‘How long have I been here? How long have I been in this room?’ Such thoughts wander through your mind as the grogginess of sleep fades. As usual, you attempt to stretch your limbs, met with the same degree of failure you’d come to expect. Your muscles, once well-toned and strong, were now but atrophied mockeries of their former glory. A distant memory flickers through your brain. You remember the sprawling, grandiose view that greeted you in the Appleloosian mountains, climbing to the summit of Mount Hitchell. The tiredness that washed over your body and the jubilation of achieving such a feat stuck in your mind. Now, though, you couldn’t move even if you wanted to.
You frown, the immense level of hindsight that plagues you continually buzz through your skull. A series of events, landing one after another like a domino run, led you to this gilded prison. First, the liquidation of the company you worked for, you and all your co-workers’ jobs suddenly swept away in an instant. Then, your landlord suddenly increased rent for your apartment, forcing you to pawn off your possessions, piece by painful piece. It had been weeks since your termination, and you’d grown desperate for money; at this point, anything would do. Scouring the internet on your clunker of a laptop, you were led to a job posting regarding waste food disposal, offering a pay too good to pass up. Of course, you were sceptical about an offer, which wasn’t helped as you scrutinised the ad. The way some things had been worded in the description were all so strange. But something in the back of your mind urged you to respond.
Regardless of the legitimacy of such an offer, you were desperate, the threat of eviction hanging over your head like an axe. So, you filled in the form, which oddly requested photographs of yourself, in addition to attaching your CV and cover letter. Emailing the listed address, you grabbed a drink. As soon as you checked back, a response was in the inbox. That should have been a major red flag, but the sudden rush of dopamine quashed these worrying thoughts. Opening the response further squashed the doubt in your mind.
Apparently, you were the right pony for the job, or at least, that was what they claimed you were. Amongst some generic business friendly dialogue, they prompted you to head to their place of business ASAP. Checking it out on online maps, it was in the semi-industrial sector of Canterlot. And with that, you pulled your suit from the closet, gathering your meagre number of bits, and rushed over to the train station. What followed was an hour of emotions stewing inside you. Part of you was overjoyed at the job offer, and the other, more sceptical part of your mind wanted you to leap out of the window of the locomotive. There was still this ever-present feeling of wrongness about the whole thing; not like being duped into working in a pyramid scheme, there was just something strange in the wording you couldn’t quite grasp.
From the station, it was a twenty-minute brisk walk to the place. Wandering through the mix of modern industrial warehouses and traditional Canterlotian architecture that formed the industrial quarter, you found the place in question. Modern, beat up, and dreadfully bland – you could have sworn the place was abandoned. And yet, through the grimy windows, lights lit the foyer beyond. Pushing the door open, you wandered into an equally blank looking room. The walls were a dull white, contrasting with the dark grey vinyl flooring. A few unpainted doors were connected to the left and right of the room, besides the one behind the abandoned wooden desk.
Furniture too was sparse, with a pair of faded red chairs sitting beside each other. In the opposite corner was a plant, the long yellowing fronds drooping as it wilted. You agonised over this memory. Everything their oozed wrongness, like somepony was squeezing a sponge soaked in icy water over your head. And yet, you ignored every flag thrown up as you pressed the bell at the desk. As the clear ring cut through the still air, you stood there as the silence built up again. Half a minute passed, your mind was split between pressing it again or bailing. Neither occurred however as the sound of quiet footsteps emanated from the right. An odd, disjointed staccato rang out, the figure apparently having some difficulty walking, though you couldn’t hear the click of a cane either.
The door swung wide open, your jaw involuntarily mimicking the motion. Standing in the doorway was none other than one of the royal family, Prince Blueblood. Whilst you didn’t much care for the news, you were at least aware it’d been a rather long while since he’d made a public appearance; a simple glance told you exactly why. Dressed in an ill-fitting suit, the prince was fat. Obese was probably more apt, though, considering how every stitch and curve of his outfit was dreadfully stretched. His white belly oozed out from under his jacket, the tip of it hanging below his crotch. It had been divided into two thick rolls, the bottom most beginning to divide around his belly button. Two bulbous moobs filled the top of his jacket out, pulling more of the fabric upwards from his belly. His hips flared out wide, caused by an immense set of thighs and ass.
Two exercise ball sized cheeks filled the grey fabric, seams buckling and breaking around the mountains of blubber stuffed into them. They were so wide that he had to turn sideways to fit through the door. Even so, his ass and gut squashed into the frame heavily, his bingo wing swaddled arms sloshing and undulating as he forced his way in. Every motion was propagated throughout Bluebloods excessive mass. Everything, from his doughy cheeks and chins, tire-like neck and abundant love handles rocked and quaked. And all the while, he was looking at you with an almost predatory look. His golden yellow hair swished and swayed about as he partially circled you, blue eyes studying your every inch. He was also far taller than you as well, your head only just reaching his chin.
As he circled back around to your front, he held out a hand in greeting, as you nervously responded in kind. Taking your hand in his, you could feel how soft and bloated the appendage was. “Charmed to meet you. From what I’ve seen so far, you’ll be ideal for the job. Come, I must test you.” Raising his hand in the direction of the open door, you take a deep breath, walking further into the building. Wandering after him, it was clear that the room behind you had a front, the door leading to one of the warehouses. The overhead lights buzzed, sending harsh white light spilling across the floor. Around the room, boxes, barrels and tanks were stacked high, the prince occasionally running his hand along one and grinning.
You ask him the first thing on your mind, namely, what was a Prince doing in a place like this. Of course, you omit the question regarding his weight gain, but the grin on his lips tells you everything. “As you can tell by my wonderful bulk, I’ve been rather enraptured by food. At first it was only the best money could buy… but I grew increasingly frustrated with the size of the portions you see. I could spend a hundred bits and not even feel half full… a swindle I tell you! But, then I realised. I enjoyed, nay, loved indulging in food. I wanted more, and more, and more… which led to this ‘little’ thing.” He placed a hand on his gut, patting the massive bulge. Like a pendulum, you watch as the doughy rolls wobble and jiggle uncontrollably, his jacket riding a little further up his belly, exposing a few cellulite dimples.
“At first, I was rather shocked by my size… but I quickly quashed those feelings as I realised how wonderful it felt to be this big, and to not worry about portion control. I’ve grown to love the feeling of stuffing myself to the max, and to be rewarded as every bite I take is added to my frame, my beautiful, wobbling frame.” He paused, biting his lip as he looks back to you. “However, there is one thing I’d like to try, something far, far more engaging than fattening myself up. You see, I desire to feed another stallion, to pamper them as they balloon into a handsome Adonis of blubber” You blink at his words, confusion knotting your eyebrows as you wander to the centre of the warehouse.
“However, advertising about wanting to do such a thing would be rather scandalous for the crown… so I’ve been working on a ‘little’ business venture. I take old and ‘out of date’ food from stores and restaurants for a slight fee. You’d be surprised by how much waste food they produce, and even then, you’d be hard pressed to call them ‘out of date’. Then, I add a small stasis spell to stop them aging any further. From just over a month, you can see how much waste they make.” Sweeping his arms around for emphasis, you take in the sheer enormity of it all, tall shelves groaning with palettes stuffed to the rafters. You had to admit, the prince did have a point about food waste. “As you can gather, I need to dispose of all this food, and you best believe I have another shipment coming in this afternoon. This place is simple becoming too full… which is where you come in, as my new food disposal unit.” Before you can say anything, you can feel his magic seizing your form, lifting you from the ground.
You shout, body restrained by his magic as he affixes you to a metal bench, ropes lashing your limbs to the supports. Words spill forth from your mouth in a babble of threats, expletives and pleads. Something to the effect of ‘you can’t do this’ comes forth amongst the deluge of words, prompting his smirk to widen to a malicious grin. From his breast pocket, he produces the form you sent. Flicking close to the end, he points to a paragraph. “In this position, the applicant is compelled to dispose of requested material in any way his employer may desire. To fulfil his requested task, any form of encouragement or force may be applied to assist the process.” He lowered a tube, shoving it into your mouth and affixing a set of rubber straps around the back of your head.
“Perhaps if you’d cared to read a little more carefully you would have spotted that little line, or even a few of the other clauses that have made anypony raise an eyebrow.” You try to lunge at him, move or do anything against the tubby white stallion, but the restraints prevent any such motion. Before you can do anything more, your mouth is filled with a thick, sweet frosting. In a matter of moments, your mouth is filled to the max, forcing you to swallow. Before you can try process what just happened, another mouthful has already been deposited into your maw, forcing you to swallow once more. Unable to move or focus on escape, your eyes follow the tube upwards. Despite the poor lighting in the warehouse’s roof, you can make out a series large drums dangling from a set of rails affixed to the ceiling. Tubes fed from the barrels, feeding into a conical shaped machine chugging quietly away to itself.
“Ah, I see you’ve found my Blimpatron MK.1. Designed to take any food and process it down into easy to swallow mouthfuls. I think you’ll become rather acquainted with it over time.” He chuckles, placing a hand on your belly. To your surprise, rather than the slim middle your more than acquainted with, he finds the beginnings of a food baby that was straining the buttons on your jacket. With a deft motion, Blueblood undoes them, allowing your stomach to expand out. “Now what do we have here? Just think, with every mouthful you eat, the bigger this will swell out. The bigger it swells out, the more will be turned into fat. Day by day, your body will become more and more handsome as it fills that bench, blubber by the handful coating your form”.
You couldn't remember much past that point; everything became a blur as you chugged several cakes worth of surplus icing. At the end of it, your dome shaped gut was packed to the brim, as a food coma dragged you into an uneasy sleep. Every day from that point on, from when you opened your eyed to when you were plunged into another food coma, there was nothing but endless amounts of food. The only consolation was that there was something new to ‘enjoy’ every day. That, and the princes’ constant teasing, delighting in informing you on just how many calories were packed into your overfull gut. This, of course, led to the final facet of this bizarre new chapter of your life, watching yourself fatten up.
Without any sort of exercise and the immense quantities of food pumped into your mouth, it was little wonder why you were gaining. True to the Prince's word, more and more pounds found their way onto your body. First, a small layer of pudge padded your centre, followed by your ass and legs softening and filling out. By the end of the first week, your trousers were packed to the max, even with your fly down. You were almost glad when he decided to tug them off you, along with pretty much all your clothes, the one exception being your underwear. There you sat for days on end, every moment your stomach was packed to capacity, as the machine continued to disgorge gallon after gallon of food into you.
Sweet, blended cakes and other pastries, vegetable smoothies, excess grease, fries and other fast-food junk. Anything you could imagine and more was pulped and pulverised by the machine and sent hurtling through the pipe. Your gut became nothing more than a waste dump for every uneaten piece of food and drink available, gurgling and blorping in protest to the sudden workload it was put under. Despite some of the odder tasting foods, your gag reflex had seemingly ceased to work. Whether it was your body having become acclimated to the deluge of food slop, or some spell Blueblood had cast on you whilst you slept, you couldn’t really say.
In the windowless space of the warehouse, you have no indication of time. The overhead light fixture, continually buzzing and humming their white noise, cast the room in near perpetual light. You were never sure of how long you slept. The only thing that ever seemed to change was the various boxes and containers positioned around the room. Certain drums and barrels would vanish as you gulped down their contents, only to be replaced by some new pallet full of supermarket surplus that were crammed into any free space available.
Sitting in the dark for what must have been weeks, the only thing you can do is sit and consume, feeling how your body presses into the confines of the rapidly shrinking bench. Almost completely naked, the dozens of days you’ve spent powering down every conceivable morsel of food and drink in Canterlot and beyond have become as apparent as ever on your body. Whereas before you comfortably fit onto the bench with ample space to shift about, your ass was now pressing into the arms on either side. You belly mirrored your captors’, neatly blanketing over your crotch, undulating with every slight movement.
Ham like bingo wings gather around your arms as they sagged over your chunky forearms. Bulbous moobs, rivalling that of some mares, had swollen on your chest. Rolls, folds and pockets of blubber caked your body, every day making you feel all the heavier and ever more lethargic. It was excruciating watching your body vanish under a mountain of calories. You’d always been decently in shape, and your level of fitness was pretty good. Now, you’d be lucky to do anything more strenuous than a simple walk. Of course, for every iota of hate you directed towards your form, Blueblood countered with ever increasing levels of lust and adoration.
He’d be there every other day, gleefully watching you become heavier and heavier. He’d take great handfuls of your body, greedily fondling and squeezing at your rolls and curves. In a move that was becoming increasingly more often, he’d disrobe, leaving himself as bare as you are as her groped and lustily inspected your form, delighting in telling you about every new fold and curve he found. The measurements were another humiliating process, wrapping great vinyl lengths of tape around each part of your form. He excitedly took notes, comparing them to the last measurements he took, and then to the measurements of himself. That gap shrunk by the day, your pig like form growing to match the doughy royals one by the day.
You remember the day when he declared you were the fatter one. It started out like any other; waking up, before the hose reactivated and began to force a weird combination of dozens of different breakfast cereals down your throat, lubricated by an excessively creamy milk. As ever, he came waddling in, a smug, self-satisfied smile plastered across his doughy features. “Good morning, have a nice sleep? I do hope you enjoy breakfast, though I’m sure you’re curious about the contents, yes? You see, the Health Department claimed these cereals were too unhealthy for the populace, too much sugar and other chemicals I’m told. Now, guess who was there to take all these recalled products off the shelves, and guess which pony has the privileged job of disposing of such fattening delights?” He grinned, picking a box from one of the nearby crates. Up ending it, you watched as he demolished the dry, sugary contents, crumbs spilling from the corners of his mouth.
An enormous carton of milk flew to his lips moments later, his magic upending it above his awaiting maw. Several pints of creamy, fatty milk drained into his body, trails of liquid spilling from around his lips, dribbling down his plump cheeks. “BUUUAARRPPPP!!!! Mmmmm, how wonderful… another few hundred calories extra for my wonderfully sexy body. And of course, your ravishing figure too.” He sidled up beside you, running his bloated digits over your thickest fat roll, cooing and humming as they sank in with ease. “I am curious though...are you finally bigger than me? You were just shy by 2 pounds last time I checked, and I’m more than certain that you’ve bulked up just that bit more than I have.”
His horn ignited, your skin tingling as the cool blue aura crept its way across your entire form, delving into every crevice, fold, roll and curve present on your fattened form. Seconds passed scrutinised each inch of blobby flesh, his smile becoming wider, though a notable lustful undertone made his expression seem all the more worrying. “Congratulations fatty. I can officially declare you as the fattest pony in the room. Around a pound and a half more myself, and I can tell you that I am…or I was the heaviest pony in Canterlot.” He paused, undoing the buttons on his straining jacket, his flesh flooding forward.
“But...you aren’t the fattest pony alive. Though, not by a large margin. The heaviest pony on record was a little under double your current weight. Oh my, the pictures of the stallion were… orgasmic… rolls thicker than pillows, an ass like beanbags, legs as thick as tree trunks.” As he mentioned each part, he gripped and jiggled your own, sending motion propagating across every part of your oversized form.
As much as you hated the prince for blimping you to this size, a small part of you enjoyed this. Enjoyed his loving, if forceful, touch as he caressed every inch of your body. Either some developing form of Stockholm Syndrome, or some he’d been slipping aphrodisiacs into your food, the underlying pleasure you got from his ministering were ever more pleasurable and erogenous.
“You think that your fat? That this is the biggest size you’ll achieve? You’ve got millions and millions of calories more to fit into that ever-widening gut of yours. And more will pour in… every wasted cake, every pallet of produce, every gallon of used, greasy fat is all yours. I’m going to turn you into the fattest creature alive… the biggest that has ever lived.” He paused again, undoing his fly and trouser buttons, unveiling his doughy gut. He’d tucked the bottom of it into his underwear. You weren’t sure why or how designer brands came in sizes that large, but with a lazy flick of his thumb, the elasticated band dipped below and allowed his cellulite pocked gut to rest on your own.
“Not that anypony else will ever see you, and certainly not any official record committee either. No… this’ll be our secret, my gluttonous tub of lard... or at least, until your too big to fit in here” With a few ominous pops and rips of fabric, he’d removed his trousers, followed by his underwear moments later. Totally naked, he fully embraced your body, flab slapping together like two asteroids colliding. The bizarre combination of recalled cereal finally left the tube, a small moan leaving your lips as thick, delectable chocolate milkshake replaced it. A blush blossomed on your rounded cheeks as the prince kissed them, nuzzling into the soft flab. Leaning in close to your ear, fat pressing and squeezing together, he panted, words breathed out almost too quiet to hear.
“You’re looking far too skinny… you need some plumping up to get you in shape… a nice round, blobby shape at that…” With a sudden surge of motion, he straddled your middle, proceeding to insert his cock into your yawning belly button, stimulating your partially buried cock with his magic as he thrusted deep into your folds. You’d been taken aback by the sudden sexual contact. Up till this point, were still a virgin. You’d never intentionally flirted with anyone or anything even approaching a more intimate relationship. And yet, here you were, one of the Princes of Equestria slipping his dick into your blubbery rolls, all the while caressing, kissing and moaning to you. His magic glided up and down your now fully erect rod, disappearing under the sizable fupa you’d been growing. With your arms still restrained, you could do little but revel in the intimate contact, a sticky feeling beginning to well up in your folds as his royal rod leaked pre.
“Mmmh, ahhahh, oooohhhh heavens above I’ve dreamed about this, piggy… I want you to be fatter, and fatter and fatter!” Each ‘fatter’ was accompanied by a deep, wobbly thrust, your abundant swaths of flesh clapping together in a discordant percussive concert with his own oversized swells of lard. You could hardly swallow, as your own moans and grunts worked their way up from your throat.
Just as you could feel Blueblood’s precum slather your belly button, so too could you feel your underbelly and thighs become sticky with your own seed. “I want you to grow bigger, just a helpless, overweight blob of useless lard. Only good for the two things; eating, and growing fatter". His thrusts became sloppy, no rhythm to the wobbling shunts and bucks his gelatinous thighs pumped out, wrapping his arms around your midsection as he squeezed his obese form into yours, doughy rolls mingling and oozing together as one. "Nngghhh... I want you bigger than a room, bigger than a building… larger, more blubber more, moremmmpphhh!!!” With a final declaration, he reared back, slamming himself forwards with an almighty impact of flesh on flesh. Thick, hot ropes of royal splooge were injected into your folds, spurting like a firehose as it filled the chasm of blubber. At the same time, you almost choked, your own pleasured moan coming forth as your underbelly was splattered in copious quantities of seed.
With the most intense, pleasurable feeling you’d ever felt buzzing through your hormone swimming brain, your gut was finally packed to the max. The flow stopped, allowing you to breathe easy, your captor extricating himself from the mess he’d created. Exhausted mentally and physically, your eyelids drooped as the familiar embrace of a food coma claimed you. “I’ve got some plans for you, blubber boy, big ones at that. Don't worry about the mess, I’ll get that cleaned up in a while. All that sex has made me rather ravenous. I think a delivery from the pizzeria might be in order. Oh, and don’t worry, I’ll order for you too… I don’t want my handsome glutton getting hungry on me…”
Slowly waddling towards the exit, he bent down to pick up his discarded clothes, making sure to give you an eyeful of his massive, saggy, cellulite pocked ass, his cutie marks obscenely stretched out and distorted. Both enormous cheeks wobbled and undulated tantalisingly, his sizable love handles bouncing as he picked up his tent sized underwear. You could feel your eyes drooping, head lolling as he hoisted them up, fondling his gut as he tucked them into the briefs. Your eyelids fluttered, as sleep claimed you once again, your mind filled with an image of the morbidly obese, half-naked prince.
And from there on, life continued in much the same way, though a few changes were beginning to creep in. Firstly, the bench you’d been confined to for the past month or so was finally deemed too small. With considerable effort, he managed to levitate you off the thoroughly distorted seat. The previously straight angles it had once possessed had been utterly ruined, bowed, and bent as easily as a paper clip under a hydraulic press. To replace it, he eagerly brought out a new piece of furniture. Clearly a custom order, it was part bed and part couch, the firm but soft material a blessed relief after the hard metal bench as it easily accepted your bulk without a hint of protest.
The next change made had been the gradual removal of the restraints, though these were mainly for the ones around your arms. Moving your arms around had presented you with a familiar, yet foreign sensation. The simple motion of moving your arms around had been turned in an alien feeling, due in no small part to the swaddling bingo wings that encircled your upper arms, along with your pudged up forearms. This had been complimented by Blueblood removing the tube from your mouth from time to time.
Another familiar but foreign experience, you were finally able to speak, surprising yourself with how much deeper and slurred your voice had become. This allowed for you to feed yourself solid food. ‘A privilege’ Blueblood called it, though oftentimes it didn’t seem like one. The simple act of bending and moving your arms had become a laborious task, like you were lifting enormous bags of pudding that caused your exercise starved muscles to protest almost immediately. At least you could eat things normally, instead of being force-fed through the tube, allowing you to experience the subtle textures and flavours that were robbed by the smooth pastes.
It helped you to appreciate what little freedom you’d been granted, the prince helping cram mouthfuls of bread pudding and custard into as you mulled over the thought, every spare inch of your belly crammed full of calorific slop. Weeks flew by like leaves falling from a tree, more food and more attention coming in spades from the prince. The mattress bed was exceptionally wide, so much so that he could easily sit beside you. Rarely did even a single scrap of clothing cover his alabaster skin, as he lounged next to, and on top of you. He continued to measure and monitor your growth, jotting down bust, arm, belly and ass sizes, salivating as he compared numbers and watched the difference in size expand.
Often, he’d use these opportunities to gorge himself, bragging about how much money the company was making. Apparently, since all this excess food wasn’t going into landfill, the government gave Blueblood additional funding due to the positive environmental impacts such an action had, allowing the business to stay profitable. Of course, he’d tell you how clever it was of him to set it up this way and how good a business pony he was, inevitably prompting you to agree with him. Doing so, he’d spend copious time playing with your form, massaging and groping any pocket of flab that called out upon such an obese body. A body which was rapidly drawing to the point to immobility.
Of course, you hadn’t walked in approximately two, nearly three months, but the size and weight you were steadily accumulating had you rocketing towards what was most certainly immobility. The two of you never really confirmed it either, nor did either of you care to check, your atrophied muscles laughably inadequate to haul you to your feet. Too much effort, and too many calories wasted… ones which could be used to guarantee your immobility. Following another evening where you’d been fucked and fed into oblivion, you remember waking up, your senses immediately assaulted by the smell of Neightalian cooking. Standing in front of you, Blueblood affixed you with the same overconfident grin he almost always seemed to wear. Completely naked, he was leaning heavily upon a large pallet jack, a veritable stack of pizza boxes sitting pretty in the middle.
Aware of the fact you didn’t have the tube in your mouth, you asked him what the occasion was. Levitating part of the stack off the jack, he slowly waddled over, making sure to emphasise every little movement he made, maximising the amount of flab jiggling and dancing around. “Well, I thought we could celebrate your transition from mobility… into immobility. And what better way to celebrate such an occasion, than to have than a pizza party?”
You comment about how there is more pizza than party, pointing out how the warehouse was industrial and bleak as it’d always had been. Blueblood laughed, plopping himself down beside you, whilst depositing the boxes on top of your table like gut. The size difference between captor and captive had grown ever wider. Whilst the Prince had continued to consume excessive quantities of food, his consumption was considerably laxer in comparison to the gut filling binges you partook in every single day. The net result had been compounding layers of fresh blubber deposited across your frame daily. The most prominent part of your anatomy was most clearly your gut.
Spreading out wide, the thick glob of fat having rolled over your knees many weeks ago, the vast rolls slapping your fold stricken lower legs. They had grown so wide that they almost always touched, the column of bloated flab reminiscent of a stack of thick pancakes. Generous love handles blobbed out at the side and swelled over your enormous butt. Like two misshapen globes, those mega cheeks swelled up nice and round, your cutie marks pathetically attempting to stay in something of a recognisable shape. Of course, this failed, attempting to cover such a saggy, gelatinous plot. Stacked atop of your oversized ass, thick folds of back fat budded into a cascade, providing an ever-comfier rest for your back. Above your double folded belly, two moobs swelled. Each was just slightly smaller than your head, and according to Blueblood, made for excellent pillows.
Like your legs, your arms had puffed up wider and wider. With every movement, they were forced to squash and press past other parts of your overblown form, most typically your love handles and chest flab. Their stiffness, combined with their sheer weight made every movement a hard fought for, your arms resting upon your plush form. About your neck, a thick collar of fat had bloated up, aggressively merging with your chin and cheek fat, leaving the lower part of your head as a collection of lardy folds as you were swaddled in thicker and thicker sheets of adipose.
And in spite how misshapen and grossly obese you were, and how often the Prince teased and pointed out how big you were, you were enjoying this. Disparate, pervasive, deeply erogenous thoughts had been creeping ever further into your mind and were beginning to override the logical parts of your brain. Sure, you felt deeply embarrassed when he mentioned that he needed two tapes to measure the circumference of your belly, but at the same time, it made you feel excessively erogenous, a fact that Blueblood was more than willing to exploit. Partially draping himself over your belly, he flipped the lid of the top box. Your belly rumbled as the 4-cheese pizza released its seductive aroma. Grabbing a slice, he guided it to your lips, opening your mouth as he pushed the slice in.
Your job as a living food disposal had conditioned you, even mouthful a mouthful of soft dough and gooey cheese was demolished in mere moments, prompting Blueblood to grab two slices, snacking on one whilst feeding you the other. “Mmmm… oh how wonderful and greasy that is… so much excess fat, all going to fill up the skinny little belly of yours.” You snorted, unable to answer through your stuffed face, made doubly stuffed when he pushed two slices in together, smearing grease and sauce on your lips. The pair of you continued to consume pizza, slice after slice practically eviscerated from existence as one box, and soon two boxes were dispatched.
“Uuurrppp!!! Mmm mmmm! Do you know, when I was still my dreadfully skinny self, I used to hate this type of food? Not because of the taste, but because it was a ‘commoners food’. I’d rather have been seen dead than be seen with a box of these calorie dense triangles of pleasure. He’d have a fit, seeing how large I’ve made myself…” He bit his lip, slowly shifting his body, wrapping a leg across your gut until he was practically straddling you. Given how wide you were, he was positioned oddly, as your combined masses of fat squashed together. A blush spreads across both parties’ faces, the pressure sending a tingle through your crotch, as you feel your member push through your fupa.
Pushing the empty boxes to the ground, you were suddenly assaulted by slice after slice of Neightalian goodness. With a mixture of magic and his pudgy hands, you can hardly keep up against the onslaught. “Oooh yes, that is quite exquisite. I wonder if I should get you a trough and have you eat from it like a pig? You already eat the leftover slop, might as well complete the picture.” You moan, feeling your dick hardening, becoming more so as Blueblood begins to hump your belly. In the span of a few minutes, what would have fed an entire party was now comfortably sitting in your gut. Your eyes had been closed, relishing in the flavours bursting in your mouth, the wonderful taste of grease permeating your tastebuds. You can feel the Prince slowly crawl his way up your torso, belly dragging across your own as he comes face to face.
Opening your eyes, you catch the lustful eyes of Blueblood leering overhead, before he suddenly leaned in, locking his lips with yours. You stare wide eyed for a few moments, his hand and arm wrapping around your back as he pulls himself closer. Your mind is abuzz with conflict and uncertainty. You’d been intimate before, what with the whole belly/roll sex he’d occasionally do of course. But this was markedly different, gazing into the round face of the pony who had tricked you into becoming a living food disposal, a literal mound of fat only good for eating. You should have felt anger, but all that came forth was deep, lustful pleasure. You reciprocate the gesture, kissing him back and closing your eyes.
This quickly turned into a Prench kiss, as his tongue went into your mouth. Guided by your ever rising hormones, your own tongue wrestled with his. With the limited mobility of your arms, you're able to place them onto his abundant slabs of back fat, lightly squeezing them as your kiss continues. With a few more sensual moans, the prince finally breaks the kiss. “Mmmwwahh! For a first-time kisser, that wasn’t a half bad job…” He smiled, an actual smile, though it did still have that same smug undertone it always did.
Hormones gummed up your brain, preventing you from saying anything more than a simple, dumb sounding thanks. “It was my pleasure, my beautiful butterball.” You feel his hand running through your mane, before he gently cupped your cheek, hefting it in his hand. “How about I give you another treat, hmm? Something to really tie the celebration of your immobility together?” Breathlessly, you tell him yes, his grin widening as he slid down your form towards the floor, casually groping your moobs as he went. Lower and lower he went, until his feet touched the ground, then he lowered himself into a kneel. Before you could ask what he was doing, a sudden waft of cool air worked its way into your undercarriage as your belly was lifted up, followed by the Prince diving below.
Squeezing and jiggling your bloated legs, your breath hitched at the sensation of his mane brushing up against your underbelly. You gasped again, feeling his warm breath against your penis and fupa, followed swiftly by a shuddering moan as his tongue slid along your shaft. Your fists clenched, mouth flapping open as he stimulates your diamond hard cock. A cry of pleasure sputters forth from your lips as he plunges your girthy penis into his mouth. His head bobbed, it smacks into the flabby ceiling above, intensifying the pleasure as your form rocked and wobbled like jello.
You groaned as he occasionally slowed down, teasing as he slowly moved up, centimetre by centimetre. Pleasure built and built, your flare twitching and leaking pre, discharging another load more as his tongue lapped around the tip. Further and further, he amplified the amorous feeling, one of his free hands encircling your plump balls, hefting them, and gently squeezing your dangling nuts. Breathless, the intense motion was too much for you to handle. Eliciting a moaning shout, your cock twitched, an electric jolt of pure orgasmic pleasure which sent a torrent of fresh, hot seed into the back of his throat. You came for at least 5 seconds, delivering jet after jet into Blueblood. And yet, he continued to suck, pumping his hand along to milk out the last few drops of semen.
With one last slurp, his lips finally left your shaft, his head retreating back as he wiggled out from underneath. As soon as he’d left, he was already clambering back up. His face was matted with a mixture of sweat and splooge, a thin opaque trail running from his lip and onto his double chin, licking it off with a lazy brush with his tongue. “Mmmm mmmmhhh… that tasted exquisite, almost like salted caramel. With how obese you are, I wouldn’t be surprised if I put on a dozen or so pounds… not that I’d mind of course, you can always add another X onto the size tag.” Coming face to face with you, he didn’t stop, however, crawling closer to your head and wrapping his dimpled thighs around your back. He lifted his gut up, revealing his own rock-hard pecker.
“Now, it's your turn, big boy, don’t worry about anything… after all, you’ve been used to sucking a fat rod for a good few months by now…” Slowly, your world was enveloped in darkness as his belly and thighs surrounded you. A thick musky scent permeated your nose, intensifying as the royal shaft pressed against your lips. Gingerly opening your mouth, your buried anger, the part of you that resented being trapped here flares up. You worked in an office and made decent pay, and your accepting of becoming some glorified sex toy? You try to rationalise this anger, but quickly the feeling of animosity fails. As Blueblood had been so kind to mention, you were your own jailor in this situation. If you’d just read the form end to end, you’d have picked up on all the little tricks and traps the Prince had laced into it. And yet, you ignored all of that, blindly signing for and sending it away. He had never forced you to submit that form, that had been your own doing.
Opening your mouth, you try to mimic what he did, rolling your tongue across his tip and flare. The simple action alone was enough to draw a euphoric grunt from around you. With as much as your limited mobility allows you, you let inch after inch slide into your mouth. Rocking your head back and forth, The Prince begins to gently thrust in tandem, going so deep almost to the point of choking. Every time his flare passes by your puckered lips, another moan of carnal delight rumbles through his sloshing form. The musky taste flooding your mouth is suddenly replaced by a much saltier one.
You can feel his cock twitch with each bob, his saliva slicked rod gliding back and forth like the piston of a car engine. “Nnnnggg… mmmpphhh… Oh by the stars yes! My blobby prize…you aren’t even one fraction of the size I want you to be! I want your belly to become my new bed, Your bottom too… I want to be able to lounge across every part of your being! I want your moobs to each weight more than I ever will! I want… more!!! With a final bellow, your mouth was suddenly introduced to a flood of semen. Thick, hot and heavy, your whole world was cocooned in his royal Rubenesque form as his seed filled your mouth to the max. You swallowed, tongue still lapping and stimulating his dick as what seemed like litres were pile drove down your needy gullet.
Sliding back, you could finally see once more, sliding off to the side so that he now only partially lay on you. You cooed, feeling one of his hands rub and massage your stomach, flab oozing through his splayed fingers. “Just think… all of my hot, sticky semen is in your stomach. Broken down, to be turned into more layers of adipose that I can rub, fondle and fuck… a part of my wonderfully sexy body now a part of your ravishing form. I wonder where it’ll go… to your belly, to your butt… maybe to your fupa.” He moaned, slowly morphing into a yawn, mimicked shortly after by you.
“Oh my, after such a delightful party, we’re both exhausted. We better get some sleep then, and allow our bodies to grow even fatter…” You hummed in agreement, using the last vestigial bits of motion to relax into the couch-bed. Similarly, your host adjusts himself, resting his back and head against your gut and moobs. “Goodnight, my beautiful butterball. Have a wonderful, wobbly dream…” You thank him, even calling him ‘my lord’. He chuckles, squeezing your thickest roll as he sinks into your lard. Your eyes flutter closed, laying your arm over his chest, leaving you in an embrace. Smiling, your belly gurgling softly, you fall into a peaceful sleep.
From that day forward, your relationship with the prince, in addition to your waistline, continued to grow. Every day that he spent fondling your folds, running his chunky fingers through your hair, and pushing all manner of leftovers into your ever-growing void of a stomach, your affection towards him bloomed. Weeks flew by in a deluge of affection and blubber, your ass and belly slowly oozing across the bed-couch like rising bread. Time remained a mere concept, the lights in the warehouse dimming and brightening in patterns you couldn’t discern. Not that you really bothered to do so, your Prince made sure to keep you engaged of other, more primitive needs of food and sex.
Not that you really needed the food. With the mountain of calories ballooning your flab stacked form, it was likely you’d be able to live off your fat alone for years, maybe even decades. And still, weight poured onto you like thick batter. Eventually, Blueblood had decided that the leg restraints were unnecessary, removing the last external factor keeping you pinned down.
Of course, the ropes had become obsolete weeks ago, given that your body had formed its very own ball and chain. You’d tried to stand up. Once. The prince had suggested trying, grinning as he watched you brace yourself. Outside of small twitches, your legs hadn’t even been bent manually in literal months. Just trying to push off the ground was a joke. Sweat rolled from you in fat droplets, putting every bit of your energy into standing up.
Alas, it was a foolish exercise. Your body was simply too encumbered as every dangling roll and fold was pulled by the force of gravity. Despite how wide they’d thickened up to, your legs simply couldn’t support the mass placed upon them. With a final burst of energy, you slumped back down, overcome by exhaustion. Though you’d only managed to lever yourself barely a centimetre, the force of you coming back down was quite considerable, causing the frame of the bed to groan and creak ominously. A tidal wave of motion was set off, every inch of your being crashing and sloshing about like a storm ocean. Concussive, meaty slaps echoed, punctuated by wheezing breaths that jiggled your triple chin.
“Oh dear me… is piggy feeling alright?” Blueblood leapt in, scooching beside you and caressing your side flab, one of his hands rubbing one of your cellulite dimpled legs, forcing his hand under your swollen love handle. You wheeze out an OK, feeling your tits jostle and shake about with each breath. “As your Prince and boss, I’m issuing a new decree… you are strictly forbidden from ever performing any strenuous physical activities. Both for your own safety… and that every bit of energy you use to move is a little less that can be used to fatten you up…”
Lighting his horn, you watched as he levitated a large barrel over, placing it on a small trolley at the foot of the bed. The barrel was bare of almost any detail, no paint covered the metallic exterior. The only thing you could make out were two black letters stencilled to the side, ‘WG’. You glanced over at him questioningly, as he produced a pair of tall glasses reminiscent of the type used to serve milkshakes from. “My bank balance was getting rather large, so I decided to invest in a present that you and I may enjoy. You’re aware of the shakes that ‘bodybuilders’ use, yes?” You nod, watching him pour out a tall glass of chocolate coloured liquid.
“Well, let's just say that I’ve hired some bright sparks to work on a different version, one that focuses on building fat instead of muscle. A mix of protein, sugar and plenty of fat… everything needed to make you even bigger and doughier, my adorable baby whale…” You blink at his new nickname, but quickly disregarding any thoughts on the matter as he brought the glass to your lips. It was hard to describe it as a liquid, having more in common with runny cake batter than a milkshake. But the taste. Oh, the taste would have knocked you off your feet, if you were still capable of standing up of course. Delicious didn’t even begin to describe the concoction. You wanted it… no, you needed it! Then, it stopped.
You blinked, eyes refocusing on the glass as the last few dregs left the rim. Your contemplation was disturbed as Blueblood began to gulp from his own glass, the same voracity gripping him as he chugged the viscous mix. A long, satisfied belch rippled from his mouth, followed shortly after by your own expulsion. “BOUUURRPPP!!! Oh heavens, it’s everything I imagined it would be. Creamy, heavy, and unbelievably fattening… that glass alone had 2000 calories. Oh… I’m such a naughty Prince… this’ll make me soooooo fat and sexy.” He smiled, rolling over to lay belly down on you. “Don’t worry at all, my lardy whale. I’ve got 2 dozen more of these kegs on the way, both flavoured and plain… just the perfect thing to mix in with the rest of your food and really help pack on the pounds.”
Idly jiggling and playing with your fat, he mused aloud, greedily taking handfuls of your body whilst he pondered. “What would your past self say if he knew he’d be consuming several weeks’ worth of calories in a single sitting? How would he react if he knew that enjoyed such a disgusting, gluttonous act, and wished for seconds?” A low moan of arousal is all that is emitted from your maw. You knew exactly what you would have said and done, stammering, shouting, and pleading that everything said wasn’t true. You’d never willingly let yourself fall into such a state.
And yet, that was your reality. Fit to fat, trim to a misshapen mass of blubber. Your form now was practically the antithesis to everything you once enjoyed. Key word, once. Now, you enjoyed how entrenched you were in gluttony and sloth. You loved seeing how excited Blueblood got when taking your measurements. Shared the same jubilation from finding a new fold or roll budding from your dimpled, sagging form. You revelled in his teases and insults, making you all the more excited to choke down a gallon of angel delight and polish it off with unwanted birthday cakes.
More food, more fat, more of you and your chunky Prince. With the addition of WG to all your meals, the amount of gaining achieved from one meal was increasing. New pounds seemed to materialise before your very eyes, the point where if you remained very still, you could swear that you could feel yourself getting fatter by the second. A fact that made Blueblood exceptionally horny, leading to the addition of more of the potent liquid into your food stream.
Flesh flowed like water as every bit of your form blimped up and out, rapidly filling the now struggling sofa-bed as it bore close to 2000 pounds of equine. That had come as a massive shock to you. Sure, you knew that you were big, given that your ass could have filled the entirety of your sofa back home, as well as tearing the arms from it too, but to see the numbers for yourself was surprising.
The average weight of a stallion your age and height were about 160-170 pounds. You were more than 12 times larger, and according to the most recent record, the fattest pony in history. You don’t remember too much from that day, other than the fact that you managed to drink nearly the entirety of one WG canister. Blueblood was determined to get you to 1 ton, goading and pressing you to drink just a little more, to fit just another mouthful into your exceptionally full gut. Through a mixture of greed, arousal, and a need to please your Prince, the weighing spell next day showed the result of the binge clear as day. Clocking in at 2009.73 pounds, with around 1850 of those being pure lard.
From there, goals and targets just seemed to be exceeded at an exponential rate. One ton of fat alone? Chugging an entire barrel of WG liquid in one sitting? Completed in no time at all. Ballooning larger and larger, your feet disappeared as your end of your gut finally touched the floor, surprising you as a sudden chill spread across the blubber. That was soon rectified by the placement of a standard bed mattress on the floor. Soon after that, you could feel your saggy, overblow plot begin to spill over the sides, gravity tugging at each hanging roll like an anchor, sapping every vestigial bit of mobility you still possessed.
Both of you knew that the bed-sofa’s days were numbered, as the frame beneath continued to make increasingly more worrying sounds. This wasn’t exactly helped when Blueblood added his own nearly third ton of weight on top of your own. The warehouse too was becoming cramped, forcing the prince to stack all the excess boxes and crates higher in an attempt to move them away from you. Clearly, something had to be done.
One day, you remember waking up, greeted by a different room entirely. Gone were the buzzing artificial lights, the corrugated metal walls and the piles of boxes and pallets. The walls were uneven, clearly having been carved out, opposed to the corrugated sheet metal you’d been acclimated to. Large drapes covered much of the bare rock, beautiful silks, and bolts of many a hue. Interspersed were large embrasures, a pleasant orange glow bathed the room, opposed to the harsh fluorescent bulbs of the warehouse.
Glancing forwards, you were suddenly taken aback. Before you sat, yourself. A great mirror formed of crystal composed almost the entirety of the wall facing you, allowing you to get a good look at your excessive size. Feeling it press into your underside, some type of mattress formed the ground, stretching from wall to wall. Looking at your reflection, your enormous bottom was partially pressed into a mountain of jumbo-sized pillows and cushions that were haphazardly stacked behind you.
“So, what do you think of the place?” You flinched at the prince’s voice, drawing you from your self-inspection. He’d emerged from a doorway on the right, a wide grin on his muzzle as he waddled over. You were floored by the whole situation, a series of half formed words and noises babbled from your mouth as he shuffled around your side, running a hand along a roll. “It’s rather delightful, don’t you think? So much better than that dingy warehouse.” He wandered further around, his smile wobbling as he pressed himself against your butt cheeks. You ask him how he managed to get you here, or even where this place is?
“Magic… and plenty of money and favours. Do you know how much it costs to carve out a hole in the side of Mt Canter, in secret no less? Quite a lot, my gelatinous tub of blubber. More when you have to install furnishings and hook up a pipeline to send all the food down here.” You glanced around, a slight shimmer of light above catching your eye. Awkwardly fused into the rock, a wide metallic rectangle was placed, a large aperture in the centre. A small click echoes out, followed by the grinding of metal on metal as the aperture slid open, through which a segmented rubber hose emerged like some tropical serpent.
“And despite the cost, I did it for you. I want every pound you gain to be in comfort. I want you to be the biggest creature to ever live, to be so fat and immobile you can’t even move an inch.” You breathed in sharply, feeling him clambering over your butt, wedging himself into your ass crack. Pulling himself deeper, he hitched his belly up, his royal rod grinding against your ass as he went deeper, fighting against your colossal size.
Wrapping his arms around your waist and under your pillow bingo wings, warm heady breath spilling across your neck roll and resting his head on your shoulder. Your cock throbbed, emerging from your ever growing fupa. “Oh heavens I’ve wanted to do this for the longest time… but you were neither large enough, nor in the best position to do this. That bed was wonderful, but I couldn’t quite get behind you… now though, that ass of yours is mine.”
Any query or objection you may have had was lost amongst the guttural moan that loosened itself the moment he penetrated your ass. A concussive hammer blow shook your entire form, your virgin pucker violated by the meaty length. A distinctive ‘twap’ echoed as your forms collided in a frenzied dance of overnourished lard. Your useless bloated feet twitched as the full brunt of the action sent your nerves ablaze. Pleasure bubbled in your mind like a shaken cola bottle, Blueblood stimulating your prostate with each thrust. The room was consumed in a discordant cacophony of noise of moans and slaps, Blueblood occasionally letting a few words out between grunts and pants.
“Nnnnghhh nnnffff… I’d say you’re an absolute hog… but at least pigs have a purpose. You are nothing… mmmrrpphh... but a drain on resources. All you ever do is eat more and more… making your rolls thicker and wider. No creature is supposed to get this big, to have this much weight that they can’t do even the simplest of… ooohhhh... tasks for themselves.” Sweat dripped from both of your bodies, further amplifying the wet ‘twaps’ and ‘plaps’ that were emitted with each titanic collision. “Do you know how much this all cost? This whole room and everything? Thousands...and every bit of that cash came from you. I could have invested it into stocks… mmmhmmm… I could have used it to better society. But instead, I used it all on you… and I don’t regret it in the slightest.”
Your diamond hard penis throbbed, layers of pre smeared and matted across your underbelly and pooled in your fupa. “I love you more than anything else on this planet. I love your belly, bigger than an entire mattress. I love your ass, so big that your cutie mark is a smudge. Whatever your talent was, your ability to eat and fatten up far… nnnghhh… far exceed it. Your coat colour is beautiful, as are your eyes and mane. Adorable and drop dead sexy…” A wheeze of thanks is given, complimenting his generosity and praise. This only further spurred him on, his apron gut squeezing and squashing into your butt and back as he thrust it forward with greater vigour.
“I’m only being honest with my lard ball… it makes no sense to keep these things hidden. The size you have now. Remember it. Remember how far your body oozes across the floor, how everything wobbles and shakes, how much you can see. Because I’m going to make you into the biggest creature on the planet. A sea of fat, swamping over everything like a tide of pure bliss. The only thing you’ll be able to see will be yourself… so big will your moobs and belly be that you can no longer see past them…whilst your back and face fat does the same thing… Ooohhh ahhhhh… nnnrrgghhmmm… Ursa Majors will be forced to look up to you, dwarfed by your titanic form that could smother a city…” His pounding hastened, slipping in and out, your ass slick with his pre that acted now as lubricant.
Then, the flood gates opened. Bellowing together, seed spurted from your dick, plastered your underbelly and thighs. Simultaneously, spurts of Bluebloods cum filled your ass, his fluid injected deep into your body. Sweat matted your forehead, dripping and trickling down your body. A few last thrusts slammed into your filled ass, the Prince making sure every last drop was inside you. Uncoupling himself, he climbed onto your ass, shimmying his way across until looking you in the eyes. His aura engulfed his horn, as the distinct sound of magic filtered through the air like wind chimes, accompanied by a deep rumbling and squeak of rubber.
The ever-familiar feeling came as your mouth puckered over the hose ending, a pair of straps fasted around your head. Another flare of ethereal energy, and you could hear a building gurgle from above, the flacid tubing becoming taut as cartoonish bulges in the material propagated downwards. What comes through reminds you of a Colts birthday party: Cheap snack cakes alongside shop bought birthday cakes were mingled with crushed party rings, brownies and an assortment of chocolate bars. A mixture of vanilla milkshake, alongside traces of the unmistakable taste of WG, helped to keep the mixture fluid. Your throat rippled with each monstrously large mouthful.
The rest of that day blended with every other day after that, Blueblood eventually waddling off to go and check on finances or something. That brought you too today. A mountain of fat. That's what you are. A slab of obesity larger than anything imagined. Outside of the most sporadic of twitches in your fingers and toes, the only thing you could move with any degree of complex motion was your mouth and throat. Even then, the effort needed to masticate your food was ever more strenuous on your exercise starved body. With the amount of fat budding around your lower jaw, the effort it took to continually open and close your mouth was exceedingly strenuous. So much so, that you could no longer be bothered to eat any solid food outside of those rare occasions spent with Blueblood.
Though, the liquid diet it wasn’t so bad, considering how sophisticated the feeding system had become. Now having reached the MK3 version of the Blimpatron, highly sophisticated sensors made sure that your gut was kept at max capacity at any time of the day. The only exception being whilst you were sleeping, and even then, the two of you had been tempted to try 24 hour feedings. You’d probably be able to handle it, considering how enlarged your stomach had become, and how rapid your rate of digestion was.
Perhaps due to some innate magic trying to help you, or some chemical concoction snuck in with the rest of the calorific slop, the rate at which you cleared yourself of food was certainly impressive. Still though, it wasn’t something that you particularly cared about much. If your body was emptying itself faster, all the better to make room for more food to replace it. Well, that was what Blueblood told you when you brought it up last at least.
The familiar triple beeping of the Blimpatron draws your eyes skywards, your ability to turn your head almost entirely robbed from you. Through your narrow cone of vision, the familiar articulated tube snakes its way down. Opening your mouth a slight bit more, it effortlessly docs with the gaping void of your maw. Bulges appear, the tip of the tube flaring as a gush of liquid splashes against the back of your throat. You moan in delight, tasting the breakfast mixture; sugary cereals mixed with heavy cream and diluted with WG liquid. Just a spoonful of this stuff would exceed in calories what the average colt ate for breakfast for an entire week. Just thousands upon thousands of useless calories that your hoggish form delighted in processing into an ever-accumulating mound of lard.
You blushed, wondering if your young self-had ever thought that one day he’d be the biggest pony to ever live. The answer was as apparent as day, swallowing another day's worth of calories for an adult stallion. Your throat rippled and bulged with each mass you consecrated to your stomach, the only thing that you could move on your own volition. Breathing through your nose, you fell into the same rhythm of consumption you’d become familiar with since the first few days of your ‘employment’. The sounds of your deeply buried belly roaring to life, blorping and gurgling as it set to work on the first meal of the day, clearing the quiet that had settled upon the room.
Blinking, you noticed a faint whirring sound, halfway between magical and mechanical. Looking up in a panic, you suddenly wondered if the machine was damaged, and the ‘necessary’ feeding would stop. The noise grew louder, bringing your attention to the door. A few seconds later, the door swung open as an object floated in. Hovering upon a mobility device of some sort, you saw your employer-turned lover slowly turn in a lazy drift, every angle of his being shown within the mirror.
As with your own gains, the weighty Prince hadn't neglected his own feastings. Either sat down here with you or elsewhere, he made sure that his belly was groaning with all the fat and sugar he could hold. Obviously, this had caused his body to continue to spiral in size. Dressed in a custom suit so large it could have been worn by an elephant, every inch of his oversized form was covered in the finest fabrics. His belly splayed out across his overblown thighs like a duvet, the apron of blubber reaching just above ankles when standing… a sight that was becoming rarer by the day. Currently, that same gut was lodged against the tiller of the contraption, oozing around the pillar, and exposing the cellulite dimpled edge of his belly.
Squashed firmly into the wide seating, his royal ass billowed out. Two heavy, squeezable globs of lard could collapse any bench in the Canterlot gardens. Thighs as thick as pillars, and heavy ham-like arms utterly obliterated any sense of form and normality to his oversized figure. Moobs that would make a mare jealous filled out his jacket, just pushing fabric out the way of his collar of flab. A thick ring encircled his neck, propping up his cheeks and chins, somehow all managing to preserve the same smug, self-satisfied look he always seemed to carry.
Slowing down, the momentum created by the oversized occupant meant it didn’t stop as fast as it should. It lightly collided with your thickest belly roll, but the impact still sent a flurry of motion through your body. Such a motion sent your nerves ablaze with activity, darkening your cheeks as he extracted himself from the vehicle. Stepping out of the mobility device, you are very much aware of why he needs such an item. Just standing, he’s an inequine dollop of lard, his feet sinking into the floor mattress heavily. The moment he leaves the vehicle, it floats upwards slightly, relieved of its immense occupant.
“How is my blubber boy doing today?” He smiles, waddling his immensely wide frame over. So wide in fact, that he was actually wider than he was tall, a rather impressive feat given his height. Just walking a few meters, sweat beaded across his rounded features. You mumble an affirmative from around the hose, breath hitching as he hauls himself onto your body. Kicking his shoes off, his soft, ill-used feet press into your belly. Using your love handles as actual handles, he carefully mounts your body, wading his way through your flab as though it was thick mud.
Cresting the top of your belly, you could finally see him without the aid of the mirror. Your cheeks were ablaze, sensitive flesh being kneaded and poked with each step. As he reached the rough centre of your gut, he sat heavily, sending off yet more motion. You could feel your face cheeks undulate, the motion repeated as he laid back upon you. Mentioning it more times than you could recall, he delighted in using you as a personal mattress. This spot on your belly was one of his favourite positions, considering how thick the flab was. The other place he adored was your butt, sprawling across the metres of ass fat, only occasionally squeezing himself between the juicy orbs.
“That’s wonderful to hear… I could hardly bear to see my whale be uncomfortable.” With a flash of his horn, his clothes were gone. Not a stitch of fabric clothed Bluebloods engorged physique, spreading his arms out wide, almost like he was making a snow angel. “Though, as you can probably tell from my newest purchase, I’ve recently been most uncomfortable myself.” He laughed, smacking a hand to his gut. “I think those long hours of stuffing myself silly have caught up with me. Not quite immobile yet, but I’m getting ever so close…”. With the mention of immobility, his sausage thick fingers groped at your rolls.
“Gods, I’m becoming such a big fatty. So utterly immense that I can’t bear to walk anymore. A doughy blob of a prince, nearly a dozen times heavier than he used to be… and yet still skinny in comparison to you.” He laughed again, running his hands along your rolls as he gently rubbed the flesh. “For crying out loud, I can dwarf anypony in the royal courts, though I am barely a blip upon your own mammoth girth. So big that you can literally support a near half-ton of sexy, obese Stallion, with ample room to spare.” You roll your eyes as he stroked his ego, but you’d be lying if you didn’t find the rotund royal so attractive.
“But I didn’t come here just to tell you about how large both you and I are, though I do know how much you like me doing that… no, I just wanted to mention a few little developments you may be interested in.” You blink, a questioning hum managing to escape your lips. “You see, whilst I have made a good amount of my wealth from food disposal, that hasn’t been the only business venture I’ve undertaken. I’ve created my own restaurant, almost slap bang in the middle of the food district. Buffets stocked full of delicious cuisine, cooked by some absolutely amazing chefs…” Even with your mouth crammed with the feeding tube, you could only imagine what professionally prepared meals would taste like, not just the leftovers you processed daily.
“Even better than the quality and quantity of the food, is the pricing. The most competitive eatery in Canterlot, with seating for hundreds of guests. All that food, for the cheap, most of it fattening to the nth degree…” He laughed again, slapping your gut. “Needless to say, I’ve been bulking up the ponies of Canterlot quite nicely.” To prove his point, his horn ignited, levitating a handful of items from his mobility device. A small stack of photos was pushed past your moobs, allowing you to see several locations. One appeared to be inside a restaurant, the other looking out onto a Canterlotian street. For both scenes, there were two photos. Both showing the same angle, but each taken more than a month apart, according to the dates scrawled on them.
Indeed, you could see how ponies' physiques changed between each picture. Slim and fit in the first, flabby and out of shape in the next. Of course, you were continually aware of your own gains, and very much content with them. But to see so many strangers apparently, all fattening up was truly a shock. Looking carefully at the street scene, you noticed there was one identical pony. A bright orange stallion, though clearly the same person from his attire, you blushed as you saw how heavily his gut pressed apart his button-up shirt. Regardless of how uncomfortable it looked, he appeared to be happy, a plastic bag held in his hand, bulging with boxes of leftover food.
“You see, don’t you? Ponies getting fat? And do you want to know something else? Most don’t give two bits about their size. True, there are some complaints here and there, but the majority seem to be oblivious.” He shifted, sluggishly rolling over to come gut to gut with you, involving a gratuitous amount of fat on fat impacts, slowly crawling towards your head. Lodging himself between your moobs, you can see his eyes burning with passion. “I know I said I wasn’t going to show you off to the world and that our relationship would be a secret?” You nod, little more than a slight twitch of your head, but he gets the idea.
“Well, I thought it would be a little selfish to have you all to myself. I want to take you to my restaurant, The Glutted Hog, and have a meal with you. I want to have you sitting there, enjoying the fruits of our work, whilst you bask in the attention of so many other ponies and all manner of other creatures.” He leans forwards, seizing your cheeks in his soft hands, abundant cheek flab oozing through the gaps in his fingers. “I want to have you on parade and show you off to the world. I think it’s about time the world understood just how large a pony can grow.”
“Don’t worry about the logistics, I’ve custom ordered a hoverchair just for you, with plenty of room for future growth…” Leaning forward, your muzzles are bare inches away. He deftly plucks the tube from your mouth, popping it into his own maw and taking a few deep gulps. Despite pulling it out whilst it was still pumping, the machine stopped the flow, leaving only a few drops of cream upon your neck roll. Licking your lips, you watch as your lover greedily suckles from the tube, thin trails of cream escaping from the corners of his mouth. A few more mouthfuls of WG-infused slop, he released his grip, letting the tube hand limp. A thunderous belch erupts, blowing the same sweet, dairy smell towards you.
“Mmm mmm… as ridiculously fattening as usual… I swear I’ll put on a pound just from that alone.” Guiding it into your mouth, the flow restarts. “But I’ll save the rest for you. Drink up, you’re a growing lad, and I want you to be as big as possible for the day. If you’ll excuse me… I’ve got to make a few phone calls.” Giving your cheeks a gentle squeeze, he starts to slide off you, simple gravity allowing him to work his way off your squishy form. Sitting upon your lowest belly roll, so thick it could have been used as a couch, he mounted the mobility device. The devices hum loudened, forced to endure the sagging weight of the prince upon the straining motors. Waving jovially to the mirror, he only just remembered to magic his clothes back on, gliding through the door.
With a click of the latch falling back into place, you were left alone once more, another long feeding session awaiting you as your body continued to sink further and further into an ocean of fat, your mind abuzz with anticipation. Days came and went in a deluge of hyper calorific gluttony, every moment you spent awake something was passing by your lips. You were nervous. You were never the most social pony before your ‘employment’, and now you’d spent months in the company of only one Stallion. Time crawled by; within those days you saw very little of the Prince. Normally he’d be by your side at least every other day, but you hadn’t seen a hair of the white-coated fatty in nearly a week.
For the first time, you felt deeply alone. You were used to his presence by your side nearly all the time. You loved him, you realised. Despite how overconfident, arrogant and egotistical he was, and that he was the sole reason you couldn’t bend your arms or legs anymore, you adored the straw-haired Stallion. His presence alone made the day fly by, but now it seemed like time crawled as your brain was still processing a myriad of thoughts concerning your trip.
Waking up, the day began as usual, the Blimpatron docking and delivering your typical breakfast meal. Six days since you’d seen your pudgy prince, and you weren’t sure if you’d see him again today either. Powering down enough cereal to feed two dozen households, your ears twitched. Focusing on the noise, you could feel your cheeks creasing as a smile worked its way onto your face. The same humming magical whir emanated from around the door, opening with a groan as Blueblood hovered into view.
He was dressed in a remarkably better fitting suit than usual, normally his belly would be leaking out as he often neglected to tuck the oversized slab of creamy blubber into his trousers. Instead, what was probably a tent’s worth of fabric had enveloped his entire form, grey tailored fabric looping and hugging against every inch of flesh. Regardless of how well fitted it was, however, the sheer girth of the Stallion made his appearance rather comical, looking remarkably like a well-dressed pig. His fat swaddled legs wobbled and shifted as he fumbled with the simple controls of the machine, the thick sleeves of adipose making any subtle movement near impossible.
Still, Blueblood managed to coast the machine to a stop, instead of using your thick blubber as a brake. You’re just able to see him in the mirror, his legs shifting about as if he was trying to dismount the machine. After a few seconds, he concedes, instead reaching out and grabbing a handful of your fat. Your breath hitches for a second, the familiar touch of the Prince pricking across your sensitive skin as mounds of loose flub ooze through his fingers. A sigh manages to bubble forth, your eyes closing as he rubs and toys with you, even in his awkward position.
“I apologise that I haven’t been around to see you.” He finally says, slowing down his caress as he looks up to roughly where your head is. “I’ve been ever so busy putting events in motion and setting up a few things here and there… but still, it's no excuse to leave my beautiful whale alone by himself for so long.” Driving right up next to you, he manages to lean more of himself out of the scooter, wrapping his arms around one of your monster rolls. It was so thick that it was easily thicker than three mattresses atop one another.
Bluebloods fat plumped face mashed against the fold, kissing and cuddling as best he could, sinking deeper into your pliant blubber. With one final squeeze, he reluctantly let go, collapsing back into the machine. The sudden motion made the motor whine from the impact but remained hovering. “After today, you won’t have to worry about being alone. As I’ve said, I’ve made some big plans, with an emphasis on big.” He chuckled, his horn igniting into a familiar light blue aura. Pulling back on the controls, he sent the scooter into a lazy turn, pointing towards the mirror. Letting the tiller go back to a neutral position, his fingers tapped at a few buttons. Simultaneously, his magic flared brighter and brighter. Unsure of what he was doing, the flow of food stopped abruptly, straps released as the hose retracted into the ceiling.
Licking your lips of any stray food, a sudden jolt hits you. Coming from below you, the motion propagates throughout all your loose, useless flesh. Pockets of lard you weren’t even aware of undulate about, intensified further as the ground below you shifts again. Unable to stop the concussive forces, you close your eyes as the feeling intensifies further. A moan threatens to escape, clamping your maw shut as you endure. Your body is incredibly audible, groaning and burbling as you slosh like a jelly. Beyond the sounds of your own grossly immense form, you can hear something else, something remarkably familiar.
It sounded very much like Bluebloods Mobility scooter, a bizarre mixture of magical and mechanical, coming together to make a droning whine. Notably, the sound was far bassier, the mechanisms clearly larger in some way. Slowly, the wobbling stopped, your body only sloshing very slightly. Opening your eyes, you looked towards the mirror, blinking in surprise. Staring at yourself for quite some time, you were intimately familiar with your position within the room, and you were very quick to notice the appearance of new rolls, and the growth of older ones. You could see immediately you’d grown taller.
Before, you could see the stack of pillows rising above your immense ass. Now, they could only be seen from the sides. Your eyes crawled across your body, trying to understand what had happened. They, at the very bottom of the mirror, you saw it. The edge of some platform wedged under you. If you remained very still, you could feel your body jostle and wobble. Your eyes were wide, feeling the platform slowly rotate as whatever mechanisms powered the device thrummed and whirred, straining to lift the mound of fat you’d ballooned into.
“There… thank Celestia it worked. How are you feeling, my doughy dirigible?” A small affirming hum leaves your lips. “Wonderful, oh, don’t worry about steering and all that. I’ve slaved the controls to my own scooter, which also reminds me.” His magic flaring, a boxy object drifts out of his basket. Carefully, he presses it into your right hand. Bending your sausage-like fingers, you can tell it’s some sort of a remote, the tough steel shell having a few chunky rubber buttons… at least four of them if you were feeling them correctly.
“As I said, I control the craft, but that has some features you can control yourself. An emergency shut-off switch, a silent alarm to help keep you safe, but also some stuff to help you elsewhere…” He smirked, your inflexible fingers grazing over each button, able to feel a power and bell symbol on two of them. “The others help you out in other ways… lifting your belly, spreading your ass cheeks, vibrate function…” he trails off, lightly chucking as he gropes your belly again. A scarlet tinge floods into your cheeks, considering his words as you finger the corresponding buttons.
“I can’t wait to try those out later, but first, there’s a dinner date with your name on it. Waiting for you, and that cavernous belly of yours too…” Tapping a few buttons on his scooter, he began to cast a spell. Something below you began to thrum loudly, the sound of some magical device powering up. Even though literal metres of fat, you could feel the power radiating out, as the tingle of magical aura enveloped your being. It grew in intensity, the blanketing aura growing brighter and brighter, forcing you to close your eyes. The sound was ringing through your ears, reminding you of a high-speed train rushing past.
‘Pop!’ With an almost comical sounding pop, the sound vanished. The tingle of the magic left your skin and the blinding light vanished. Indeed, as the magic abated, something new prickled across your rolls. Opening your eyes, the first thing you could see was the sky. Your breath hitched, seeing the open blue expanse, wispy white clouds floating here and there. The feeling on your skin was the sun and wind, two forces you’d been unaccustomed to for… well, you weren’t quite sure how long exactly. It was bizarre but welcoming all the same. Holed up inside some warehouse or underground, nothing quite compared to the gentle glow of Celestia’s sun.
Bringing your eyes down, you acknowledged where you were. Apparently, whatever teleportation had brought you into the middle of one of Canterlots highstreets. The architecture was apparent. What was far more apparent to you was the feeling of multiple sets of eyes gazing upon your form. Only able to see in a narrow cone, none the less you could see several pedestrians goggling at you. Pitched gasps, murmurs of confusion or just awed silence as they stared up at you.
Another pop sounded just to your right. Teleporting a few meters away, Blueblood appeared in another flash of blue. His appearance did little to stop the murmuring, several more ponies beginning to crowd around. You couldn’t quite hear exactly what they were saying, but the snippets brought that familiar blush back to your immense cheeks.
“Geeze, look at that guy. And I thought I was getting fat…”
“...is that a pony? It can’t be though, nopony would ever get that big…”
“A parade balloon? Nah, there isn’t a celebration for at least a few weeks…”
“...Celestia above, it looks like something from DaliboArt…”
“...look at that ass, gods I’d love to faceplant into that…”
Despite the mockery and slight disgust in some of the voices, there were plenty of voices that had a tone of awe, or even downright arousal. So conditioned to teasing by your lover, the comments failed to pierce your thick hide. Your hormones instead, were going wild by the merest mention of your waistline, not helped by some of the thirstier comments made. Fortunately, Blueblood had got his bearing about him, deciding to not leave you to be mobbed by curious Cantelotians.
“Make way for the prince and his suitor! Make way!” He barked, pushing forwards on his controls. The engine changed pitch as it was pushed harder. As your lover pushed on the controls, you felt the machine lurch forwards. Not wanting to be squashed, those ahead of you jumped back in alarm, the hover platform having picked up a surprising lick of speed for how cumbersome the craft was. Even so, it was only a hair faster than walking, you reckoned, though the feeling of air resistance across your entire body made it hard to judge as it pushed against your form.
The sounds of the crowd drifted away, though a few did continue to follow you. “Sorry about that, my adorable whale. I should have told you about the teleportation, I must have given you quite the shock.” The concern was clear in his voice, a smile working its way onto your lips. You nod and tell him everything’s fine, even if it was all rather sudden.
“Well not to worry, we’re not too far from the Glutted Hog. The only ponies there will be quiet or will at least give encouragement. And if they do try to harass you, I can have them easily removed.” A hum of affirmation escapes, as you continue to soak in the atmosphere around you. The initial smell of differing flowers and other city smells dissipated soon enough, the tantalising smell of food brimming from all around. Glancing at the signs around you, you were more than certain you’d just entered the food district.
Around you, over half a dozen signs faced towards you, each one demanding attention. Turning your head just enough, you managed to glance through some of the windows, catching glimpses of all manner of food stuff. Disappointingly, the majority were pitiful affairs, conforming to the elite’s idea of ‘fine dining’. Tiny portions of some cookie-cutter recipe served time and again. Your stomach groaned in a mixture of hunger and sympathy, a hoof coming to rest upon one of your rolls, patting you gently.
“Don’t you worry about those meagre morsels, a growing stallion like you needs a proper filling… I want to see that cute little belly of yours get even bigger.” Turning the corner, you blinked, sudden recognition surfacing amongst the bubbling mists of horniness and hunger. Before you, stood the Glutted Hog. Compared to the modest buildings, you were awed at how large the place was. Having converted several properties, they all blended into one singular building, the multiple windows showing the restaurant was heaving with guests. Despite only eaten a few minutes ago, your belly is growls, not used to being denied food for this long while awake. This only worsened as you watch the guests work away at massive, hearty portions. Giant burgers oozing grease, calzones as thick as a pillow, bowls of ice cream larger than a pony’s head. You yearn for it, an involuntary whine loosening from your lips, Blueblood gently patting one of your belly rolls.
“My goodness, there’s quite the turnout today… quite a few regulars too. Won’t we put on quite show for them, hmm?” Blueblood muses, guiding your crafts towards the entrance. A slight jolt of panic lances through your mind, as you look at the set of double doors. Large, to be sure, but they looked to be only just wide enough for Blueblood, let alone the colossal mass you’ve accrued. A pair of unicorns stand either side of the entrance, glancing up as they watched your boyfriend hover over. Their expressions change little, save for a small quirk of the lips as he approached. Upon seeing you, however, they adopt an expression much the same as the other pedestrians, looking like a pair of fish with their jaws wide open.
“Ah, good morning gentlemen, would you the open the ‘special’ doors for me? I’m not quite sure our guest will fit otherwise.” Blinking, they acknowledged none the less, horns flaring as you watched large rods suddenly float from underground. With another pulse, two enormous panes of glass swing back, a yawning hole left in the buildings side… and one the Blueblood was keen to guide you through. Despite the size of the gap created, he carefully manoeuvres the platform, a blush spreading as you see out of your diminished peripheries that only a tiny space is offered your chair. “A bit of tight squeeze, fatty? How does it feel having an ass nearly as wide as a building?” A wobbly smile creases your cheeks as he slowly inches you inside, a wonderful, delectable smell wafting around you.
The inside of the restaurant is impressive enough, looking modern enough with its décor. Tables were placed with ample space between one another, allowing for wide, padded seats to be shoved under each. Shoved onto said seats, were ponies, all of which were to some degree overweight. Chubby, fat, obese, and even beyond, all of these creatures were stuffing their faces with little care, working over enormous plates that must of each been over a thousand calories plus.
Wide, flabby necks. Bulbous, shirt busting bellies and pant shredding butts graced almost every patron you could see. One by one, they looked up from their meals, watching as you floated into the middle, a wide stage set up in the centre of the room. Above you, a wide balcony stretches out, more wideset patrons looking down at you from their raised perch. As you ascended the stage, the sounds of consumption slowly died down in near unison with the hover platforms engines, dropping you gently to the floor.
A murmur, much like the one on the street built up, though compared to mostly disgusted, appalled words they’d spoken, there seemed to be one of general curiosity, mixed with several different emotions and tones you couldn’t quite pick out of the clamour. “Ahem, your attention, please.” Somewhere to your left, you heard Blueblood speak again, possibly on the set of stairs you’d seen on the way in. “You may be somewhat to know why such a considerably sized pony is taking up the stage there?” A smattering of confirmations bubbled up. “Simply put, my Coltfriend, and he’s very, very hungry. If you’d be so kind as to help feed him, massage him, or even tell him how much of a fatty he’s become, I’d be willing to give all of you 60% off your next meal here.”
That got everyponies attention, excited chatter filling the restaurant, until there was a scrape of wood on stone. You could hear hoof steps growing closer, a hand suddenly grabbing a roll. The hand paused, slowly squeezing and playing with the handful of fat, like they were testing the firmness of a bed, rather than another pony. “W…whoa. He’s so soft, Celestia’s tits, it’s like warm playdough.” Placing a hoof onto another roll, you could feel how heavy they were. Nowhere near as big as Blueblood, but with had plenty of poundage, nonetheless.
Ascending slowly, his face came into view, deep purple with a light blue mane. Their shirt was at least three sizes too small, his own doughy middle sagging out and pressing into yours. Balanced in one hand, you spied an enormous stack of pizza, each triangle wider than your hand. A blush upon his own face, he lifted the first slice, guiding it into your open maw. Biting down, a mix of dough, cheese, grease and sauce splattered across your tongue, an involuntary moan bubbling up as you chewed and swallowed, prompting him to shove the rest in, folding it up so it’d all fit.
“There you go… these ought to pack on the pounds, they certainly helped me.” Patting his middle, he grinned as the heavy rolls wobble around, using his free hand to shove another slice into your mouth. Occupied with him, you only faintly notice the sounds of other ponies getting up from their seats. Across the enormous expanse of your bottom, you feel a hefty weight suddenly on one cheek, the flapping of wings and a sudden cool breeze apparently heralding an eager Pegasus. Suddenly, it’s as if the flood gates have opened, as more hands and more hooves continued to press into your plush expanse.
“He wasn’t kidding… gosh, what a jiggling pig.” The Pegasus drifted into view, a wide grin present on his equally wide face. Nowhere as big as the purple earthpony, they were still large, body packed tightly into their struggling jeans, light orange fat squeezing through a few holes. An enormous, steaming bowl was pushed forward, allowing you to get a deep whiff of a rich, brown sauce.
“Hey, wait your turn chubby, I wasn’t done stuffing all this grease into their face.” The earthpony mumbled, cramming another slice in, barely allowing time to breath between the cheesy slabs.
“Don’t you worry, just giving this big blob a little teaser. Besides, with how fast he’s putting it all away, it won’t be long before he’ll be begging for more.” The Pegasus pointed out; a pair of slices were all that was remaining. Grunting in acknowledgement, the Stallion rolled the slice into a tube, your cheeks bulging as the entire slice was shoved in, followed by the next one between heavy, sluggish bites. Before you could take a moments respite, the Pegasus pressed the bowl to your lips. A rich, hearty flavour spreading across your tastebuds. You can see how deep the pot is, yet it takes little time at all to drink it all. “I’d be struggling to eat even half of that… and you’re using it to wash down pizza like it’s a glass of water. What a pig…”
Your throat ripples, almost imperceptibly with the neck roll sagging forwards onto your upper chest. Gravy oozes down the overlapping folds and chins that cocoon your face, the Pegasus struggling to keep the flow steady. Swallowing, the implacable deluge tumbles into the yawning chasm of your belly. The organ so stretched, the pot was barely filled even a portion, but still content to begin working away at the offered morsel. Your gulp is interrupted, a sudden moan working up from with within as you feel more pairs of hands grasp and grab onto your bulk.
Some were cautious, experimentally touching the soft bulk offered to them. Others were more bold, grabbing, and hefting handfuls of your form, outstretched fingers gingerly sinking deep into the pliant flesh and feeling the warm, oozing blubber squeeze between the gaps. Some even lent their weight into you, their tubby, obese forms pressing into your superior bulk. Even fewer still were all but happy to take the princes words to heart. Hefty slaps ricocheted off your bulk, sending your form into a frenzied whirl of motion, rocking and jostling your mighty mass like a stormy ocean.
From those initial, brave individuals, the floodgate opened. Your cheeks were alight, a deep blush tinting your cheeks as your nerves courses with sensation. Brain swimming with stimulation, you feel parts of your body deform and compress as more ponies climb up your mountainous form. A whirl of culinary delight from across Equestria and beyond work their way past your lips, the sheer variety and deliciousness overriding the effort required to chew and swallow, your heavyset chin working like a piston. Jowls, chins and neckrolls jiggled constantly, all liberally splattered in a myriad of sauces and leftovers just beyond the reach of your tongue. Enterprising feeders came and went in a procession, ponies seemingly from all walks of life ascending the overnourished blob of saggy flab that created the fattest pony alive, or indeed, was ever alive. Other species too clambered over the mass of folds and over bloated curves to gaze upon your lard swaddled visage.
An enormous chocolate-brown yak sat upon your upper chest, their own substantial girth sinking in as they tore chunks from a triple tiered cake, smearing icing as they forced messy clump, one after another in. They were dressed very lightly, not aided as they disposed of their top, letting their own obese form jiggle freely, not hidden in the slightest by their thick hair. “Pony is big… but pony could be even bigger, Yak will make you big as a mountain!” They shouted, but somehow managed to put a sensual undertone under it. It was enough to make your cock twitch, your meaty rod grinding against the enormity of soft, doughy adipose surrounding it.
Moaning between each chew, the bovines smile only widened, leaning in as he grabbed another gooey handful. “Pony really likes it when Yak tells Pony how fat they will become… Pony is a useless, fatty blob, you will do nothing but grow fatter and fatter.” He smiles, not giving you a second to process. Swallowing the last few mouthfuls, he reluctantly gets up, showing off his enormous, flabby backside as he descends out of sight, leaving you with a promise of more ooey, gooey dessert.
Permeating the restaurant was a steadily building sensual undertone, matching the steady growth of your own copious stores of body fat. The comments grew progressively raunchier, and the actions of the patrons too did little to hide this. Clothing was steadily discarded, piece by piece, as one by one, the restaurant goes disrobed, probing, and enjoying your insatiable appetite and voluptuous, doughy form. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Blueblood watching on, his own clothing long since vanished, face awash with glee and his horn glowing subtly as he watched the debauchery unfold.
Flesh smacked against flesh, you could feel patrons grinding and toying with any curve, roll or slab of lard that called to them. Every deep impact was another jiggle sent powering through your form, your dick throbbing through a maelstrom of sensation and stimulation. The sounds of your body gurgling and blorping, mixing with the slaps of flab of flab impacts, overlaid with moans and name calling. The wonderous smell of fine, hearty cuisine melded with that of sweat and musk. The sight of your body filling most of your view, accompanied by a blobby red buck presenting his shaft to you. Its deep crimson length was almost entirely swallowed by doughnuts that had been slid over the top like a ring toss at a carnival. Presenting, your lapping tongue probes the head, salty precum greeting you as you slobber the pecker, carefully eating each cream and jam filled pastry in sequence. “After you’ve finished those, I’ve got a deep need to fill some other doughy object with my personal cream…”.
Finishing the last bite, he waited a moment for the chewing to stop before he shoved his cock into your mouth. Kneeling, his own flabby form was cushioned well, grabbing hold of your neck roll as he began to thrust. You could hardly breath, working your tongue across his flare and shaft, moaning in tandem. Elsewhere, others were finding whatever creases and folds they could, burying their own lengths into the depths of your body. Belly button, love handles, thigh, and back folds.
No bars were held as cocks of all sizes were hammered home. The Yak was busy squeezing itself under your body, crawling through the tunnel formed by your underbelly and thighs. Another pony was forcing themselves between your ass cheeks. Lost in a hurricane of emotions and please, a shaking, grunting moan shook the room, driven further as a long, hard length began to press against your pucker. You feel the Yaks breath on your dick, the anticipation near unbearable as they drew closer and closer.
As one, the Yak buries his muzzle in your cock, just as the length of the stallion enters your ass. A deep, moan of exalted pleasure tried to bellow forth, only to be muffled by the member your lips are still wrapped around. Breathing shallowly through your nose, your eyes roll up, your bloated fingers clenching as you were spit-roasted like the piggy you were. Sloppy lust was all that seemed to remain, the remaining food forgotten by the patrons far too steeped in pleasure and amorous intentions to care.
Pounding, and pounding, slurping and sucking, your entire form rocked as nearly two dozen stallions saw fit to use you for their debaucherously needs. An orgy of fat, food and flesh, only heightened as you felt the familiar weight of your prince teleporting onto one of your ass cheeks. Even sat where he was, through the sheer size of your body, he felt a million miles away. You could still hear him though, amongst the cacophony of fat-on-fat impacts.
“You’re so close, my oversized blob of sexiness. To release, that is… not to your gains. Your simply too skinny… I can still see those bloated, useless hands of yours. Your cutie marks still have definition. You can still see over that belly of yours, can’t you? This today… I will keep taking you here, the patrons all willing to feed and fuck you into oblivion. Just image an extra hundred pounds, a thousand pound, or even several extra tons of pure, delectable, ravishing blubber. This isn’t even one iota of the size I want you to be, or indeed, what these creatures want you to be either.” A muffled, stuttering groan was all the response you could muster, your mind awash with hormones, teetering on the edge of climax as your prostate was hammered and member deep throated.
With a final motion, the flood gates were opened. You came hard, your balls spurting enormous ropes of seed, straight into the awaiting maw of the Yak, who struggled to swallow the torrent. The sudden primordial bellow of excess that tore itself from your throat set off a chain reaction, a call-response that caused every last one of the grunting fatties to blow their loads. Semen was injected deep into folds and splattered across rolls and curves of overnourished lard.
Your already bloated cheeks bulged with cum, bloating just as wide even as you swallowed the first load in haste. Lapping the sopping length of the red stallion, he pulled out, collapsing in a sweaty pile atop your moobs, his chest heaving as he sprawled out wide. Across your hyper obese form, they pulled out one by one, falling heavily into the pillowy embrace your body offered. The Yak though, was content laying beneath you, sandwiched between your fat and the padded platform below, intent on suckling every last drop of jizz from your member.
Letting out a belch, a deep wave of fatigue clouds your mind. Exercise was a foreign concept to a body built from sloth and gluttony, and despite not having moved an inch the whole time, you were utterly spent. Eye-lids fluttering, you could feel somepony gingerly waddling towards your head. “Didn’t that feel wonderful, my wobbly whale? Just imagine how good it’ll feel when you’ve doubled in size, and even more creatures can indulge in the carnal pleasures your flesh provides? Or maybe I’ll leave that till tomorrow, I wouldn’t want to disturb your well-deserved sleep with such overwhelming images of obese pleasure.” Leaning in, he planted a kiss upon your cheek.
“Sweet dreams fatty.” Returning to his position on your sagging butt, your eyes close. Your mind fills with numerous musings, relaxing as you indulged in the warm so many naked bodies provided. ‘Just how big am I going to get? How long will it take me to fill this room?’ Such thoughts wander through your mind as tiredness drags you into slumber. You relax your limbs, somehow to an even greater than normal, your vast bingo wings sinking into side rolls.
You had near enough dissociated yourself with the concept of being a pony, that distinction had been robbed ever since your belly grew wider than a mattress. You were now an object of pure comfort, an insatiable fat factory, a ravenous eating machine. Descriptors that each fit you to a tee, becoming ever truer with each day of unchecked gluttony and hedonism. And despite all you’d left behind; all the experiences and memories of freedom you once possessed when your legs didn’t outsize Redwoods for girth, you were content.
No worries about work deadlines or dwindling bank balances. Nothing, but pure, fatty bliss. Afterall, when you already weight several tons, what difference would a few more make? None, as far as you were concerned. Drifting off, a deep smile crossed your muzzle, as mind’s eye filled with confections, and the golden-maned visage of the stallion you loved.
