Supplements

by Non Uberis

Rating: teen
Tags: Fetish, Comedy, Rarity, Pinkie Pie, Twilight Sparkle, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 5158

We all need a little something extra for our diets at the start of a day. For Rarity in particular, a strict regimen of supplements is necessary to maintain her voluptuous form.

Rarity takes her health very seriously, especially where it concerns her physical appearance. It's not always easy to do so, especially for one with such decadent desires, but fortunately she has prepared herself with all the necessary vitamins and minerals to keep herself in peak condition.

And something a little extra, just for that bit of oomph a mare needs to be particularly eye-catching.

= = = = =

Contains the following: fat, slight slovenliness, bimbo, chesty quadruped, and RariTwi teasing.

Published 2024-01-19 21:50:00 UTC
Last updated 2024-01-19 21:50:00 UTC

Part 1

Rarity awakens in a manner most unbecoming of her. It is with a series of guttural grunts and groans gurgling up from her gut that her heavy eyelids (which are still the least heavy part of her) start to flutter open. There might even be a dainty expulsion of gas from her rear. And this is to say nothing of the fact that she is waking up in her workroom, the same place where she fell asleep, in the middle of working, as seems to so often be the occurrence these days. Thank Celestia that there is nopony present to bear witness to this—not even Rarity herself, really, too bleary-eyed and unfocused to truly be conscious of herself.

“Ouuugh…” A protracted, whining sigh escapes her, a noise that transforms into a belch partway through. She blinks away the sand in her eyes, a part of her thankful that all the windows in the room have their blinds over them, shielding her from the dreaded sun, another part dreading the idea of looking at a clock and seeing what time it is. Laboriously, she shifts her legs, one after another, loosening joints, until she has mustered enough strength to push them toward the floor. Easier said than done, as her personal mattress is so insistent on taking up as much space as possible beneath her, on keeping her anchored in place, even as it begins to rumble and gurgle, yearning for sustenance. She groans again. “So little…time in the day,” she huffs, her voice heavy and muffled and slurred, spluttering through fat lips and flabby cheeks and overflowing jowls, “so…very much…to do…”

For better or worse, Rarity has grown used to falling asleep on herself, the voluminous, sprawling girth of her barrel far more convenient for her than her bed. It’s just so easy for her after a night of hard work and occasional snacking to slump in place and allow herself to be carried off to Luna’s dreamscape in the cushy embrace of her own all-encompassing flesh. She can’t help that her fatty body is so comfortable, soft and pliant as marshmallow, anypony ought to envy her for being so tantalizingly plush. What does it matter if she can barely manage to move her flabby, engorged legs enough to get her sunken hooves on the floor and push in upon her gut until she’s able to stand? What does she care if her belly drags against the floor as she walks and all the draping flabby folds of her form grind upon each other with every slightest movement that she makes? It’s just an indicator of her decadence, her indulgence, her majesty.

It's fine. All she has to do is go through her morning (and sometimes afternoon) routine and she’ll be prepared to face the world.

Before her daily grooming can begin, though, she first has to tend to her personal needs. It’s a process which she can perform largely without conscious thought purely through rote repetition. Slowly yet surely, the white glob begins to walk (though that is a generous way to describe the action), shuffling about in a wide arc, hooves thumping one after another, before approaching a doorway. Her form wedges in the frame very quickly, and it is with further undignified grunting and gasping that she pulls herself through. She has the strength for it, but her languid state prevents her from acting swiftly enough to wrench her ponderous girth free, shoulders and then barrel and then hips, inching along bit by bit.

Rarity is particularly careful about avoiding looking at her reflection as long as possible. She keeps her gaze away from the trifold mirrors in her studio, the mirror over the sink in the bathroom, even the sleek shiny metal surfaces in the kitchen. She needs to be in a lucid state of mind in order to properly take in her unoptimized state at the start of a day, and before that she needs to be reasonably refreshed and energized. Once she’s at the kitchen counter, her horn sparks and sputters and then finally lights with cerulean magic, her aura pushing aside the empty pastry boxes and then going about her business. Again, the process is something she has down to auto-pilot, levitating out all her ingredients and mixing them together in a bowl. The hardest part is getting the batter into a griddle and flipping it appropriately; at least, by then, she’s reasonably awake, but she still has had her share of cakes flung haphazardly about the room.

The resulting stack of pancakes doesn’t look too dissimilar to Rarity herself: a pile of doughy folds drooping over each other. She liberally applies syrup and butter and powdered sugar and a few pieces of fruit for good measure. Then she inhales it all in a fraction of the time it took to make. The breakfast is capped off with a glass of water and a series of vitamins and supplements, just the basics to maintain her beauty and health.

Omega-3 for her oh-so-delicate fur.

Magnesium for her ever-straining hooves

Vitamin C for her eyes, all the better to focus on threading a needle.

Sage infusion for her magical focus.

And one last bottle that’s distinctly different from any of the others that look like they came from the Ponyville pharmacy. Opaque pink plastic with a label that only reads “Pert Plus Plus.” The rose-colored pill tastes sweet like candy as Rarity washes it down. A shiver wracks along her spine, shaking her hips and then shoulders and neck, and a contented sigh rolls out of her.

Though it’s only a meager start for the day, the carbs in the mare’s stomach are enough to give her a little extra pep in her step as she shuffles out of the kitchen. It certainly has nothing to do with the way her gut, gurgling dully, starts to recede, pinching inward as if constricted by an invisible corset. Slowly but surely, the bloated midsection goes from dragging along the floor to brushing upon it and then merely bobbing above it, hardly an inch away at its lowest. The flabby sleeves along her legs also shrink, folds smoothing into a uniform thick texture, broadest at the thighs, steadily tapering down to the calves and ankles, her thin, stiletto-like hooves freed from their fatty confines.

Into the boudoir, Rarity settles upon a sturdy, several times over reinforced bench in front of her vanity. Her rump, huge round hills which rise up behind her while standing, squish and compress beneath her when she reclines. She gazes into her reflection, and she’s able to smile and make a pleased little chuckle; enough time has passed that she can regard herself properly, and the vitamins are already getting her closer to her ideal form. She lifts one hoof to tap against her pleasantly plump face, which is no longer so thoroughly swaddled in fleshy tires, cheeks and neck plush to the touch. The limb falls and then settles upon her chest, which feels particularly warm to the touch as it continues to swell out in front of her, pulsing with every intake of breath. She purrs as she strokes the bulbous mass, gazing longingly into her reflection.

There’s not so much that needs to be done, just a little brushing and makeup (not sleeping in a bed has the benefit of not having to worry about bedhead). She has more than enough focus now to devote to this task. Drawers on the desk fling open one by one, pulling out all her supplies in her aura. There’s also a trundling as two long mirrors on wheels come rolling over to stand behind her, positioned in such a way that she can inspect her tail and brush it at the same time as her mane. And, as a bonus, get a tantalizing view of her rear. She smirks again while wriggling her hips and grinding her haunches on the poor bench.

“Some ponies don’t appreciate the effort that goes into looking this good,” she croons to herself while she continues the process of her beautification, the exaggeration of her form intensifying with each step. She rubs powdery shadow over her eyelids and brushes at her lashes, and each stroke seems to tug them out a little longer. She applies a fresh coat of glittery sapphire gloss over her lips, plump mounds which rise up into her field of vision and completely occlude her muzzle in her reflection. Brushing at her mane only seems to cause it to become even more unruly as the purple locks grow yet more thick and voluminous, but eventually she approaches equilibrium and tames the tangled nest into gorgeous lavender curls, swept to one side to cascade along her neck and shoulder and back. “But the results are always worth it,” she remarks while batting her eyelashes, and she places a hoof to her puckering lips to blow herself a kiss.

Once the grooming is complete, Rarity rises with a creaking of wood, at the same time returning all of her tools to their proper places. There is some further deliberation to be had over her wardrobe for the day, though the process of putting any clothes on takes considerably longer. She has to manage the coordination of raising her hooves one by one and tugging everything into place just right. She has practice with doing this, but she knows that it has to be taken seriously, understanding that tipping just a little out of balance could send her toppling over.

At the end of it all, she regards her reflection once again, and she can’t help marveling at herself. Though she had gone out of her way to avoid being reminded of her natural appearance, it’s starkly obvious that she has become completely different from the slovenly way she looked when she woke up. The periwinkle blouse she wears clings delicately around her barrel, brushing at the soft girth of her belly, and cups at the underside of her cushy chest, jutting out in front of her, a balloon of fluffy flesh faintly wobbling as she moved. And her rump, clad in a skirt and panties with her corkscrew tail draped on top, is a pair of mountainous mounds, perfectly round and smooth. She is fat, undeniably obese, but the padding serves to accentuate her form rather than smother it, making her perfectly soft and curvaceous and delectable.

“Just right,” she says, licking at her lips hungrily while levitating over a broad-brimmed sun hat to deposit upon her head.

Author's Note

For a while I've been taking L-Lysine vitamins daily, with the main reasoning being its benefits to the immune system. A few months ago, though, I noticed a bottle which advertised the primary benefit of improving "lip health". So, bimbo vitamins? Might as well. Then I had some unrelated inklings to do chesty feral body shapes so I decided to combine the two for a simple scene.

Fun thinking about vitamins that magical creatures might need.

Rare mention of farting in non-commissioned work.

If you enjoy my work, consider supporting me on Patreon or Ko-Fi!

Part 2

Rarity’s approach along the avenues of Ponyville is impossible to ignore. There’s simply no way for anypony not to notice so much mare all in one place, such a dense and voluptuous package of pony. There’s also the fact that the shifting of her form has had the side effect of changing the sound of her hoofsteps. When her gut dragged on the ground, it would diminish the sound of her hooves, now the full weight carries through her legs with every step, thudding against the earth. More than that, however, her motions are punctuated by a curious sound, churning and sloshing like a water balloon, the beat of a deep bass drum echoing within her body.

Of course, this is exactly the kind of reaction she usually hopes for—why else would she dress in such a showy manner? Though most of Ponyville is at least used to her presenting herself this way by now, reducing the presence of the bewildered stares she once would have received, there will still be those who can’t resist ogling. She’ll make little offerings to her audience when she catches sight of them: a wink, a shake of her hips or chest, a puckering of lips. She chuckles low in her throat when a stallion or mare goes red in the face upon seeing this display.

She’s a little winded by the time she finally comes trotting along the final approach to Sugarcube Corner, a daily destination for her. On a pleasantly balmy day like this, there are several tables set out in front of the bakery for customers to dine upon their purchases, and Rarity is eager to take a seat. Of course, given Rarity’s regular patronage, friendship with the local baker, and particularly irregular dimensions, there is one table with a particularly large seat which is always reserved for her. More than once, she has come by to find that somepony had taken that most cushy and comfortable and capacious seat for themselves. Usually, the pony and whatever party they were with would oblige Rarity by moving when she asked, but there had been one particularly incorrigible stallion who adamantly refused. Rarity responded to this by sitting on him instead.

Today, there is nopony in her seat, but there is somepony else sitting at the table, nose buried in a book and in all likelihood waiting for her.

“Ah, Twilight, my dear,” Rarity remarks with glee as she wobbles closer, regarding the mare across from her with a warm smile, “how marvelous to see you out and about on such a pleasant day.”

The book held in front of her face falls back, revealing Twilight Sparkle’s face just as she lights up with recognition and realization. “Oh, Rarity, just the pony I was hoping to see!” she remarks with a giggle. Her plump purple lips form into a smile (the nuances of expression with such exaggerated facial features can be difficult to parse, but a pony like Rarity can easily discern the faint curls and flexes). She leans forward until her cushy chest presses into the edge of the table, her tail swaying languidly, just to get closer.

“So I was correct in sensing that you were waiting for me,” Rarity says with an amused chuckle whilst hauling herself into her chair, both it and the table rattling as she bumps into them and sidles into place. Despite the chair being specifically laid out for her, her rump utterly smothers the seat and fills the span between the arms, while her belly spills between her legs. She doesn’t need to scoot closer or lean in for her voluminous chest to press into the table—it’s more a formality than anything, and she’ll usually use her own body to deposit any plates or cups. “Perhaps you have some business that we must tend to? Or did you wish merely for a chance to observe my magnificence in person?” She chortles to herself and bats her eyelashes.

Twilight makes another adorable nasally laugh, her cheeks lighting up with a hint of color. “Well, how could I say no to the opportunity to see the most curvaceous mare in Ponyville?” she mutters bashfully, eyes shifting to the side.

Rarity smiles and drinks in the compliment, more delectable than even the sweetest treat, but still she waves a hoof and insists, “Please, darling, do not discount yourself, I’m sure everypony who sees you cannot help staring at your fabulous flanks.”

The alicorn’s blush deepens while her forehooves reach down to self-consciously press at her broad thighs. She doesn’t even have a chair, instead simply electing to lean back on the girth of her rear, enormous buttocks that would struggle to find space to fit in most couches. Rarity doesn’t think it’s especially hygienic for her to do so, not to mention running the risk of dirtying her clothes, but she has to admit the practicality of it is undeniable. It suits Twilight well, so often prone to sitting around while studying, though her friends have been endeavoring to get her out in public more often. The supplements have done a great deal to help her in that regard.

“Um, w-well, anyhow, uh,” she then mutters, hesitantly raising her gaze to meet Rarity’s again, “I also wanted to see you because, um, I needed to get some…refitting done.” The anxiety in her quavering voice might make one think she was Fluttershy instead of Princess Twilight Sparkle (at least, Fluttershy as she had been before going through her own similar treatment process). She gestures to her chest, and though she is relatively small compared to the unicorn across from her it is clear to see how, where the bulging lavender mass should make a smooth curve, there are noticeable divots made by the low-cut neckline of the dress she wears. Though it is difficult to judge in this position, Rarity has to imagine that the skirt she’s wearing can’t even cover her rump while she’s standing—making all the more of a show for anypony watching her go by—and the underwear might be riding up uncomfortably between her cheeks.

“Hmm, that is quite the dilemma,” Rarity replies with one hoof raised to tap at her chin. “You could have come to the boutique, you know. I would have been glad to get to work on the measurements at the very least.”

“Oh, I did, actually,” Twilight says, smiling sheepishly, “I knocked on the door, but you didn’t answer.”

“Ah, yes, well, I must have been…indisposed. My apologies.” She coughs discreetly. There’s no hint of knocking in her memory, so she must have been asleep. Of course, the reality is that, even if she had roused from her slumber and heard the noise, she probably would have desperately avoided answering. The idea of appearing before somepony else in such an indecent state, without clothes or makeup or a dose of her daily supplements, is utterly anathema to her.

“It’s okay, no harm done,” Twilight says quickly, waving off the issue. “Well, I figured you’d be here eventually. And I needed to come by to get a refill anyway.”

There’s suddenly a rapid rush of movement, hooves scampering over the ground, and an audible sloshing noise.

“Did somepony say ‘refill?’” interjects a bright and cheery voice that could only possibly be Pinkie Pie’s. The pink pony stands beside the table, clutching a carafe in one hoof. The container is full to the brim with coffee, and how she managed to carry it without spilling a drop is a mystery only she knows the answer to.

“O-oh, Pinkie, there you are!” Twilight gasps, reflexively shirking away in her surprise, still so prone to being jumpy.

“Thank you, Pinkie,” Rarity remarks with a chuckle. She would reach out to pat her on the shoulder or hoof, but she knows it’s futile to try to reach that far. “I don’t believe that’s what Twilight meant, though.”

“Oh, okay!” Pinkie slips the coffee underneath her chest—a huge, rotund mass that juts out like a beachball grafted to her front—and with a magician’s sleight of hand next brings out a kettle, steam faintly rising from its spigot. “Tea, then, for the classy couple?” she asks next with a teasing lilt. She winks furtively at Rarity before turning to Twilight and suggestively puckering her cyan-painted lips. The alicorn’s whole face goes red and she seems to sink deeper into the cushions of her ass cheeks.

“No, darling, Twilight is talking about…you know…” Rarity gestures with one hoof, sweeping along her side, up to cup against the fluffy swell in front of her.

“Ohhh, I getcha!” Pinkie leans closer to the table, a devilish smirk on her face, and whispers, “You want the good stuff.” After disappearing the kettle, she reaches a manicured hoof into her puffy nest of a mane and from it she produces an object that she puts on the table with a rattle and clatter. It’s a little pink bottle with a label that reads “Pert Plus Plus” and as she slides it across toward Twilight she says, “Remember to use it responsibly!”

“Th-thanks, Pinkie,” she replies in a hushed tone, hurriedly levitating the bottle over to herself and stowing it away. Her eyes shift about nervously, as if wary of who might be watching.

“How bout you, Rare-rares?” the mare asks next, turning toward Rarity, beaming. “Need any more for your pretty little self?”

It takes a few seconds of earnest thought and conscious restraint for Rarity to shake her head, jowls and neck wobbling. “No, that’s quite alright, dear, I have enough for the time being. I will, however, take my usual daily order to go, and for while I’m waiting, hmm…I’m feeling scones today, whatever you may have.”

“Okie-dokie!” Pinkie salutes to her. “One baker’s dozen’s dozen variety pack coming up!” She turns and trots away with a skip in her step, now treating the mares at the table to the sight of her bulbous buttocks. Though Pinkie Pie’s chest is not as voluminous as Rarity’s, nor are her haunches as thick as either hers or Twilight’s, they bear a particularly exaggerated roundness, pert, defying gravity, protruding from her otherwise trim physique and audibly bouncing with every step that she takes. Her skimpier choice of clothing also helps to draw a lot more attention to herself, short-shorts and tube top leaving vast swathes of pink flesh for all to see. This includes Rarity, who appreciates the lurid display.

She glances back toward Twilight, expecting to catch her staring as well, and she’s correct, but the alicorn appears to have been staring at her before hurriedly looking down. Rarity chortles, rumbling in her throat, but doesn’t comment on this, instead asking, “That’s an awfully quick turnaround, Twilight. I seem to recall you last asked for a new batch hardly two weeks ago, if I’m not mistaken.” She leans forward into her pillowy bulk, hooves laid over top.

Twilight visibly flinches as if struck before stammering, “Uh, n-no, I d-don’t know what you mean! It wasn’t…that recent, it was…a m-month ago, yeah, I remember the exact date! It was…uh….” She fumbles and drifts, seemingly struggling to remember. Or, more likely, remembering exactly what it was but not wanting to admit it.

“Twilight, darling, surely you remember what happened to Rainbow and Applejack when they decided to have their little bimbo-off,” she says, gently chastising with a click of her tongue, “I know how tempting it must be, but it really doesn’t outweigh the consequences when you overdose like that.” Then she sighs and mutters, “The least you could do is come out of the castle and let us see instead of staying cooped up inside all the time.”

Twilight hangs her head, ears drooping, lips fixed in a pout. It’s an expression rather typical of her, so prone to bouts of shame, but it’s so unfitting the way she is now. She should have a smile on her muzzle as her eyes gleam with affection and hunger, cupping at her soft chest and swaying her huge hips from side to side. It makes Rarity frown, tapping her hoof on her pudgy chin.

Finally she says with decisive authority, “You know what your problem is, Twilight?” She lets the question hold just long enough to get the other mare’s attention, not waiting for her to respond before continuing. “You still just think way too much.”

“Wh-what?” A hint of anger creeps into her tone as her brows knit together.

“Now don’t be like that,” Rarity replies with a wave of her hoof, “I’m not telling you to stop reading or whatever. I’m simply saying that your brand of thinking tends to stray toward the ‘over’ variety far too often. You’re never going to get anything done if you spend your whole day thinking about what you’d like to do.”

Twilight still makes a frowning pout, maybe hurt just a little, but evidently unable to make any kind of rebuttal, glancing away while her cheeks redden once more.

“So perhaps, for example,” Rarity then says with a bat of her eyelashes, “instead of thinking about how much you want to kiss me, you should just come over here and kiss me.”

That prompts Twilight’s eyes to widen and her blush to deepen yet further. She stammers a few incoherent syllables and makes some weak jittering shakes of her head but still is unable to respond.

Rarity laughs, jiggles rippling throughout her. “You see? You’re thinking way too hard about it and it’s so simple! All you have to do is come around the table!”

“R-Rarity, I-I can’t…can’t just…!” Twilight stutters. It’s like the clockwork in her head is jamming, stopping everything and threatening to make the whole system fall apart.

“Well if you won’t do it, darling, then I’m just going to have to show you!”

The chair and table both groan as Rarity shifts, forcing herself out of her spot perched between them.

“N-n-no, you d-don’t have to do that!”

“Oh, I’m doing!” Rarity laughs again. “It’s all about doing.”

The unicorn’s body oozes out of the seat, back into a standing posture, all hooves coming down on the ground with a dull thud that makes everything rattle.

“R-R-Rarity, we don’t…we don’t have t-to do anything like this, we can just…just…talk about…dresses!”

“I agree, we can talk about how much we want to take off each other’s dresses!”

Twilight squeals and wails in convulsions of anxiety, but still she remains rooted in place, making no attempt to escape despite how easy it would be for her to run, or even fly or teleport away, while Rarity makes the slow lumbering circuit around the perimeter of the table, a white glacier steadily bearing down upon the alicorn.

Rarity licks her lips as she looms over Twilight, who cringes and cowers, making herself appear smaller in spite of her couch of an ass. The mare’s face is twisted into a mask of battling emotions, eager and agitated all at once—it takes drastically exaggerated expressions to be clear past the obfuscating barricade of lips over the muzzle. She pushes weakly when the unicorn begins to lean upon her, hooves pressing into the cushy girth of her overflowing chest, a marshmallow avalanche that rapidly engulfs her, far eclipsing her own bulbous front. “Rarity…!” she protests, half-muffled as the fluffy bulk threatens to smother her, yet the pretense of resistance gives way to grabbing at whatever is in her reach. She inhales deeply at the scent of perfume, eyelids fluttering, tail swishing and wings twitching.

“Shh, hush now, darling,” Rarity coos to her before she lowers her neck and makes the final push, just about flattening Twilight against the ground before getting into a position to press their muzzles together. Their mingling lips are about the same size, gloss blending together between them, but Rarity manages to be more forceful even as Twilight reciprocates her own passion. She pulls and sucks, wet smacks and pops made by the sheer suction of her mouth, and Twilight melts like putty in her grasp (so to speak, not being able to physically reach her with her hooves around the circumference of her chest).

When Rarity finally lets go, releasing the lock of their lips, Twilight nearly goes limp, lost in dreamy delirium. She chuckles quietly to herself, and she leans in just briefly to nuzzle against the other mare’s cheek, breathing a lungful of her scent. “You’re still such a softie, Twilight,” she whispers into her ear.

“R-Rarity…” Twilight mumbles back, slurred. Her eyes swim lazily, unfocused. One can almost see hearts bubbling through her sclera.

“Now now, no need to speak, just take it easy,” Rarity chides. She eases the pressure on her but doesn’t entirely separate. She uses levitation to pull Twilight into a more upright posture, hips balanced precariously, and then brushes past as she strolls around her. She sways into the alicorn’s back, the swells of her chest and then barrel and then flanks, pitching her forward so that she comes to rest against the edge of the table, barely stirring, as if she had fallen asleep. Now if only she can do the same, as after circling back around the table to her seat Rarity feels distinctly low on energy. She needs carbs to stuff down her gullet immediately.

“Right on time!” Suddenly Pinkie Pie is standing by the table again—Rarity wasn’t paying enough attention to notice her approach, almost making it seem like she just manifested out of thin air, but she’s too hungry to question the circumstances. “Got your first order up!” she says cheerily as she turns in place, a swift motion that sends the tray balanced on top of her rump sliding onto the table, a huge pile of steaming scones just waiting to be devoured. “We’ll have the rest out by the time you’re done!” she then says with a wink.

“I hope that isn’t a challenge, darling,” Rarity replies, smirking, while she takes one of the buttery treats to inspect. The smell of cinnamon and sugar to her is almost like her doughy softness had been to Twilight, intoxicatingly addictive, prompting her mouth to water.

“We’ll beat that tummy of yours someday, Rarity!” Pinkie taunts with a shake of her hips. She starts to walk back into Sugarcube Corner only to take notice of Twilight, slumped over on the other side of the table. “Ha, looks like Twi couldn’t handle you either, huh?” she asks with a knowing grin, eyebrows waggling.

“There are few ponies who can,” she says proudly before inhaling the first scone, gnashing the chewy dough up in her mouth, relishing in the flavor upon her tongue before finally swallowing and moving on to the next.

There is still so much more to indulge in.

Author's Note

After finishing the first scene, I felt like keeping up my momentum and doing a little more. Unfortunately, this side of the project quickly fell apart. I lost much of my motivation after the first chunk and had a hard time coming back. I was originally going to have a goth Fluttershy in this scene but I wasn't much liking how she was coming out, so I replaced her with Twilight and I ended up not liking that much either. Consequently, this story has been sitting around for a while but I've been hesitant to upload it because I soured so much on it. Oh well.

For whatever reason, I felt like trying to keep this story to relatively tame levels and that somewhat limited my options.

Pinkie Pie needs to stop being a bad influence with her weird fetishes.

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