew exactly what she was getting herself into. “Your bulging and rippling muscles seem to have only swollen with age—adding an attractive, older charm to your body. Very much in the season, I hear.”

Big Mac smirked. “That so, big lady?”

“Very much so, farmer boy.” Zecora heaved herself onto the table. It creaked and groaned from underneath her immense weight. It took a while, but after a few seconds, she was able to lie the back of her back onto the table. “Now that we have some time for ourselves—why don't you reintroduce me to the reason they call you big?”

Big Mac didn't hesitate as the need to blow off steam had been a long time coming. Undoing the buttons to his shirt, he slipped it off slowly, revealing his broad chest and chiselled abdomen. His pants were quickly undone, and his boxers pushed down after them.

An erection throbbing hard into the air.

Mac came to the side of the table and, bringing his face to her exposed underbelly, peppered the curve with kisses. His hands grabbed the bottom of her sweater and slowly pulled it over her top, doing his best cover all that she bore, keeping true to his promise of having more of her to love.