Busty Bug Burlesque

Yvette wriggled and writhed in place, squirming and shifting her weight from side to side. Occasionally crossed and recrossed her legs, trying for the umpteenth time to find a comfortable position which didn’t remind her of her plush rear, enlarged thighs, or monumental breasts, she fidgeted in place. So far as she could tell, it had been well over an hour since her hasty and borderline-panicked egress from the beach - an hour of which she’d spent the better part of fighting against, and losing to, her own carnal desires.

Shortly after she had sat down earlier, she’d felt a small but steady trickle of her marish juices leaking from the microscopic gap between her massive meaty thighs - still, despite having sequestered herself within a public changing room, she hadn’t shed a bit of her spontaneously added mass. Hanging her head, she peered down at the immense cleavage of her bulbous bosoms, and sighed.

While nearly everyone was keenly aware that changelings were a bit unique among the sapient creatures of Equestria, it was a little known fact that the finer nuances of their parasitic nature varied from drone to drone. Most of her kind could freely control if and when they absorbed energy from another creature, whereas a handful of others, like herself, simply soaked up ambient amorous essence instinctively like a sponge - as such, after an exceedingly short lived and wholly embarrassing trip to the seaside, she’d ballooned to nearly seven times her original size.

For many drones, the development would have been a mild, albeit awkward growth, but fate had been especially unkind to Yvette. Unlike many of her kin, whose bodies would burn through their reserves of power in a relatively short period of time, her tall, normally slender frame held on to the fuel for days. In addition, her body was much more sensitive to the metaphysical energies of love; as a result, where one drone may only grow the slightest bit over a fairly substantial meal, Yvette would become positively engorged. These factors would have been bad enough on their own, yet there was an element that she held in very mixed regard. Despite her best efforts, loathing that she’d made a scene, she absolutely adored her enlarged look.

The curves of her massive chest, belly, hips, and thighs were positively bounteous, making it hard not to think about how ravishing her expansive form was. To make matters worse, her small sanctuary was adorned with a standing mirror, doubtlessly to allow patrons to adjust their swimwear, but its intended purpose was lost on her. Sneaking glimpses of herself, drawn by the sight of her vividly colored areola, she ground her supple, moistened thighs together.

As scandalous as it was, she’d already gotten off once in the changing room, and had been tempted to do so a second time, but the act was both shameful and counterproductive. A changeling simply couldn’t rub their energy reserves away - at least, she’d never been able to - which left her with few options of making an escape. As things were, if she tried to sneak out and walk back to her townhouse, there was a very real chance that she’d be stopped for public indecency.

It was a marvel that her bikini had somehow survived her unplanned metamorphosis as long as it did, but her exaggerated size - and the fact that she had completely destroyed the garment only an hour or so ago - left the garment laughably useless. Her bikini top, at the end of its life as a wearable garment, had only just barely covered her nipples - exposing most of her areolae - but her bottom was worse. The once modest pair of bikini bottoms, having once covered most of her rump and groin, had been all but swallowed by her titanic and deliciously soft buns, until she took it off with her spectacular surge of growth. Even her sarong didn’t survive the battle of the curves, though it fared far better than the rest of her beach ensemble, and remained untorn. Without a fitting change of clothes to wear, and unwilling to risk a mad dash to her home, she was left with one option - well, one viable option.

Were any other drone in her situation, they’d more than likely shift their form, trot out, and be done with the affair without a care in the world; sadly, things weren’t quite that simple for Yvette. Ever since the peace accord was struck between Queen Chrysalis and Princess Celestia, and she had taken up residence in one of Equestria’s great cities, she’d made a promise to herself not to shapeshift around the ponies of Equestria. Ties between the two races had been rocky, to say the very least, and the last thing she wanted was to uphold the duplicitous stereotype of her kind with the native equine, or at least those who were privy to changelings, anyway. Therefore, she only ever used her transformative abilities in private or, for the last several months, not at all.

While simply changing her form was the easiest and most convenient solution, there was an alternative - a compression spell. The specifics of the magic involved were tricky, and predominantly used for the movement of freight, but she had read that some variations of it could be safely applied to creatures, even if being under the effects of this particular variation of the spell was somewhat uncomfortable. Simply put, if she could pull it off - and she could very easily pull it off - she’d be able to alter her size without using her natural shapeshifting abilities.

Unlike a shrinking spell, which alters an object’s size while also keeping its mass relative, this particular charm would reduce something’s dimensions in every way without shedding a single gram, in part due to the nature of being able to be applied to organic creatures. Closing her eyes and sending power surging through her horn, she held her palms over her chest. A full-body tingle gradually fell over her, moments before a sensation of shrinking fought for her attention. Motioning her arms across her bountiful curves, she made sure that the spell was affecting everything evenly, from her overly-engorged chest, down to her pillowy belly, and across her supple thighs. Cracking an eye, while keeping her fingers crossed, she watched as her proportions diminished.

As soon as she was close to her regular size - at least as close as she could get with the fairly basic spell she had memorized, anyway - she shot to her hooves and swiftly laid out her more decent outfit. The spell had worked, which was miraculous enough, but that didn’t mean she was out of the woods yet. Unfortunately, unlike her innate ability to transform, the magic of this particular spell would take constant concentration and energy to fuel. Some part of her realized that it was silly, and that simply altering her figure would be both easier and much more convenient, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it - after all, she was a bug of her principles.

Still slippery from her most indecorous activities of the past hour, Yvette resigned to mopping the sweet essence from between her thighs with her beach towel; as much as the tiny, sultry voice in her head was screaming for her to air out her pink-lime-scented musk in the open for all to lust over, her more rational being knew that the less noticeable her urges were to the public, the better. Deep down, however, she knew that her efforts to clean up were near-fruitless; she’d be just as wet again anyway, if not even more so, in about ten minutes’ time.

Changing into the outfit she’d worn on her way to her beach escapade - a rather flowery, yet simple honeydew-colored sundress with an orchid-pink ribbon around the waist and a large bow on the back, a fittingly large straw beach hat, a relatively basic black bra, and her favorite pair of now-little red panties, which had a tiny pink heart in the middle of the rear side - Yvette was remarkably grateful that she had something a bit more modest to wear. Even if she was still much curvier now than when she had worn it earlier in the day, and was spilling out of both her undergarments and her sundress in a myriad of ways, it was far better than attempting to run home in the nude.

Gathering her things, she shakily adjusted her massive set of spectacles and ran a hand back along her dorsal fin. Mentally preparing herself for the undoubtedly crowded walk home, she cracked the door open, and peeked outside. Even though she wasn’t as eye-catching as she’d been an hour ago, and even less so from mere moments ago, she didn’t want to take any chances; the last thing she needed was to get distracted or, Chrysalis forbid, run into that cute mare she’d encountered on the shore. Finding the coast clear, going so far as to listen for anyone nearby, she dashed out of her refuge and towards the street.

Thankfully, her trip home would be a short one. The townhouse she owned was less than a mile away, meaning it wouldn’t take her long to get home - that was, so long as she didn’t hit any snags. Holding her towel and grimoire over her chest, mitigating the chances of anyone ogling her cleavage or getting fleeting glances of her visible pot-belly, she kept her eyes glued to the sidewalk. Focusing on the compression spell, only occasionally glancing up to ensure didn’t miss a turn, she only just caught herself from stepping into traffic.

Being one of the larger cities on the continent, Baltimare was a bustling metropolis of activity. The sizable port and temperate climate were an allure for many, offering relatively mild weather all year, plenty of jobs, and access to foreign goods, which is exactly why she’d decided to settle there. While there were plenty of perks to living in the massive town, there were a handful of drawbacks as well - namely the constant hustle and bustle.

Standing at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, Yvette impatiently tapped her hoof. As the seconds dragged on, several pedestrians gathered around her; she was hoping that nopony would notice the scent of what was slowly making its way down the inside of her legs. She would have been more than happy to ignore her fellow townsfolk, letting them go about their business without a care in the world, but something quickly caught her attention. Guided by a delicate, ambrosial scent, she turned her head and peered over at a pegasus mare - a pegasus mare who was blissfully eyeing her rather modest rump.

The sight caused her heart to skip a beat, made her mouth dry, and nearly undid the spellwork concealing her exceptionally expanded form. With a squeak, she vaguely tried to camouflage herself amongst the other bystanders. To much her own chagrin, her amazing height had bested her at her own game yet again; even without feeling her dorsal fin standing up much straighter than usual, attempting to hide was a rather futile effort unless she bothered to crouch - something that was sure to make a scene - as she stuck out far above the heads of her peers. A few of the onlookers had taken notice of her antics, but thankfully opted to continue on with indifference to what the silly bug lady was doing.

Lost in her own daydreams, and oblivious to what Yvette was doing, it took a moment for the pegasus to notice the changeling looking back at her; with a startled jolt, her eyes went wide, her wings sprung out, and her cheeks almost instantaneously turned a deeper shade of crimson than Yvette thought a pony was capable of. Forcing her eyes shut, she squirmed around in a fluster, as an almost vain attempt to not make a scene.

To anyone but a changeling, the sight of a creature casually admiring another would have been easy to ignore, yet that wasn’t the case for her kind - for drones, that carnal interest was like a beacon in the dark, nearly impossible to ignore, and tempting to a fault to exploit. Wrenching her attention away from the poor, love-struck mare, as the ponies around her began to cross the street, Yvette knit her brow and trudged towards her home, to avoid another surprise public feeding session.

Finally, after what felt like a small eternity of walking, and more bouncing around than usual, she rounded a corner, spotted her abode, and smiled. Her home was a townhouse, nearly identical to the structures it sat nestled between, but she positively adored it. It was her refuge, gave her everything she needed, and couldn’t have been located in a better spot; even without her ability to fly, it would only take her a few minutes to reach work, the market, or the coziest little café she’d ever seen. Trotting up the front steps, she swiftly saw herself inside.

Upon crossing the threshold, she slammed the door closed, turned the lock, and sighed. Somehow, despite what felt like insurmountable odds, she’d made it home mostly without making a spectacle of herself - still, she wasn’t done yet. Though the magic she’d cast was tiresome to maintain, she couldn’t risk undoing it until she’d done two things - gotten to her room and gotten out of her outfit.

Given the prolific size she’d grown to, she didn’t want to risk getting stuck in a doorway or, Chrysalis forbid, accidentally damaging the already highly strained sundress she was wearing. Although it wasn’t as expensive a garment as her bikini, she had spent her hard-earned bits on the item, and she didn’t really feel like ruining two outfits in one day. Briskly walking through the foyer, she started up the stairway leading to the second and third floors.

The entire day had been nothing but taxing. She’d hoped that her jaunt to the beach would bolster her confidence, and possibly help her relax around others, yet that hadn’t really been the case. There was a slim chance that repeated attempts would bear better fruit, steadily desensitizing her to the presence and interest of others, although she wasn’t going to settle for chances. Stepping into her bedroom, her eyes wandered to a clipping of paper resting on her vanity.

Her original plan to broaden her horizons had failed spectacularly, nearly catastrophically, yet that wasn’t her only option. After a bit of research, poring over various, occasionally libidinous magazines and periodicals, she happened upon an individual who might be able to give her a bit of help. The only reason she hadn’t contacted the individual was because this particular changeling had a somewhat dubious profession.

This particular drone’s name was Měilì and, according to an advertisement she posted, she professed at making others comfortable. It took Yvette mere seconds to put the pieces together, surmising that the changeling was doubtlessly some sort of escort or call girl, but that gave her an idea. If there was one type of person who could be relaxed around anyone, wouldn’t it be a courtesan?

Since she struggled in social situations, often growing tense and uncomfortable, perhaps talking with someone who got paid to keep others company could give her some insight. It was an unorthodox plan, and it had no guarantee of working, yet she struggled to find fault with the scheme. Steeling herself, crossing the room, she picked up the receiver of her rotary phone, dialed the number and waited.

Driven by frustration and her refusal to throw in the towel, she kept her conversation with the escort as concise and to the point as she could. Though she didn’t reveal the exact nature of her issue, hoping to avoid any mockery, she made it clear that she was in need of a home visit. Even if she couldn’t get any assistance or keen insight on her not-so-little problem, she had every intention of paying the woman afterwards. Concluding the call, after the harlot agreed to come over within the hour, she trotted to and flopped back on her bed.

Yvette sighed, with both her wings and heart fluttering in anticipation. In less than an hour, a changeling she’d never met would be at her doorstep - a changeling whose job was to fuck ponies’ brains out - and she’d be helping her with her issue. She didn’t want to head to her study to try and distract herself with work, lest she miss her guest’s arrival. However, that left her with another issue entirely - with some time to kill, she wasn’t sure what else to distract herself with.

Even if she didn’t have any intention of donning the now-destroyed swimwear, lest she reenact the salacious moments from earlier that morning, she had to do something. She didn’t want to end up wearing herself out before her esteemed guest could arrive, but the fire in her loins was unbearable. Staring up at the ceiling, wondering if the call girl really would be able to help like she advertised, Yvette scrunched her snout. It really wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t control her body as well as others! Although that was little consolation.

After undoing the zipper at the back of her sundress and letting the garment fall to either side of her chest, she pushed the upper half down beyond her slight pot belly and past her buttocks, lifted her legs, did her best to step out of the pesky dress, and sat on her bed. Next was her bra, which was practically begging to be relieved of its duty, holding back the tsunami of titty behind its meager fabric form. She opted to not take off her panties, as whilst they lightly dug into her hips, some depraved part of her, which ultimately won against her more rational being, wanted them to soak in her own sweat and juices a little more, to properly absorb her scent.

While she had no intention of completely cancelling the magic that was renewing her vaguely-svelte form, she did feel the need to switch over to a superior spell that she half-remembered seeing in the tome she was reading. Reaching over to her bag, she pulled out her copy of Mothra's Methods of Magic, Vol. II, and flipped over to a page that she had scrawled a few notes onto. Setting it down aside, Yvette repeated the motions for the previous spell, this time holding her hands in the air and away from her assets, and undid it.

Almost immediately, she felt her entire self Bwoomph within a fraction of a second; her hands were shot away by her fat nipples, pushed with the force of the dozens of pounds of tit-flesh that lay behind them. Her entire body jerked up a little - causing her to bounce on the mattress shortly before settling down and sinking in deeper than before - as her ass and thighs exploded in size and returned to their love-stuffed state. Her little red panties had basically been turned into a g-string with how much they were being stretched and distorted; they were barely holding by a thread. Not that they could be seen anymore, as the sides were entirely buried underneath her love-handles, and the rear portion had slid down enough to be under her. Had her center of mass not shifted when her plump belly regained its luscious cushioning, she would have almost certainly fallen off the bed with the sudden surge of flesh.

Being reminded of just how plush and curvaceous she was now served to only add fuel to the fire that was raging down in her nether regions; she could feel another gush of fluid make its way between her thighs, even with all the other nectar that had already leaked down there since she last mopped up. Biting her lip and clenching her thighs together, Yvette inhaled deeply; some twisted part of her mind found great joy in savoring her own musky scent, and another part, the sensation of her panties digging in deeply. She was amazed that they didn’t just snap the same way that her bikini had, yet somehow they had endured her massive growth spurt.

Adjusting herself and her glasses, and attempting to have at least one coherent thought, Yvette prepared herself for her new spell. Doing her best to dispel all her downright uncouth cogitations, she brought one hand to her chest, did her best hand-bra impression, and reached the other around to try and hook one of her fingers around her panties. She let the magic flow through her horn, and let the spell do the rest. With a slight glow to the affected areas, she could feel the power of her spell being weaved into the complex structure needed to properly compress her own body into a more reasonable shape. Nowhere near as quickly as she expanded - that is to say, mere seconds later - she was back to her other size; breasts still far bigger than her own head, a belly round enough to grab onto, and hips wide enough to cover most of a doorframe.

Looking at herself, she did feel that one thing was missing, however. Rather, a lack of a certain feeling; her bra was still sitting off to the side, when it should have been on her, attempting - and failing to - squeeze the life out of her bountiful boobs. Promptly, Yvette put her poor little bra back on and did it up again as best she could.

As soon as she was satisfied with her bodily decor, the sensations down below started to cloud her mind again. Losing the fight to her more lascivious half, she saw no harm in easing up the compression just a touch; being under the effects of a compression spell was somewhat uncomfortable, after all, and not in the same wonderful way that her tight clothing was. Closing her eyes and with a bit of concentration, taking care not to dispel the sorcery entirely, she dialed back the enchantment.

Though she wasn’t looking at herself, she felt the heft on her chest increase slightly, and felt that she was sitting on more of her doona than before. The mattress compressed under the added load, leaving her to sink into the cushiony surface. Her bra became tighter, her panties even more so, as she intentionally let her plush body press up and get dug into by that which attempted to contain her. She gave a deep sigh; even the slight relief felt amazing, better than she’d anticipated, yet it did leave her curious. Pushing herself up, she turned her head to the side and gazed at the mirror on her vanity.

As she’d thought, her bust had regained some of its enlarged size. Now over twice the size of her head, but not nearly as massive as they’d been on the beach, each succulent teat obscured most of her upper torso. She shook her chest around playfully, savoring the deliciously jiggly view of her constricted bosom, before she heard some of the clasps of her bra starting to snap. Reaching back behind herself, hoping to ultimately spare it from being torn apart entirely - even if she did love the tight feeling it gave her - she unclasped the undergarment and freed her modestly enlarged bosoms.

Tossing the brassiere to the side, letting it land where it may, she hefted one teat in each hand. Aside from the surprisingly remarkable heft of each mountainous mammary, given their already bloated size - a result of her compression spell only changing the outward appearance of an object - they were still exceptionally tender. Much to her chagrin, a byproduct of feasting on the ambient love or lust from others was that her body became hyper-sensitized. Holding the pair of pillowy breasts, amusedly squeezing them together, her muzzle split in a coy little grin. Try as she might, she couldn’t help but appreciate how well her increased bust complimented the rest of her engorged figure.

Slowly, almost insidiously, her hand glided over her thigh and to her groin. She hadn’t intended to be so bewitched by her reflection, yet it happened all the same. Her dark fingers danced over the crimson panties covering her whetted marehood, causing her to shiver and reminding her of just what she was doing. Briefly warring with herself, grappling with the notion of some transient relief, her inhibitions ultimately won out.

Situated as it was, resting just above the level of her mattress, the vanity’s mirror wouldn’t allow her to watch the lustful display - then again, there was no need. Simply seeing her bare chest and slightly plump form had been more than enough to get her going, so she did just that. Rolling onto her back, with her free hand clutching one tit, she peered down at her chest.

Most of her lower body was obscured by her chest, yet she wasn’t bothered in the slightest; if anything, only seeing a small slither of her bloated belly through her vast valley of cleavage made it even more enticing to feel. Lazily kneading her marehood, as she gently pawed at her teat, she was stricken with a delightfully naughty idea. She wasn’t sure if she could pull it off, even with her enlarged bust, but she couldn’t resist from trying. Angling her teat towards her face, while she craned her neck downward, she brought her muzzle to her nipple.

Much to her amusement, taking perilously little effort, her snout pressed against the sensitive bud of flesh. Seeing herself nude had been provocative enough, but discovering that she could kiss the delicate flesh of her teats poured fuel on the fire. Opening her mouth, unable to control herself any longer, she wrapped her lips around the udder-like tit and gently suckled.

Softly groaning to herself, as she closed her eyes, she massaged her sex with gradually increasing enthusiasm. Her digits grew moist, her pulse quickened, and her serpentine tongue coiled around her nipple, as her movements grew increasingly heated. She told herself that it was simply to blow off some steam, that she deserved some relief after her tumultuous morning, but she knew that wasn’t the case - no, some part of her loved just how large she’d gotten, and that withered away at her inhibitions.

Moaning around one tit, while her hand crept beneath her panties, she squeezed and fondled her unaccosted breast. There was something undeniably risqué about getting herself off, but she couldn’t resist. As her fingers sank into the meaty folds of her marehood, warmed by her velvety interior, she found her prize. Her instincts took hold, pushing her past the point of no return, as her hips reflexively bucked into her palm.

While she wasn’t as big as she’d been on the beach, she savored the additional weight, softness, and sensitivity of her enlarged state. It was a bit of a shame that she couldn’t watch the display, but she wasn’t bothered too much. If or when circumstances were similar, possibly in a more controlled way, she’d make a note to move her vanity or, more conveniently, simply enjoy herself in a different position.

Focusing on her clit, lightly biting and tweaking her teats, her eyelids fluttered. Saliva crept down her bosom, smearing over her torso, as her nectar drenched her panties and seeped into the blanket. Well past the point of caring, impelled by her inevitable release, she passionately got herself off. She’d earned this, it was her reward for trying so hard to grow and improve as a drone, and there was nothing that was going to stop her - that was, until something did.

Though it was faint, a soft knocking caught her ear - only made audible by a magical sound transmission spell. She tried to dismiss it at first, attributing it to the neighbors or perhaps the mailmare, but that wasn’t the case. Several seconds passed, before the noise repeated itself - this time more urgently. Unlatching from her boob, rolling her head back, she glowered at her ceiling fan. Of all bloody days and all the bloody times for someone to pay her a visit, it had to be now.

It wasn’t until the third series of knocks occurred did she finally relent, heaving herself up and getting to her hooves. “Just a minute!” she shouted, glancing to her closet.

She could don her dress, but that would mean having to re-compress her figure again. Knitting her brow, thinking fast, she spotted her bathrobe. To be sure, nobody would blame her for wearing the modest garb within the comfort of her own home, and it would make concealing herself easy, so she trotted over and snatched up the article.

Slipping her arms through the lavender-colored robe, and securing it around her waist with its purple ribbon, she quickly inspected her reflection. Despite being virtually naked beneath the garment, with only her utterly soaked panties clinging to her groin, she was made instantly presentable - well, mostly presentable.

Despite being clothed, in a technical sense, her full figure was very apparent. Her heavy chest, broad hips, rounded belly, and ample thighs were clear to see, yet that wasn’t enough to stop her. Briskly trotting out of her room, down the stairs, and to the front door, she crossed her arms over her chest, putting them close to her face. She assumed her visitor was simply making a delivery, or that it was someone with a wrong address, so she’d likely have them shooed away shortly.

Deftly unlocking and cracking the front door, unwilling to give her guest a full view of herself, she peered outside. “May I help you?”

Lingering on her doorstep, with her tush resting against the banister, a drone lingered - a short, buxom, and somewhat bored looking drone. Wearing what she could only describe as a kimono, which came down to just above her knees, the changeling certainly had a peculiar sense of fashion. Disinterestedly cracking an eye to the door, giving Yvette the barest glimpse of violet beneath the black lids, she lifted and pulled on a long, ornate looking pipe.

“I believe it’s you who needed the help -” the woman began, exhaling a wisps of magenta-colored smoke, “that is, if you’re Ms. Yvette.”

Yvette stiffened, her dorsal fin almost snapping back to her scalp; only then did she realize who she was looking at. “I...I…” she stammered, taken aback by just how quickly her guest had arrived. “I presume you’re Měilì?”

Turning to face her host, the drone gave a small bow. “The same. So tell me,” she continued, straightening up and bringing the stem of her fuming pipe to her full, pouting lips, “how may I be of assistance…?”