We enter to Ponyville town hall, where a crowd of citizens is cowering terrified, while a dark alicorn who bore a passing resemblance to the local sofa salesman shouted menacingly.

“Mwahahaha! I am Nightmare Couch! From this night forth, the chaise shall lounge FOREVER! Bwahahahaha!”

Meanwhile, in an alternate universe where things aren’t completely retarded, but still pretty stupid, this was happening:

Ernest Hemingway stared at the page. It stared back at him, and it made him feel dirty.

“Francis,” he said, “just what in the actual fuck is this?”

“It’s fanfiction!” F. Scott Fitzgerald shouted gleefully, “I wrote it myself!”

Ernest paused a few moments before answering, “It’s about fat horses.”

“Yeah, well I walk on the wild side!”

“That movie won’t even be out for like another 30 years.”

“Hey, mind if I borrow Erich Remarque for a couple days?” asked the ever-intrusive John Dos Passos.

"Sure, just make sure to walk him in the mornings and give him enough food. He eats only sauerkraut and blood sausages, everything else gives him gas."

"What?" Asked John, looking up from where the German man was chewing on a piece of cauliflower.

And in yet another world, where a lot of ponies were getting really fat, other stuff was going on.

Davenport plopped down on his plot. His eyes widened and shot up again when he realized he was sitting on broken glass. Well, he thought, there goes the neighborhood. He heard someone clear their throat behind him. Turning, he saw

“Uhh, Madame Mayor, I can explain-”

“You can explain? You can explain?! Ponyville has never seen such devastation! Quills and Sofas, burned down and covered in teriyaki sauce! I hope you know you’ll be paying for it!”

“Madame Mayor... I own Quills and Sofas. Of course, I’m paying for it.”

“Oh. Well then, best of luck to you,” She said and trotted away.

Because the universe apparently thought he hadn’t suffered enough today, Pinkie Pie popped up before him. He didn’t even flinch.

“Hi Davey-Wavey! What happened?”

“I’m... Not entirely sure anymore.” Was his reply. Sadly, he looked over the ruins.

“Ooh! Ooh! I know! I know what happened!”

Suddenly, he looked up. “You do?” He asked hopefully.

“Yeppers! Just sit right there and let your auntie Pinkie Pie tell you!”

“I’m twenty years older than you,” he grumbled, but still sat quietly and listened to her story.

On a sofa, just one of many in the store Quills and Sofas, sat Davenport and his coltfriend Gizmo. They were gay lovers, although if you couldn’t figure that out already I can’t imagine how you managed to find this website.

Now, Gizmo was a nerdy little white kid, well, more of a light beige really, but surely a stereotype if ever there was one. He was just out of his teens, his face was still dotted with zits, and a little peach fuzz mustache was perched on his upper lip.

Davenport, on the other hoof, was in his late 30s, but none other than Gizmo knew his exact age. His face was still smooth, but if you looked closely, you could see wrinkles forming on his brow and the beginnings of crows feet in the corners of his eyes.

Now, you might wonder why someone so young and someone so old are together. Well, when Gizmo’s mommy and daddy broke up, he was left without a father figure. This lay dormant in his psyche until he met Davenport at the Summer Sun Celebration. Now he has a gay lover/substitute dad. It may sound creepy, but that’s proper psychology right there and I dare anyone to say different.

Anyway, Gizmo was a scrawny little dweeb. Why, I bet he reads BOOKS and knows his TIMES TABLES and can read a CLOCK and everything! What a fucking geek, amiright? We should totally beat his nerd ass! C’mon Jock Patrol! Time to kick-- oh, they’re talking and we’re missing it. Shit.

“Dav, I was wondering.”

Davenport looked down with half-lidded eyes. “Yes, my love?”

Gizmo fidgeted nervously. “I... Well, I was wondering, what do you think of, um, bigger, uh, stallions?” He sunk back into the couch slightly as he spoke.

“I’ve got nothing against them, why?”

“Well, you see, I, uh...”

“You uh?”

“I...”

“Come on, Gizmo, you may be younger than me but I expect you to use your big pony words sometimes.”

“I WANNA GET FAT!”

“Oh, is that all?”

“Whaddya mean, ‘is that all’? I wanna sit around all day and eat and get too fat to move, and you say, ‘is that all’?”

“Well, I’m curious as to why, but as long as it’s what you want, I’ll do my best to support you.”

“Will you... Still love me?”

“Gizmo, I love you no matter what. If you’re a changeling, I still love you. If you’re a fan of Steelalica, I love you. If you want to be fat, I still love you. I’m intrigued by the prospect, actually. How big would you like to get?”

“Well...”

And so it went. Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to a month, and Ponyville was finally beginning to take notice of one of its less eminent residents.

“You know, I really don’t understand why anypony likes the new season of Doctor Whooves.” This was a blue unicorn by the name of Pokey Pierce, resident Jewish nerd/Jeff Goldblum impersonator.

“Whaddya mean?” Replied Ace, an off-white earth pony who dressed like a queer but still got more pussy in a week than you will in your entire life.

At the moment, they were sitting on the counter of Ponyville’s local Forbidden Planet, a comic book store who’s name I couldn’t think of a pun for. They seemed to be discussing various nerdy things, let’s just tune it out and instead listen to our manly conversation about sports and- Oh goddamn it I can’t ignore them, they’re too annoying! Augh!

“Well, look at it! Patt Smith is a decent actor, really he is, but he isn’t David Trottant! Wombat needs to realize that he can’t just write him like he does Sherclop!”

“I dunno, I think he’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, but have you seen it? Remember The Power Of Four? The episode had a good premise, the doctor coming to stay, but had no idea what to do with it and quickly ditched plot for a pathetic last-ten-minutes conclusion that just left me feeling cheated! It’s like--”

“Hey, guys,” Gizmo greeted with a smile. He was quite large, one of two common sizes in comic stores, and every step sent tremors through his prodigious body.

“G-Gizmo?!” They sputtered in unison. Pokey fell back off the counter. Haha.

“That’s the name, don’t wear it out. So guys, we still on for 39k or what?” He said, walking over to Ace’s perch. Maybe walking isn’t the right word. Strutting.

“Uh, yeah, come on into the back.” Ace said, eyes still wide.

By this time Pokey had picked himself up and dusted himself off. “Yeah. Right this way, man.” He said, pointing to a curtain marked Employees Only.

With a nod, Gizmo strutted through the curtain, his bubbly butt bobbing with every step.

*The author doesn’t know anything about Warhammer 40k or wargames in general, although he does still have a pencil case full of YuGiOh cards. Therefore, I’ll skip this bit and cut right to the obligatory fat joke.*

A tan colt walked in with his white mother. As soon as he saw Gizmo, his eyes widened significantly.

“Look, mom! It’s UFO Turtle!” He shouted, pointing at the obese pony.

“Now Featherweight, that’s not nice!” Chided Blossomforth. She then grabbed a copy of Watchmares from the rack and smacked him across the face for his insolence.

Gizmo wouldn’t call himself vainglorious, exactly, but he was far from humble. Over the course of the game, he’d managed to eat his way through a dozen bags of chips, unlike his friends who only shared one. Well, it was their loss, after all, fuel for the body is fuel for the mind, and he was the winner. He and his army of Imperial Guardsmen, the Snooker Division as he ‘cleverly’ named them, had smashed the Tau and Chaos Marine alliance, and reigned victorious over the foam and card terrain.

“Booyah! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” He shouted, smacking his ass and sending ripples throughout his entire body. His friends, both of whom were quite straight, simply stared in wonder at his blubbery bottom.

“Pokey,” Ace whispered to his friend, “I think we should invite him over more often.”

“Yeah,” replied Pokey, who simply couldn’t look away from his jiggling crotchmoobs.

Gizmo was pretty big, that’s for sure. He was wide enough for a pony to lay across his flabby back, and if one were paying attention to his rear (and who wasn’t, given that it was as wide as a big-screen TV and just as fun to look at), you might see a glorious pair of man-boobs blocking the view of his funzone. He sweated profusely as he waddled through town, stopping to catch his breath every few meters. He had to get home, he couldn’t be late! It was the best night of the week, after all.

There it was in the distance! His body jiggled as he stepped, although a more accurate term might be quaked, considering how his fat shook with every tremor and the aftershocks they caused.

He stopped to gasp for breath, then got up and started going again. Can’t stop now! he thought, gotta keep going, gotta get home!

Finally he opened the front door and walked inside, the bell chimed, and-urf! “Welcome to Quills and Sofas, where we sell exactly two thin- Oh, hi darling, home so soon?” Davenport stepped from behind the sofa he was embroidering (I dunno, he’s gay.) and immediately noticed two things. One, Gizmo was stuck in the door. Two, Gizmo was stuck in the door. Also, on a somewhat irrelevant note, Gizmo was stuck in the door.

His massive body simply couldn’t fit; halfway in, halfway out, he groaned and strained with effort. Dark sweat covered his bulbous body, dripping down his face and his chest and legs into a growing stain on the carpet. His constant twisting and turning caused a somewhat expected reaction.

*fffppprt!*

And there he went, always, with the farts. Davenport thought this might be a running theme, although for the life of him he couldn’t imagine why. Well, at least his ass was on the other side of the door so he couldn’t smell- and there goes the wind, of course it would choose now to blow in this particular direction. Ew. Rotten eggshells.

Not that Gizmo cared, since he was still struggling like the devil himself was after him.

*fppt-pfppt-pfrrt!*

Davenport felt faint from the foul farts, but managed to remain lucid among the stench of sweat and mouldy cheese. He walked forward as if in a dream, Gizmo’s puffy, pimpled cheeks jiggling up and down in an almost hypnotic motion.

“Gizmo...” Davenport started.

Suddenly, Gizmo stopped struggling and looked up, an embarrassed smile on his face. “Eheheh, yes, Dav?”

“Have you tried sucking it in?”

“Oh.” Gizmo said dumfounded, “I didn’t think of that.”

Using his incredible cartoon powers, he clenched his abdominal muscles, causing his massive midsection to completely- oh, sorry, wrong story. Yeah, he managed to squeeze past the door and flop down on the floor in the middle of the room. Of course, to a pony his size, flopping on the floor was a lot more like lowering himself slightly so the weight was off his hooves. Davenport trotted over, if he couldn’t see him he could just follow the dark trail in the carpet, and set himself down in front of the morbidly obese pony.

“So, do you know what night it is?” He asked seductively, leaning in.

“... That night?” Gizmo replied hopefully.

“Indeed it is,” was the response. Davenport got up and walked out of the room via the storage room door, his slightly jiggling bottom catching Gizmo’s eye and holding it until it disappeared. After a few minutes, he had caught his breath enough to call out, “Dav? What’re you doing?”

Instead of replying, Davenport waddled back in on his hind legs, carrying before him a heavy, steaming pot. It was big and round and silver, and giving off the most wonderful aroma Gizmo had ever smelled, although his gnawing hunger might’ve had something to do with that. Judging from the amount of steam escaping around the lip, he could only assume it was insulated. With a thunk, Davenport set the pot down, then sat down beside it.

Lifting off the lid, he could see his patent Fireball Chili, an old family recipe that was almost, but not quite jambalaya, so he decided to call it chili because reasons. Blobs of beans and rice bubbled to the surface, he had to squint his stinging eyes through the spicy vapour. With both hooves, he took a spoon conveniently located in his pocket and took a big scoop of the savory sauce.

That sentence makes me think of that one episode of Scrubs where Turk and Carla were kicked out of a funeral.

“Are you hungry, babe?” He asked. It was probably meant to be seductive, but his tone was far closer to ‘I desperately want sex’ than ‘Let’s make love’.

“Ooh, Dav, please, feed me!” Squealed Gizmo, not caring about his lover’s failed attempt at romance. The aroma was overpowering, he needed it in him!

Davenport held the spoon away. “Hmm, I think you could stand to lose a few pounds.”

Gizmo whined, his face even cuter than a puppy because of the sheer flabbiness of it. “Please? I’ll do whatever you want!”

“Oh?” he replied, curious.

“Yes! I’ll be your best friend!”

Davenport couldn’t help but chuckle. “Gizmo, you already are my best friend.” And with that, he shoved the spoon into Gizmo’s mouth. He removed it slowly, Gizmo’s tongue lapping up all residue. Dipping it back into the pot, he then fed it to Gizmo’s waiting mouth, then repeated the action.

It continued in this vein for a long while, Gizmo happily gobbling up the chili, and Davenport spoonfeeding him. It was all quite arousing, believe me, but if I were to go into every detail about this part it would all get quite repetitive, wouldn’t it? Thus, we jumpcut to an hour later. The last scrapings of the pot are on the spoon, and Davenport is lowering it to Gizmo’s gaping maw. He’s pretty messy, sauce is splattered around his mouth and down his front. We return now to past-tense, because this isn’t currently happening, is it? Well, depending on how you view time it might be, but I’m just gonna shut up and get back to the fat horses, that’s what you’re here to see, right? Right.

Davenport slid the half-filled spoon into Gizmo’s mouth, which closed around it for a moment before releasing it and allowing him to return it to the pot, where it clattered to the bottom.

Gizmo smiled contentedly, his eyes half-lidded and happy. He was full and fat. Sure, it was a little uncomfortable, but he was here with the only pony who liked feeding as much as he liked eating. Suddenly, they opened fully, panic evident. A low grumble became audible, getting louder every moment.

“What? What is it?” Davenport asked worriedly.

As quickly as it began, the sound stopped. You can guess where this is going.

*urp*

Well that was anticlimactic.

“So, how’s my cooking?” Davenport asked playfully.

“I give it... Nine out of ten...” Mumbled Gizmo.

This answer was somewhat surprising. “Why only nine?”

“Because you forgot the best course.”

“Which is?” Now he was curious.

With a wink, Gizmo said in his best seductive voice, which really was more of a squeak, “You.”

Davenport jumped up at this, obviously panicked.

“No, you big dummy! I want you in me!”

With yet more panic, but frozen in place, he scanned for escape routes. In his fear, he didn’t see any of them, although he did see a tastefully modern lounge chair with a cartoonish black outline.

“Er, no, I mean, I wanna have sex!”

Davenport visibly calmed down, his hackles settling and back unarching. “Oh, is that all?” He said with relief.

“Yep.”

I bet you thought this was about to take an unexpected twist. Sorry, not going there anytime soon.

Here it was; Davenport’s cock. It was a decent size for a pony, around twelve inches, nothing spectacular but size isn’t everything, and it was smeared with lube. Not the cheap kind, either, no way anypony here’s getting an infection! And there was Gizmo’s ass. It was big, huge in fact, standing lengthwise to it he still left several inches ahead of him. Now, this was a very large butt indeed, and how would anypony get to his asshole from the outside? Davenport knew what to do.

Reaching in, he spread Gizmo’s cheeks wide. At least it isn’t filthy, he thought with a shiver. There it was, hidden away in the middle, a little greyish hole. That’d be it.

Hitching himself up, he forced his stiff stick into Gizmo’s asshole. With a loud *plop!*, his buttcheeks fell back together, embracing Davenport in their warm mass. It was difficult going, but he soon was able to get a rhythm up.

Gizmo’s plump body rocked to the beat, Davenport’s every thrust sending a tremor through his supple body.

“You know,” the fat nerd started.

“uh”

“I’ve got...”

“huh”

“All these...”

“huh”

“HumanQuest...”

“wuh”

“Books, but...”

“urf”

“Nopony...”

“oof!”

“Knows anything about them...”

Davenport grunted and replied,

“There’s that...”

“heh”

“Mare, the teal unicorn...”

“erh,”

“Her name is...”

“uh,”

“Something musical, I think...”

“huh”

“She really likes it...”

Davenport began to speed up, thrusts coming in every half-second or so, no small feat when you’re being held in by two hundred pounds of ass.

“Oh ye-e-ah?”

With every grunting thrust, there came a sound not unlike that of two gay men having sex. Shocking.

“I g-guess I sh-sh-should ask her ab-bout them somet-time...”

*plap* is more or less the sound made when they contacted. Davenport’s member went in almost to the hilt, in, out, in, out, in an almost continuous cycle of motion.
*plap*
“D-Dav...”
*plap*
“er, Yeah?”
*plap*
“Dav!”
*plap*
“W-what?”
*plap*
“I’m, erf, oh! Howohoho!”

Gizmo’s dick throbbed as he came, a spurt of seed painting across the floor, then another, and another and another. Meanwhile, in his butthole, Davenport stretched out as he came a thick and continuous stream. The white matter flooded his bowels and, if he were skinnier, would’ve given him a decent-sized belly bulge. As it is, much of the cum squirted out around Davenport’s cock coatin his lower body, going between his cheeks, down across his man-boobs and splattering in a puddle on the floor.

Davenport collapsed on top of his lover, sinking slightly into his blubbery back. It was soft like a bed; like the dick he couldn’t quite pull out. Up, down, up, down, it moved, labor evident in each gasp of breath as he matched rhythm. It was lovely, he could just fall asleep right there, and the slowly deepening breath of his partner showed that he’d already done so. Just a nice, warm bed, a bit damp, but all the better for it.

With a slam, the door flew open. Looking up, the two lovers could see the outline of a short biped in the dying sunlight. It was a bit bigger than the last time either of them had seen it, but these days that was hardly anything unusual.

“Hey Davenport! Twilight needs-” Spike started. His draconic eyes quickly adjusted to the romantic twilight and, realizing what he’d just walked in on, interrupted himself.

“I’ll... Come back tomorrow.”

*Burp!* replied the unconscious Gizmo, his bottom sputtering such a salute around Davenport’s protrusion.

“I’m not paid enough for this shit.”

In the near future, Davenport still sat staring at the ruins of his livelihood.

“That explains nothing,” he concluded aloud, “I’m not even gay.”

“You’re not gay?!?!” shrieked Pinkie Pie, “But Gizmo will be heartbroken!”

“And that’s another thing! Who the hell is Gizmo?!”

Pinkie leaned in and stared straight into Davenport’s eyes before answering: “You are!”

“Waugh!” Gizmo awoke with a fright. “What a strange dream, me and the couch guy, lovers, and all that eating! Now I’m kinda hungry. Wait, why can’t I move?” He looked down to find that his belly spread across his bed like some sort of flabby comforter. He flailed his hooves, finding that his forelegs were thick as tree trunks and he couldn’t even see his back ones.

“Will he be alright, doctor?” Asked a voice from outside his door.

Panicking, he stared wildly around, at his posters, his desk, his bookcases, but couldn’t find any way to escape.

“Oh, don’t you worry Mister Davenport, he’ll recover his memories soon enough. In the meantime, he’s been on nutrient fluid for the past week, why not give him something to eat?"

Gizmo could only whimper.

Author's Note

And there you go. Just so you know, Gdocs has been acting up for me lately, so if anything seems to be missing please tell me.
Eeyup, I just devoted over three thousand words to a couple of background ponies.

Now, I've been asked where the actual plot is going. I'm not sure why, most people would be content with just jerking off, but okay. I've got some idea of what I'm doing, here's a clue.

No, for once I'm not jerking you around (or off!), and FYI, Mare-Do-Well is obviously Catwoman, so stop pretending she's Batman.

Anyway, just because I haven't fulfilled your request doesn't mean I'm not going to. I like your ideas, in fact I need them. If I didn't get any suggestions, I might just take a gun to work and ~~kill everybody!~~

Now then, dance along to the comments, would you kindly.[\i]