It had already been a wonderful Hearth’s Warming. Spike had been overflowing with the warm fuzzy feeling that came from receiving gifts and being in the presence of friends and loved ones. There wasn’t much more he could have asked for.

Yet, when he retired to his bedroom and found that there was another colorful package resting upon his bed, his excitement surged back to the forefront of his thoughts immediately. The dragon remained young at heart, unable to completely quell the eager delight that came from being presented with a gift. Of course, he was also wise enough now to know better than to take such offerings for granted, and he was prepared to offer his thanks to whomever had given this to him (he assumed it was likely Twilight Sparkle). Despite this, however, he found that there was little to suggest a source; the card attached to the package only read “For Spike” with no indication of a sender. Even the wrapping paper, which didn’t resemble that used by any of the ponies who had come to the gathering earlier, was a generic holiday pattern, red and white and green—it could have come from just about anyone.

He shrugged his shoulders and maintained a calm smile while he worked on tearing through the wrapping with his claws. It was still clearly intended for him, so that meant there wasn’t any shame to be had in accepting it, surely.

That excitement lasted until the moment when he fully unveiled the long, flat shape, revealing a cardboard box, and he muttered automatically, “Oh, more clothes.” It might have been funny, to someone other than him, that a dragon who had spent so many years crushing on a seamstress was so unenthused with the idea of receiving clothing. He was old enough by now to at least appreciate the pure functionality of such a gift, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating whenever he was met with the discovery of yet another shirt instead of some toy.

When he proceeded to dejectedly open the box, however, he discovered that it wasn’t holding just another shirt.

The object that he picked up from the container, pinched between his thumbs and forefingers, steadily unfurling and dangled as it was pulled from its confines, was not even the kind of thing he would wear. It was dark and silky, a gossamer garment so fine that he nearly thought it would tear asunder if he were to so much as tug on it. It was a long expanse of cloth, its shape inscrutable for a few moments, before he brought the two ends together into a loop, with their leathery clasps that neatly met up with each other, holes drilled along their sides, with a length of lace that could bind them together. He could now discern a “top” where there were two cup-like shapes molded into the fabric, and he knew those were supposed to support the chest. The breasts.

It was a corset.

Someone had given him a corset.

He could feel the indignant embarrassment within him—the urge to exclaim “Yuck!” and react in the way boys were expected to when presented with feminine objects. He could have imagined this exact outcome if he had opened this gift during the festivities, to put up a strong front in the presence of whatever jeering comments and laughter there might have been on the sidelines—from Rainbow Dash or Pinkie Pie, most likely. They had probably been the ones to get this for him, actually. Them or Discord.

But in the privacy of his bedroom, Spike found that he lacked the impetus to act upon that base desire. Instead, all he could do was stare at the black shape and ponder. Someone had gotten this for him. It was almost certainly a prank, but if it wasn’t…that meant someone had genuinely thought he would enjoy it.

Did he?

He placed the corset over his front, holding it flat against his torso.

Only a vague impression, though; he would have to get the real experience.

Spike took off his shirt and moved to stand in front of a mirror in the corner of the room. He couldn’t remember the last time he had actively sought out his reflection in a manner like this. He usually tried not to think about how his physique tended to oscillate between svelte and pudgy depending on how poor his dieting had been recently. Unsurprisingly, the holiday excess had pushed him a little more toward the soft side as of late. He didn’t need to think about any of that right now, though.

Hesitantly, he wrapped the corset around himself. It was, as expected, a rather tight fit, although he couldn’t exactly tie it shut anyway, lacking the dexterity or coordination necessary; he would have needed someone else to assist him, and he wasn’t exactly ready to bring another pony into this delicate situation just yet. All he could do was hold the ends of the garment together behind his back, squeezing. It constricted around his stomach, though there was a fair bit of leeway at the top, owing to his lack of breasts or even pronounced pectorals. Around the other side, the upper hem of the silk nestled just underneath where his wings sprouted from his back. There was a jarring contrast between it and the plain pants which he wore below it. There was something inherently suggestive about it, the way it pinched in his middle and exaggerated the shape of his chest and hips, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to gauge the exact effect without properly tying it up. All he could do was imagine it, the curves along his sides, the shapeliness, molded into shape.

The dragon didn’t stop to consider when he had let go, busying his hands with tracing along his sides, leaving the corset to go loose. Or, at least, it should have, but he failed to take notice of when the lace, like a serpent, threaded through the holes and tied itself in place, securing the two sides together, and the pressure abruptly amplified.

“Ah!” He yelped, and the sound was shrill and high-pitched as the air was forced out of him. He thought of calling out for Twilight Sparkle, for anyone, but the sound died in his throat as a tiny wheeze. His hands reached back around to find the lace loops which were keeping the corset secure, and he found them completely cinched up, too tight to budge an inch.

There were immediately questions rising up in his brain, bubbling to the surface one by one.

And promptly, without any further thought, he announced, “Oh, it must be a self-tying corset! That’s convenient.”

He chortled to himself while mentally throwing out the question of “How did this happen?” which had unconsciously been bundled up with the unanswered question “What do I do about this?” It was unimportant when he was now faced with the possibility of the true shape that he had desired.

Spike looked back toward his reflection and found that the effect was already clearly pronounced. The corset squeezed around his midsection, simultaneously reducing the prominence of his developing paunch and emphasizing the shape of his chest and hips, flaring outward above and below. He held his arms up behind his head, arching his back and stretching out his wings, and he smiled and batted his eyelashes. He didn’t think about why he now had shades of emerald painted around his eyes and lips, glittering faintly like gemstones in the light—it just looked right, therefore there was no reason to complain about it.

“Wow, this really does make me look a lot sexier,” he mused aloud, the pitch of his voice just a tad higher as the corset squeezed him. With a slow, steady rhythm, he wiggled his hips from one side to the other, and he stared into the mirror, ogling himself. It was hypnotic, losing himself in the motions.

And the corset pinched yet tighter, and his hips pushed further outward, their breadth surpassing his shoulders, accompanied by creaking and popping as the seams on his pants began to tear open. In addition to the lavender scales making themselves visible as they ripped through the fabric along the sides, the crotch of the pants tented sharply outward. He made a low cry of delight, as if the squeezing had forced it out of his lungs.

“Gosh, this is so great,” he said, licking at his lips—the mounds much plumper than they had been moments ago, forming a natural pout by default. He kissed and winked at his reflection while placing a hand upon his chest, which now filled the cups of the corset far more adequately, a rounded swell that wasn’t quite breasts but far too pliant to be muscle. “How much more can it go?”

As if in direct response, the corset constricted once more, the lace yanking itself as hard as it could.

Spike made another shrill cry, a sharp coo of delight, as he practically jumped out of his skin. Amid the cacophony of tearing cloth as his pants and underwear gave up entirely, there was a loud bwoomph sound, as of a balloon inflating. His chest exploded outward, a bulbous uniform mass of green scales, wobbling faintly as it settled within the confines of the corset, pushed upward to be nearly level with his chin. His hips jutted out to the sides in broad shelves, and with his pants obliterated the shape of his legs was all the clearer, pert buttocks and thigh thighs, scales smooth and glossy. There was no hiding his arousal anymore, the length of his cock jutting from his loins, deep amethyst shaft lined with thin barbs, testicles dangling heavily between his legs. His waist, by sharp contrast, was almost nonexistent, squeezed so much by the corset that the span between the chest and hips was nearly as thin as his biceps, the question of where the space for organs had gone left up to someone who had more concern for such matters.

The dragon laughed and crooned and moaned all at once. He seemed to have difficulty making any sound that wasn’t tinged with a labored tone of passion. “Oh my…now this is really perfect,” he muttered to himself, words now turned muffled and indistinct as his bulbous lips wobbled at each other with every syllable. He was unable to resist the urge to grope at himself, his supple chest and throbbing groin. He turned about and looked back over his shoulder so that he could shake his rotund ass at the mirror, tail swaying about all the while. “Haha, yeah, yeah, just want I wanted for Hearth’s Warming!” he declared with all the conviction and longing as if it were really true.

“Ohhh, but…” In looking down at himself (past his voluminous chest), he noticed the tattered remains of cloth which littered the floor around his feet. “Now I’m going to need some new clothes!” He giggled to himself as he imagined what kinds of ensembles he could go strutting about in. “I should totally go check on Rarity and ask if she can whip up anything for me.” He giggled again at the thought of what else they’d be able to get up to.

Author's Note

I know that I've already done things like this recently but this time it was something someone asked me to do so you can't just blame me for my weird gender identity proclivities.

I don't know why I chose to do the whole puffy chest thing, I just kind of felt like it.

Probably roughly accurate of Spike's transformation process in Stains.

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