Marshmallow in Hot Coffee

by Non Uberis

Rating: mature
Tags: Rarity, Slice of Life, Anthro, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Fetish
Length: 1862

Rarity starts the day off with a warm, filling drink.

Getting up in the morning isn't always easy. Fortunately, Rarity can get her day kicked into high gear with the help of a simple cup of coffee. A perfectly ordinary cup of coffee.

Contains the following: anthro, weight gain, fat and hyper.

Cover art by 09hankris

Published 2021-09-22 16:50:02 UTC
Last updated 2021-09-22 16:50:02 UTC

Morning Routine

The Carousel Boutique was known as a bastion of refinement and beauty. Not nearly as majestic as the likes of the giant crystal castle which stood on the periphery of Ponyville (which more than a few had to admit was a tad on the gaudy side), but it was more about what the tall circular building represented than its outward physical appearance. It was within those walls that one would be presented with an assortment of dresses and accessories that were among the finest in all of Equestria, threads and sequins and buckles and gemstones glittering. And they were all fashioned and purveyed by the owner herself, the paragon of generosity and the most sophisticated mare in town. There were few who could resist even briefly standing in awe of her when she was in her element, lavish and decorated and extravagant.

That, of course, was during business hours. Outside business hours was a different story, especially in the morning.

Rarity had stumbled into several walls and nearly fallen down the stairs before finally managing to shuffle into the kitchen. Her eyes were practically glued shut from the grains of sand that kept her eyelids together. There was yet to be any makeup applied to her face, no eyeshadow or mascara, and only a token effort had been made to brush her mane and tail, still fraught with loose frazzled strands of purple hair and lacking her distinct corkscrew curls. Her posture lacked any sense of poise, her shoulders slumped and her neck slouching forward under the weight of her cranium, legs moving in a stiff, stilted gait. She wore naught but a pink bathrobe, but she hadn’t taken the effort to tie it shut, leaving herself completely exposed, the loose folds dragging across the floor in her wake. Had she been more conscious of herself, she would have been thankful for the fact that Sweetie Belle wasn’t staying over today, otherwise she never would have heard the end of it for her disheveled appearance. Although, if she had been more conscious of herself, she probably would have simply stayed in bed. As it was, the instincts of the morning routine were pulling her along automatically.

The white unicorn stumbled over to the kitchen counter, and again had to take several attempts to identify the coffee maker—that most sun-blessed of modern marvels—from the blender and toaster and microwave. It was another ordeal entirely to find the bag of imported coffee beans and begin the process that would allow her to finally have that sweet nectar without which she could never hope to function. But then that left her with the worst part of it all: the wait, standing around and listening to the machine churn and bubble and slowly but surely drip closer and closer to completion. Low grunts and grumbles gurgled from her throat at intermittent intervals, sounds that were incoherent and lacked even a hint of her distinct social flair. She didn’t dare move far from this spot, lest she be met with the harsh morning light that came in through the windows, the feeling of which was akin to being stabbed with microscopic daggers in every individual retina.

A hand absentmindedly passed over her front. She felt at the modest curvature of her frame, over the chest and down along the stomach to the thighs. There was another low grumble in the depths of her lungs. She missed her bed already. She missed the cushy softness. If only she could carry that comfort around with her everywhere. In her exhaustion-induced delirium, her awareness and cognition shifted, her memory blurring into a haze of thought.

After a span of minutes that seemed like it must have surely been hours, Rarity was finally holding a mug full of that steaming hot drink, cream swirling across its dark surface. The smell alone was intoxicating, filling her nostrils with its bitter aroma and from there lancing into her brain. It took all of what little willpower she presently had to keep from drinking it all right on the spot and hopelessly scalding her mouth and esophagus. Even in her current addled state, she had enough awareness to know that such a drink always required careful precision.

So, she raised the mug to her lips and carefully tilted back, allowing just a scant trickle of coffee to pass over her tongue with its searing bitter flavor before making its way toward the stomach.

And, at the same time, Rarity swelled. A layer of padding manifested around her trim frame, bringing her to what some might have considered an ample degree of chubbiness. A gut had formed over her midsection, protruding in front of her and obscuring her groin, heavier breasts resting upon its upper slope. Her hips flared out toward the sides as her legs thickened, slender lengths turned to stout alabaster columns that supported the bulk of her upper body. Her tail gave a lazy swish from side to side, sweeping over her plump buttocks.

A low sigh of relief, almost a groan, emanated from her as the first sip ended. Her neck and chin creased faintly when she looked down at the cup and felt the warmth that it exuded, seeping into her fingers. That heat was within her as well, suffusing her bloodstream and stimulating her senses, reigniting her inner strength. It would have been enough to stop there and get on with the rest of her day. But one doesn’t just leave a cup of coffee unfinished—that would have been terribly improper and wasteful.

The first sip had raised her tolerance, allowing her to take in more on the second. There was a churning and creaking and rumbling as the unicorn’s dimensions expanded further. Gravity pulled on her, stretching her like taffy, folds of flab yearning to be brought toward the floor beneath her. The doughy mass of her gut was divided into sections by the wrinkling lines that ran across its surface, centering at the deepening divot of her navel. It was engaged in a race with her breasts as they too reached out farther and farther, splaying to the sides, globes that had once merely been handfuls now progressing toward armfuls. Her rear rapidly approached a size at which she would have struggled to fit in most conventional seats, hips and thighs spreading past the span of her shoulders. The all-pervading doughiness was spreading its reach across the rest of her features, the slight musculature of her arms becoming swaddled in sleeves of fat, rolls forming along her neck while her cheeks steadily morphed the definition of her face.

And from there, it hardly took much effort at all to continue making her way through the remainder of the mug’s contents. Rarity was lost in the taste, and in the newfound vitality which surged through her in turn. She only stopped for the opportunity to breathe, long, crooning sighs of delight, even while her jowls encroached upon her muzzle. She didn’t think much of it when her hip brushed against the counter, simply unconsciously taking a step away from it. The positioning of her legs shifted to account for their increased breadth, thighs grinding against each other while the apron of her stomach steadily inched down their front. The bathrobe was becoming even more inadequate than it had been to begin with, the lower hem rising up over the curve of her ass and thighs, revealing the three diamonds of her cutie mark stretched across the broadening surface. Rarity was lost in the taste, and she was steadily becoming lost in herself.

In what was the exact opposite of the wait she had had to endure during the drink’s preparation, the delight of the coffee ended almost as quickly as it had begun. After a few final wet slurps, it occurred to her that the mug was completely empty, and she felt a sense of melancholy upon opening her eyes and seeing the bottom of that ceramic container. That didn’t last long, though, in the face of the overwhelming exuberance which was brought upon her by the warmth which flowed through the very fiber of her being. It was a languid, heavy feeling, weighing upon her senses, but the warmth that came with it was too comforting for it to be much of a bother.

“Now that’s the right way to start the day,” Rarity mused aloud. Her voice was deepened slightly by the added mass upon her chest, and her enunciation was dulled and blurred, but that didn’t stop her from maintaining her usual refined tone. She reached to the side so she could place the empty mug upon the counter once more. She didn’t put any thought to the sight of the great horizons of white-furred flesh which extended all around her, creasing against the cupboards beside her, far enough that her arm couldn’t extend beyond it.

The enormity of the unicorn at this point was such that she could have accounted for the mass of the pony who had come into the room a scant few minutes ago more than ten times over. Her gut looked like it could have contained a full banquet’s worth of food all for herself, spilling past her waist like a bank of snow that reached all the way to the floor, dragging and catching on the surface when she moved. This was almost difficult to notice, though, in the face of the immensity of her breasts, mammoth mounds that would have put any other mare to shame, boulders which extended far beyond the span of her arms, the purple nipples at their farthest ends outside her reach. Her rear was of a comparable girth, the distinction between buttock and thigh and calf having eroded into nearly nothing, bloated masses which nearly sagged to the ground as well, their combined width outstripping her height. She idly ran her hand across herself again, the doughy, bloated limb reaching as far as it could, over the swollen hills and fields of flab, then back up, over the meaty rolls of her neck to her cheeks, pressing stout fingers into the cushy surface, and she hummed contentedly. Despite her indecency, the bathrobe now comically undersized, too small to even begin to cinch across her front, and her still-unkempt visage, there was a kind of resplendence about her that made her seem particularly inviting, the eyes of ponies unable to look away from the cascading mountains of meat.

Such was the nature of Rarity, the most beautiful and refined and all-around biggest of ponies in Ponyville.

“Mmm…now what shall we do for breakfast?” she asked herself as she stepped forward, an undulating motion that brought her mass crashing from one side to the other, hooves stomping on the floor in quaking thuds. She was feeling up to pancakes. A couple dozen stacks, at least. The very thought of it, of that hot, heavy dough, made her mouth water.

Author's Note

I was struck by a sudden bout of inspiration so here's some quick Rarifats for you all.

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