Many roads span the Equestrian landscape, with each town, village, or city being connected to at least one other by them, sans Cloudsdale. Roads in the Equestrian Empire are preferably placed away from magical areas outside of pony control, giving ideal conditions for maintenance. On one of these roads, a dirt road, a wagon is being pulled by two unicorns, both blue, without any other ponies in sight across the flat plain it cuts through.
The mare of this duo is shorter than the other, a stallion, even as she wears a witch hat on her head, and she yawns while fidgeting in her yoke. She tries to stop completely, but the stallion continues walking, and she glares at him before seeing he’s wearing blinkers. “Spellsave.” He obliviously continues. “Spellsave!”
The stallion startles, rearing slightly before regaining his hoofing with a snort. Now the wagon is still. He turns his head to look at her, and she magicks the blinkers off, levitating the device between them. “Trixie has told you before that wearing these makes you inattentive.” she chides, before tossing them into the wagon through an open window.
“That’s their purpose, mom. Walking for hours on end is boring, and they help me daydream.” Trixie rolls her eyes, “Trixie is tired, and thought we should take a break.”
“We could trot the rest of the way there, if there weren’t so much junk in the wagon.”
Trixie’s brow furrows slightly. “Trixie does not carry junk. Many of her valuable travel mementos are older than you.” Now he rolls his eyes, “That’s my point.”
She relieves herself of the yoke, and he reluctantly does the same, apprehensive at realizing they’d be leaving their wagon in the middle of the road, but there were still no other ponies to be seen in either direction.
He follows her to the side of the wagon, only able to see her rear half jutting out, hearing her moving boxes and anything else in the way of what seemed to be a search. When her front half becomes visible again, there’s dust sitting in her blue and silver mane, and a crate resting where she had been. She hits some of the dust away before telling him “Now help your Great and Powerful Mother with this,” and realizing the irony adds “my Great and Powerful Son.”
Two hues of blue magic hug the bottom and sides of the container, fading away once it came to rest on the ground with a small cloud of dust from the road. “There’s not going to be a monster in this one, right mom?” Trixie ignores him and uses her forehoof to pry off the top held there only by friction, waving him over to peek inside. Instead of a monster, once Spellsave finds the courage to look he sees what seems to be an aquarium on a stone base, along with something delicately-wrapped in cloth, sitting at the bottom of the crate.
Trixie gently levitates the first of the two objects to the ground outside of the crate, and then levitates the bundle of cloth into her forehooves, unwrapping it to reveal a crystal fantastically regular in all proportions. “This, my dearest son, is the only device of its kind, graciously given to Trixie after a performance.”
“What is it?” Spellsave had crouched down on his forehooves to peer at it more closely, and realizes the top of the box was also covered with what seemed to be glass, making it sealed; the box was rectangular, perhaps as tall as it was deep, and at least twice as wide as it was tall, set between them with the wide sides facing them. Trixie crouches down across from him to look through it at him; there was no distortion of either face. “This is a Flim-Flam Personal Theatre for the Thinking Pony, quite a long name. This little device can play an entire theatre show in its confines, runed ever so precisely into a crystal such as this.” She still holds the crystal gently in her hooves, now grinning at it.
“Wow.” Spellsave didn’t look away from it when asking “Why is there only one?” Trixie guffaws, “Oh Spellsave, ponies don’t want to sit in their homes to watch a show. They want to watch while standing in the town square, with other ponies, to watch real ponies give a unique performance. They want to cheer with other ponies, to stamp their hooves with other ponies,”
“They want to throw rotten food at the stage if they don’t like it, with other ponies.” Trixie shudders, “Yes, that too. Anyway, Trixie starred in the only performance ever recorded. Why don’t we watch it?” They sit on their rumps, getting comfortable, as she slides the crystal into a small opening at the side of the stone base. For a moment, there was no indication the device had been activated.
Trixie’s head, all colour dulled, appeared from the far end, and she looked at both sides to wink before fully entering the stage. Step by step, as her barrel entered, there was no distortion of her figure by the medium as her image widened and dipped closer to the bottom, before travelling back to her rear as it entered the scene, swaying back and forth with each step. Following her bloated barrel were two smaller spheres, swaying to a rhythm distinct from the rest of her body, and held together by a flat bra sweeping across them and resting on her dock. Her tail trailed behind, but in seconds she was represented completely. She lifted her right foreleg, closed her eyes, and tilted her head back with a smile for a few moments.
Trixie lowered her foreleg and both then lowered her to the ground, distorting her belly as it widened slightly from touching the floor; her hindlegs only moved to widen the distance between them. Trixie’s brow furrowed slightly, and she pushed back against the ground, leaving her rearing. Her forelegs moved in tiny circles in front of her, a lock of her mane was lying across her face between her eyes, and her wide womb hung out from her frame despite having sunken into her hips.
Her smile closed a little as she began taking deep breaths, beginning to undulate her wide belly, and as she began adding to that motion by gently moving her hips side-to-side. Her belly would suck in and then pour out, revealing some of the shapes underneath her skin, before returning to its inert, round, and less-revealing state; whether the motion was truly rotating the foal inside of her or merely rocking back and forth couldn’t be told. The slow movement of her hips accentuated each time her belly finished pouring out; her belly rocked almost independently of her body, and the apex of her belly rocked further out than the rest.
Her middle wasn’t the only part of her anatomy dancing its own way. Her breasts had started rocking back-and-forth much like the rest of her, hanging together under her rear, but had gained momentum more rapidly. They hit the backs of her hindlegs and bounced against her behind. The bra containing them failed to prevent some spilling out from around it at the crest of each swing. Her hindhooves barely slid along the ground, to compensate for any errors in her dancing.
She continued this for several iterations. With the final time, she sucked in her middle more as her horn charged, and magic encased her left hindhoof to lift her left hindleg from the ground, kept standing by only one leg and her magic. Her hindleg was lowered again before the magic was allowed to leave, and she then dropped herself back on four hooves, but her body continued to move. Her rear was also shaking ever so slightly, and her breathing was much heavier than before.
After a final huff, she leaned forward and collapsed her hind legs with a jiggle, splaying them behind her. Her breasts pressed against the floor. Her navel hung so low it almost touched the ground. She slightly swung her swell to the left and bent her right foreleg, slowly bringing her gently onto her side. Her bipartite womb was now lopsided, that bottom half smushed and widened against the floor, and that upper tilting until it settled into pointing away from her front. Her left hindleg shook slightly, unable to rest, as her breasts lay side-by-side in the way. She looked behind her withers to wink and blow a kiss at the viewer on that side.
She scooted both ends of herself closer together; her belly still rested on the floor, but she had enough leverage to use her right foreleg, pinned to the ground by her weight, to rotate herself and bring her mass to rest on her withers and rear. Her balance nearly left her when she finished, belly nearly knocking her over prematurely; it settled as it sunk deeper inside of her, looking smaller for the first time. She jutted her swell into the air enough to be noticeable, but perhaps not as much as she truly could, and trying to hide any gritting of teeth with a grin. Then her eyes opened fully, mouth slightly agape, looking at a tiny hoofprint which had appeared on the right side of her bump before receding with a slight shake; it had only lasted one second, and she smiled again, as if she had planned it.
Her tail moved across the ground, trying to lift, but being weighed down by two breasts and connecting bra left it flagging back-and-forth. It began to work its way into the bra, but then she stopped trying.
Rotating again brought her to a stop and a bounce. Now her breasts sat side-by-side behind her rear. She blew another kiss past her withers, now at the opposite side from before. Then her eyes travelled to her bump, and she gave a look of surprise, bringing her hoof to her muzzle, before smirking. “Watch how the Great and Powerful Trixie copes with her Great and Powerful Burden.”
Her horn glowed, and the glow slowly crept from it, leaving all it touched sparkling: her left ear twitched as the magic quickly swept over it, as the rest travelled down her neck; her mane lifted away from her, levitating slightly; her forelegs were coated in uniform time; as it reached her middle, the glow curved around her swollen barrel, and the glow that passed by it did the same; as the glow reached her rear, the shape of a contracting oval was left uncovered on her belly, until it met at the pointed it jutted away from her most, and she squirmed slightly at the sensation; her breasts were encased next, reshaping them from two bags lying smushed together to two tall mounds, her long nipples now trying to poke through the bra; the stimulation had her tail flag, but it was then brought under the magic, along with her hindlegs, leaving it to splay wildly unlike her mane had.
Then she slowly began to lift from the floor, legs curling, with her womb following last. She was several hooves from the floor. Her legs stayed constant, but her mane became like her tail, following the paths of least resistance away from her, and her barrel gently rocked away from and back towards the ground more wildly than her mane and tail moved, but also more slowly, the foal inside changing orientation with the anti-gravity, leaving it hanging further out from her than before; her breasts swung further apart, changing direction as each end of the bra was strained, to meet again with a bounce and change of shape, to repeat. She rotated in the magical hold until all of these again pointed at the ground, and regained her hoofing hoof-by-hoof.
The magical aura evaporated, and much of her body returned to drooping as it should; her belly hung beneath, albeit now lopsided, with a lump the size of a foal now hugging her left side more than her right; her breasts slapped against her belly before resting as if cradling it. Trixie smiled, faced forward, and walked opposite of how she had entered, with each swing of her hips accentuated by the swings of the rest of her. Her head left the stage first. Step by step, there was no distortion of her figure by the medium as her image gradually cut off, out of sight, widening and dipping as the edge of the medium closed over her barrel, before travelling back to her rear as it left the scene. Her tail trailed behind, but in seconds she was unrepresented completely.
Then it was over, having taken just a short while. “Yes, Trixie remembers acting for this clearly now.” She taps a hoof on her face. “It was extra work making a routine that would view well from either side.” Spellsave’s face was scrunched, his brow was scrunched, and his eyes were still pointed at the device. “Oh Celestia, w-was that me in there?” Trixie thought for a moment before answering that it was, adding “There’s a lesson in here, Spellsave.” Only now did he look away from the device. “Oh really? What was that supposed to teach me?”
“Give Trixie a moment to think about her words.” She hums. “It’s important to remember the world exists without us, Spellsave; Equestria existed before you and will exist after you.” She points her hoof at him, but how she would towards an audience, and he recognizes this. “I already knew that, mom.”
Trixie harrumphs. “How about this: You were performing since before you were born. If your cutie-mark didn’t already make it clear, you were destined to be an entertainer, an actor!” He slumps. “My first role was “Trixie’s belly.””
“Yes, and that’s a role few ponies have been fortunate enough to fill. You’ve always been a good assistant, dear. Well, except when your magical outbursts ruined the first few recordings.” Now he had his hooves on his head, staring at the box again. “I still don’t understand why this in particular was recorded.”
“They told Trixie that a show celebrating the beauty of pregnancy was ideal for the birth of a new medium.” She put her right forehoof at the bottom of her ribs and traced a belly poking out, how it had poked out once, rejoining above her now-flat mammaries, and then bringing both forehooves together before acting out an explosion and waving them over her head. She lies flat to look at the device better, frowning. “What a shame that was a stillbirth.” Standing up, she walks over to Spellsave, nuzzling him, “Trixie is glad the same can’t be spoken of for her dear son.”
“Hey, before I forget, how did you lift yourself—us—up at the end? It requires great magical effort to levitate even a little.” She wasn’t looking at him, having started wrapping and putting the theatre back in the crate. “Why, the Great and Powerful Trixie couldn’t have done it herself?”
When she looks back, with a smirk, it’s dashed by his neutral expression. “Fine, your father used his magic for that part; it’s just the theatre couldn’t display enough colour to make them look different.” She pouts as he tells her that made sense.
“Hey, stop blocking the road!” Spellsave looks around the wagon to see another going in the same direction, another with an angry orange mare at the yoke. He doesn’t know what to say, but Trixie always does, and passes by him to assuage the angry driver.
“I thought blocking the road was a bad idea.” He whispers at her, and she ignores him.
“Do excuse us. Trixie was just taking the time to educate her son on one of the arcane devices she has collected during her journeys. We will be out of the way soon.”
“Oh my, Trixie! I’m actually visiting to watch your show. May I have an autograph?” As the orange mare rears in delight, eyes closed, Trixie smirks at Spellsave, who doesn’t know whether to feel relief at this resolution, or upset with the smug look he’s receiving.
With the box set back in its proper place, and the autograph signed, they had begun their trek again. Soon the road had widened enough to let the other wagon pass, leaving them alone with each other again. The silence had been interrupted by a single statement. “Mom, I miss dad.”
Trixie had dismissively waved a hoof at him. “Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s just in-town ahead of us to whip up support for the Great and Powerful Trixie … and her Great and Powerful Assistant.”
Copyright 2021,2022 Kassaz
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