Fluttershy closes her eyes and inhales, tightening her grip on the handles of her jumprope.
She knows she is being watched, that she is on stage in front of dozens of friends and neighbors, but doesn’t try to force the thought from her mind.
She exhales, choosing instead to focus on establishing a steady rhythm. The crowd isn’t going anywhere, but they seem less important somehow as she begins to warm up her arms and legs, shaking her hair and body loose.
The last week she spent reworking an old routine from middle-school she never had the chance to show, for by then doubt and anxiety had taken root, and if not for Twilight, she may never have found the courage to escape her prison of fear.
Feeling the weight of her body, Fluttershy lets her conscious mind melt away and gently snaps her wrists, pressing off with the toes of her shoes. She opens her eyes as the rope slips under the slight gap beneath her feet.
Little hops, just like a bunny. Just like angel bunny.
Faster and faster, feeling her calves begin to sting, she hears the whir of the invisible cord... and feels the weight of her chest work against her.
She becomes aware of the sliding flesh of her thighs; of the voluminous drop of her heavy breasts and the shivering bound of her buttocks.
Shaking her head to clear it, she turns her errant mind to the burning sensation in her lungs, attempting to acclimate to the myriad feelings trying to overwhelm her.
After a time she decides to switch it up, alternating now between her left and right feet, letting the rope glide underneath in the brief moment they are both off the floor.
She feels more confident this way—like she is jogging in place—yet the sway it adds to her rack makes her nipples strain against her bra.
Gradually, she starts to see the audience again, and remembers that they can see her, and that they have been watching the whole time—watching her body bounce and shake, glistening beads of sweat forming on the tops of her breasts and dripping down her thighs.
Their faces begin to take shape, and they appear utterly and embarrassingly transfixed. They look on as her marshmallow body jiggles and shivers.
She switches up the routine again, this time to alternating sets of one-legged hops, her off leg extended outwards as though she were in a chorus line. Even still, with the added ache and strain on her legs she can just barely keep her focus from the onlookers’ silent scrutiny.
Her warm breath mists in the chilly night air, her body hot enough to melt frost. She imagines her sweat turning into steam, then tries once more to distance herself by changing things up, this time reverting to normal hops while crossing and uncrossing her arms.
Each time her arms come together they press against the sides of her massive breasts, pushing them together and outward toward the audience that is rapidly materializing.
She can’t afford to let her friends down, but she also can’t help feeling like anything but a stand in for the more… gymnastically inclined Sweetie Belle. Yet Sweetie is in the audience with a twisted ankle, placing her hopes in Fluttershy to qualify on her team’s behalf, even if it means being the object of everyone’s unwanted attention.
Still, she has some sort of power over the audience, the red recording lights and occasional camera flash proof enough of that.
Though she feels tired, exhausted even, her performance is not yet done, and she recalls a piece of advice from Rarity: “The show must go on.”
So she keeps the pace, her chest sore from all the bouncing and rubbing, but she doesn’t let up, not even when she feels the sweat-soaked material of her sports-bra begin to slide. Her cheeks turn red, but she knows she can’t stop, even when the eyes of the audience widen in surprise as the elastic slips over her nipples and snaps tight, releasing her mammoth tits to thunder and bound.
She just closes her eyes tightly, repeating Rarity’s words in her head. The show must go on.
Thankfully, the routine is nearly over, but every agonizing second drags on. Her face is flushed, and it takes all her strength to steady her rhythm.
Every hop is accompanied by pain as her tired body, plagued now by the harsh bounce of her liberated bosom, protests the rapid movement.
There is excitement, however, in this predicament, and she uses that to press on, gathering all the feeling from the onlooking crowd and the fiery strain of her muscles, preparing for the finale.
She skips lightly back as far from the ledge as she can. What she has planned is somewhat dangerous, which helps her maintain her focus.
When she is ready, she rolls forward into a cartwheel, her boobs hanging in her face and her hair splayed like a paper fan.
From here, when her feet touch the ground with her back to the audience, she springs into an incredible back flip.
Time slows to a crawl as her head inverts and she sees the audience upside down. Her back curves and the arc of the rope sails over the tops of her emerging breasts, dragged forcefully along as she curls up, tucking in her knees while drops of sweat are expelled toward the front row.
Another rotation passes over her poorly concealed ass, and then her toes touch the floor and all the weight of her extra flesh catches up to her.
With her body shuddering all over, (particularly her gelatinous ass,) she holds the landing just long enough to communicate that the routine is over.
She turns around as a thunderous applause erupts, her fear drowned by adrenaline.
Sweetie Belle catches her eye and smiles, then motions to her chest and giggles while Fluttershy frantically tries to tuck her boobs away while cameras rapidly flash.
Author's Note
This began without a clear direction, and sort of came together naturally over time, as I was simultaneously working on an image to use as the cover art. The drawing influenced the story somewhat, and both took far longer than they ought to have. Still, it was fun to write. If anything it is at least some practice writing in an unusual tense, one which I think lends itself well to sequences of action. Hope at least somepony likes it. Cheers! 
