Rainbow Slosh

Rainbow Slosh
By LK

Fat, liquid inflation, drunkenness, massaging, sweat, bellybutton sex, and gratuitous use of the word “slosh” lie ahead, if you dig that sorta thing.

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The soft wind blows on your back, as if to hurry you towards the farmhouse.  You can hear the faint sound of the orchard leaves rustling, accompanying the crunch of gravel beneath your feet as you hurry onward.  There’s something about the air; the trees and grass somehow look greener; the sky more a vibrant blue as soon as you set foot on the country road towards Sweet Apple Acres.  You’re almost entranced by how cozy everything seems before you remember why you came here.

Something urgent, she said.

Twilight said that Applejack had need of you here today as soon as possible.  Before you can make it to the farmhouse, you hear a bit of noise among the trees along the side of the road.  As you peek around the trees, you can distinctly make out the color orange moving between the tree trunks, and you half-sprint up to catch up on Applejack.

You finally reach her, not letting the picturesque view go to waste as you walk up.  If you didn’t know any better you could have sworn that she painted her jeans on today.  You smile to yourself at how well she fits the farm-girl stereotype of possessing wide hips, thick thighs, and a great butt.  Propped up on one hip was a bushel full of apples, freshly picked, with an empty bushel in her free hand swinging at her side.  You call to her as you finally catch up.  She puts the bushel down with a huff and turns around.  She is not a happy camper.

“Glad you could make it.”  You detect a bit of confusion mixed in with the anger, unable to do much but stand there for an awkward moment.  She fixes the rolled-up cuff on her orange gingham shirt.  You open your mouth to break the silence, but she beats you to it.

“Now I gotta say, I don’t quite know what Twilight meant, sayin’ that this sort of thing was ‘your kinda problem,’ and all, but I’m in a pickle and I need all the help I can muster.”  She wiped her brow with a gloved hand before gesturing out towards the trees.  “We’re in prime pickin’ season, all set to start making this year’s batch of cider, but someone got a little anxious it seems…”

You can see her scowl as she stares off into the trees.  As you’re about to ask what the problem is, she starts talking once more.  “Now I know people like the cider we make here, but no-one’ll ever top Dash when it comes down to it.  I just…I gotta be out here pickin’ apples!  We have so far to go, and I can’t quite deal with what’s goin’ on down there.”  She looks you up and down, her look of anger changing to one of worry.

“If Twilight says that this is your thing then, well, who am I to judge straight off’a looks?  Head on over to the farmhouse.  You’ll find the cellar door to the Apple Family’s cider reserve has somehow been busted off it’s hinges.”  You’re more confused than ever, now.  Why would Twilight think that Rainbow Dash stealing a bit of Applejack’s cider was “your kinda thing?”  Regardless, you give Applejack a smile and a few words of encouragement about your capability at whatever task Twilight has suggested you tackle.

“Y’sure you don’t need Big Mac to help for a bit?”  She’s smiling nervously, now.  “Or… a dozen other fellas?”  You wave it off as you walk towards the farmhouse, telling her not to worry.  She reluctantly turns back to picking her apples, and you get one more glimpse of the thickest set of hips and thighs you’ve seen during your stay in Equestria.  You do a tiny shimmy out of sheer enjoyment, a little more pep in your step on the way to the farmhouse.  That feeling doesn’t last long, though, as the thought of Apple-bottoms isn’t quite enough to stop the sight of the door bringing you right back down to where you were before: extremely confused.

The cellar door wasn’t shorn off its hinges as you expected, but it was definitely busted.  Closer inspection shows that the wood was simply rather old and probably needed replacing soon.  Regardless, breaking a door shows significantly more than a twinge of desperation for the contents in the cellar.  Dash has always been a cider freak, and you know for certain that if there were simply a rickety door in between her and a fresh glass of cider, you’d be looking at replacing the door.  You peer down into the darkness, nothing immediately visible save for the first few steps and a railing.  Down you go, step by careful step, nearly every other board squeaking underfoot.

“Hic!”

You stop dead in your tracks, craning your neck and squinting to try and see something further down the stairs.  Your ears are now as alert as your eyes, hoping that soon some sense will be made of this entire trip.  The noise doesn’t happen again, but you can hear… something that sounds like the churning of water.

“Nngh-hic!”

Again!  You jolt, but before you can stop your foot catches on something.  Your awkward stance makes it impossible to keep your balance, and you go tumbling down the last few steps with a final thud.  The sun from the outside streams down in sparkly beams, lit up by the dust you just kicked up on your quick trip down the stairs.  You shake your foot, and feel the something still attached.  You grab the cloth and hold it up, squinting, a light blue blurry shape in front of your face.  A track jacket, with a yellow lightning bolt down the front, and what looks like an image of two angel wings on the back.  You can also see that the front of the jacket is completely ruined; the seams along the entire length of the zipper are shredded, and the stitching along the arms is torn as well.

“You’re not very graceful, are you?  I could… nngh… give you a lesson or two!”

Dash?  You stand up and squint some more, trying to find her in the low light.  The sloshing noise returns, and you hear Dash giggle at her own comment.  The sloshing picks up in speed as she’s giggling to herself, your hands groping out in front of you hoping to find something so that you can finally orient yourself in the dark.  She grunts, and there’s the clunking sound of something wooden and hollow.  You turn to follow it.

Further and further back into the cellar you stumble, until your hands bump into something.  It’s incredibly soft and warm to the touch, giving in to your pushing hands.  You gently squeeze down, squinting intently at what you’re holding.  More interesting, still, is the sloshing noise emanating from the thing you’re squeezing.  Private cider reserve?  You always thought cider was stored in barrels and kegs, and not some… big squishy pouch.  You run your hands all over it, trying to find the side, but it’s absolutely massive.  Squeeze, squish, and prod; you give it another curious push and it wobbles and sloshes once again.

“And I thought I was the fast one around here!”  Loud and clear, her voice is off to your left a bit, and you turn to face it while still holding the squishy thing in your hands, squeezing it gently.  “Mmm… Aren’t you supposed to wine and dine a girl before you go feeling her up?  Hehe…  Speaking of which, you mind helping me with the -hic- the first part of that?”

You squint, finally able to see blotches of colored hair.  They slowly come into focus, framing her face, but something is different this time…  She almost looks… chubby?  Her satisfied and lazy smile sits perfectly between plump cheeks.  Your hands continue absentmindedly kneading what you’re holding as your eyes finally adjust.  A double chin leads to her softened shoulders and fattened arms, all smushed against breasts that are significantly larger than the last time you saw her.  You realize what her breasts are resting upon: the massive curving dome, wobbling and sloshing in time with your squeezing.  Your gaze travels across the curve of her enormous belly, down to where your hands are squeezing.  You pull them away from her stomach and feel yourself growing hard in an instant.

(“If Twilight says that this is your thing then, well, who am I to judge straight off’a looks?”)

 Applejack’s voice returns in your mind.

(“Y’sure you don’t need Big Mac to help for a bit?  Or… a dozen other fellas?”)

Your eyes frantically dart around, trying to consume all that is Rainbow Dash.  Applejack wanted you to get her out of here, to stop drinking all the cider, but Twilight seems to have sent you since she knew it would get your rocks off.  You aren’t sure how to handle the situation. You know for certain how you would like to handle it, though, and how you would like to repay Twilight.

“Mmn… why’d you stop?  That felt nice…”  Dash shifts in place to get more comfortable.  The resulting wave makes your knees weak.  “And how about some help with that cider, dude?  I’m having trouble reaching it lately, since, well…”  She smacks her gut, sending it wobbling again, and you can hear her groan… Or was it…  You shake your head.

“And there’s still so much to have!”  She makes a waddling motion from side to side despite being pinned to her position, biting her lip in anticipation as she surveys the room.  “Oh Celestia do I love the Apple Family’s cider.  And AJ had to go and hold out on me!  She even said that she had no-”  Dash stops all of a sudden, her quaking belly slowing to a stop, realization crossing her face.  She frowns and looks at you.

“THAT’S why you’re down here, isn’t it!  She sent you to save her precious hoarded cider!  But she lied!  I asked if she had any, and she said no, but look at all of this!”  Her fists punctuate each of her sentences, and your eyes can’t help but follow the ripples they make across her blimped form.  “Great!  I thought I hit the jackpot and now she’s gotta take it all away again!  If they didn’t make it so limited, and only once a year, then I wouldn’t even BE down here!”

You walk up to her and try to explain, comfortingly patting her gut.  You tell her that Applejack did send you, but you weren’t sure for what.  Your pats turn into a slow circular rubbing motion, as if automatically.  She curls her lip as she looks at you.

“That’s… really weird of her.  Why would she send you here if you weren’t going to rip me away from her hoard?  She just, like… told you to come here?”  Her eyes move towards the rack of kegs against the wall nearest her as she talks.  Despite what your gut (and groin) is telling you to say, you calmly suggest that she slow down on the cider... just a little bit.  Glaring at you defiantly, Dash starts to rock from side to side. The momentum of her swaying body pushes her arm closer and closer to the racks.  You curl your toes at the thought of her consuming more cider, let alone wanting to have more cider.  She’s an insatiable beast.

Her rocking and groaning finally pays off as she gets her fingertips around the edge of the pony keg on the shelf, tipping it over with a thump and watching it roll slowly toward her.  With what seems to be an impossible task ahead of her, you watch in awe as she tips herself over on her side toward the keg with a small yelp.  The keg is obscured from view by her massive form, and her gut jiggles wildly like an overfilled water balloon while her wide hips and lovehandles quake from the futile kicking of her plump legs.  After she settles, you hear a clunk and a muffled giggle.  The walk around her expanse takes a few seconds, much to your delight, and you can see her holding the keg with a smug expression.  She glances over at you, grinning.  You can do nothing but blink and wait impatiently.

“C’mon, take it from me… I dare ya…”

After some struggling, it’s opened, and the shaken contents begin to fizz and shoot out, coating her ecstatic face.  Her shirt is soaked, cider running down the sides of her breasts and belly.  Before too long the stream has slowed just enough for her to drink, and she latches her mouth on to the keg.  She looks to be in such a state of focus and happiness that you almost feel bad about walking up and placing your hand on her belly again.  You can feel the vibrations of her gulping, the constant stream of cider making her whole body shake.  There is a churning and groaning sound that has you mesmerized, and you almost swear you can feel her belly growing beneath your fingertips.  With a pleasured sigh and a smack of her lips, she tosses the spent keg to the floor with a loud thump.  Dash’s hands cup her breasts, squishing them together softly, before running slowly down their sides and arriving at her massive gut.  Each hand makes soft circles across the surface, slick with sweat after tipping her bulk over on her side  pressing in slightly to cause another light sloshing motion.

You watch her, equal parts impressed and aroused, as she celebrates her victory.  She’s entranced, her hands take on the automatic rubbing motions that yours do when presented with such a large massageable surface.  Intermittently, her hands sink in for a quick slosh that gets her belly moving.  She bites her lip and smiles with every push, the glazed look in her eyes not simply from being drunk.  The realization washes over you as you watch her intimate belly rub session.  Another moan escapes her, and you can see those plumped hips wriggle just over the horizon of her belly.  You’ve made up your mind.

Standing up abruptly, you put your shoulder to her gut and push, intent on sitting her up once more.  A few surprised squeaks and gasps later, Dash is standing upright… sort of.  She’s leaning forward against her built-in cushion, eyes half-lidded and cheeks rosy red as she stares off into space with a goofy smile.  Seeing her groping arms barely reach past the halfway point to the end of her gut almost has you cave right then and there, but you put on your best game face.  You give her belly an approving pat, leaning against it and tilting your head up to look at her.  A truly impressive display, you tell her, your palm pushing into her belly to keep a constant sloshing wave going.

“Y-you think so?  Well… I mean, yeah!  Look who you’re talking to!”  She’s beaming, her ‘flexing’ pose squishing her plumped biceps into her cheeks, making an even more comical drunken smile.  “That was nothing, though!  You should see me drain a full keg!”

Your knees weaken, but thankfully there’s a comfortable waterbed to lean against.  You tell her that you think she’s bluffing, that no-one could possibly drain an entire keg full of cider.  Always one to rise up to a challenge, Dash puffs up her cheeks and stares at you.

“Yeah?  Just watch.”  Some huffing, puffing, jiggling and moaning later, she hasn’t budged an inch closer toward the full keg sitting some distance away.  “Could you… maybe… ugh.  Help me out?” she asks, seemingly more embarrassed about asking for help than being horny, drunk, and impossibly bloated on cider.

You oblige, and roll over the full keg that she has been greedily eyeing up.  As you glance around the room, you notice a pressurized CO2 canister and tapping setup next to the stairwell.  You silently take note to thank Applejack for the equipment later as well, though she might not be too happy with what you’re about to do.  Quickly tapping the keg, you pass the valve to Dash.   She wiggles in place excitedly, her belly now a continuous sloshing tank of cider.  As soon as you turn on the pressure you hear a muffled content groan, and look up to completely soak in everything that is happening.  Dash has the valve in her mouth, eyes clenched with a dopey grin.  The gulping is audible, heavy and rhythmic, slightly offset from the sloshing.  It all comes together into what consider to be the most wonderful music: the soundtrack of an insatiable glutton.  You can definitely feel her grow underneath your hands, the pliable and soft waterbed widening and pressing into your legs as it grows farther and farther away from Dash’s own reach.  Caught up in your reverie, you’re startled by a smacking noise.

“Mmn-pAH!  Oooooh yeah, what’d I tell you?!”  Her vigorous fist-pumping makes her blush and causes you to stumble back.  She waits for you with a look on her face as if expecting endless praise, and maybe a belly rub.  You want to break so badly, but once again don your poker face.  You lean against her gut and cross your arms.  You’re not impressed.

“What!  How can you not be-”  She stops, pouts, and pushes her pudgy hands into her gut a few times as a demonstration.  “Look at this!  I bet even Applejack couldn’t drink a keg that fast, or even drink this much!”

You give her a few consolation pats.  Impressive, you finally admit, but you can think of something that would be even more so.  With a sweep of your arm, you gesture to the far wall.  Labeled with a wooden sign saying ‘Sweet Apple Acres: Six Month+ Reserve’ sits about a dozen or so more kegs on a rack.  You look back to Dash and she’s practically salivating.  She looks hungrily at the rack of reserve kegs, at the few remaining regular kegs, then at you.

“All of it.  Maybe next time she won’t be so stingy.”  The determination in her voice is equal parts arousing and worrisome.  “You gonna spot me?  Are you sure you can keep up?”  Her smirk returns and you nod, setting to work.

The drinking is a blur, kegs practically vanishing as Dash goes to work.  It seems as if you barely have time to relax between tapping and moving the kegs, but it makes her work seem all the more incredible.  Each time you turn around she’s expanded even more, her gut ballooning at an insane rate.  It creeps forward half a foot at a time, ever widening and rising like the most delicious dough you’ve ever laid eyes on.  Three kegs in, her gulping is accompanied by moans and groans, her free-hand groping any inch of expanding flesh that she can grab.

Eight kegs in and she leans against her stomach, taking a spread-legged stance.  You watch in hungry rapture as the swelling cider-filled belly bloats up between her legs, squeezing against fattened thighs, threatening to make her comically small bike shorts disappear entirely in her growing rolls.  The look on her face is priceless, and you can tell by the wiggling hips and newfound bounce as she drinks that she is thoroughly enjoying herself.  Keg after keg is swapped out, with barely a moment between gulps of cider.

As the last keg is tapped, you exhaustedly lean against the bloated expanse, putting your ear to the soft, pale dome.  Your head sinks in slightly, pressing your cheek in until your nose brushes her belly, the most comforting and luxurious pillow you’ve ever laid upon.  There is a lovely chorus of noises; from far off gurgles and gulps to the constant rhythmic sloshing, you only wish that you could hear it with both ears and listen forever.  The throaty, needy moans that echo through Dash’s belly with each gulp solidify in your mind that you have made the best possible choice.  You press yourself close, arms hopelessly trying to hug her entire stomach, as you hear the flow of cider slow down.  You savor the last drops in an entirely different way than Dash; each swallow, each drop, you can feel her immense stomach grow just another inch.  Then again.  The bulges of her belly swell around you, rolls trying to squeeze out from between your fingertips as your arms and legs sink in even further.  As the last gulp of cider joins the sloshing mass, you can hear a long, muffled, lustful groan followed by chuckling.

“Woooo-HIC-oohoo!  I… I-ah,” she cheers, but is cut short by a moan.  You can’t see her from your current position, but you can only imagine her widened ass wobbling as the shudder courses through her entire body.  “Ah!  Hah… hnn-I-I did it!  Take THAT AJ-Oooh-” she’s cut short again with a squeak.  Another ripple quakes through her body, her breathing is quick and heavy, and you can hear her whispering something.  Just listening to her reactions causes your knees to buckle slightly.  Your mouth is dry, and your dick is threatening to tear through your pants by sheer force alone.  But you wait, as agonizing as it is, to drink in every moment.

“Hey… are you… you still there?”  You give her an answer by slowly pushing your chest and your outstretched arms into her gut.  Once, twice, then a third time to set a wave in motion.  She yelps in surprise, but turns to pleasured groans while biting her lip, the volume rising and falling with the crest of each slosh.  Your hands grope and massage, feeling rolls of her massive belly, slick with sweat, slipping between your fingertips.

“Nngh… I’ll take that as a yes…  Hey.  I-ah!- I know that you think I need a rub, but… come here and look at this...”  You give her a few more strokes before stepping away.  The cool air on your damp skin is almost shocking, just now realizing how hot you feel and how Dash’s belly is like an enormous sloshing furnace.  As you step back, your jaw drops.  She is more enormous than you could have ever envisioned.  The top of her belly is just tall enough for her to barely be able to peek over and look at you.  It’s spreading out several feet in every direction, you estimate that your armspan couldn’t even reach halfway across.  You take a shaky step around to her rear.

“Eh?  Eh?”  She’s doing her flexing pose again, her fattened face squished into a drunken grin.  “What do you think?”  What you think is that you need to lie down, but opt for leaning on the bannister of the stairwell for a moment.  Your eyes are darting all over her expanded body, and you have to calm yourself to be able to see the whole picture.  Starting with her signature vibrant hair as a focal point, you let your eyes wander.  Her face has fattened, adorably chubby cheeks and triple chin framing her cocky grin that would be downright cartoonish if you weren’t so goddamned horny.  Thick, pillowy shoulders lead to enormous upper arms, most likely bigger around than your own waist.  Her plump fingers fondle any bit of flesh she can reach like a hyperactive masseuse, causing every part of her bloated form to wobble and jiggle.  You can barely tell if she even has a shirt on anymore, the seams burst from the side as a few strips of cloth desperately try to cover her enormous breasts.  Her back is a series of rolls, lovely lines that you can follow with your eyes and watch as they come together to join her sloshing, blimped belly.  You can’t help but bite your lip as you survey her gargantuan ass, hips and thighs threatening to be nearly as wide as her belly.  Her biking shorts are long gone, nothing more than a few threads and scraps of cloth lying on the floor.  You assume she went commando until you finally notice a minuscule patch of sky-blue underwear among her rolls, with a tiny cloud and lightning bolt seated comfortably in the cleft of her cheeks.  Silky-smooth and pillowy thighs are spread to make room for the cause of her agony.  She is constantly breathing heavily through her nose, you now notice, and the light twitches of her hips only drive them down to grind against the bloated cider barrel that is her own stomach.  The scent of her arousal is inescapable, and draws you to your feet.  As if in slow motion, you observe Dash as a whole; continuously moving, every inch of her sweat-slick and fattened body is slipping against itself.

“Ngh… ah.. Well?”  There it is again: that cocky grin.  That arrogant, ridiculously horny grin.  As you approach her you tell her that you are truly impressed, and that you imagine a hard-working athlete such as herself deserves a bit of praise.  Indulgence, pampering, the whole nine yards.  All top-performing athletes need a cooldown period after an intense workout session.  You idly run a finger between one of her rolls as you praise her, feeling the tip of it practically burning up from the heat.

“Ah!  Mmnn… d-damn right!”  She’s groping herself a bit more, hands slipping and sliding against her belly and tits.  “I… I bet even Applejack couldn’t drink this much!  I-nnngh-bet… I bet I set a record!”  Oh yes, you assure her, she has.  Neither AJ nor anyone else has ever come close to what she accomplished today.  As you sink a hand into her belly, eliciting a heady groan, you comment on how this is a testament to her resilience and endurance as a long-distance runner.  You feel a ripple against your hand and, peeking just over the crest of her stomach, you can see her fattened ass bouncing slightly up and down, grinding into her own belly.

“Yes!  I… oh fuck… oh gosh… I won this... “  You assume she’s talking about her ‘competition’ with AJ over the cider, but looking up you can see she’s groping and talking to her own blimp of a body.  She forcefully presses both palms into her stomach, biting her lip at the resulting wave of cider.  “Could you…  nngh…  could you please slosh me some more...”  You look up, inquisitively, to see her cheeks burning almost as red as the streak in her hair.  You wait, tilting your head as if to ask her to speak up.

“I… I -nngh- WON this, and I intend to use it.  Could you… please… can you slosh my belly?  I -ah… hnnn- I can’t…  I can’t seem to do it on my own...”  You’re amazed that even after all she has done, the part that embarrasses her is having to ask for help.  You respond by firmly planting your feet to the floor, pressing the whole of your body against her burning-hot, slick stomach, and give her a forceful push.  Any noise coming from her gut is drowned out by a lengthy and contented moan.    You can see her feet lift off the ground, supporting herself entirely by her belly, straddling its bloated mass like a saddle.  You develop a rhythm, making her rock from side to side, riding the wave of her own body.  Moans turn to gasps, and you can’t help but feel your own breaths shorten in anticipation.  You keep your position, glued to the side of her enormous belly, dry-humping and sloshing, feeling the waves of cider bump into your chest as you listen to Dash’s enjoyment.  You feel nearly as hot as she is, now, your body slipping and groping hers as you press against the slick dome.

“Nngh… no..  No…”  The moans turn to a whimper and a huff of frustration.  You stop, worried.  “This isn’t working… I need more…  More sloshing, stronger.  It’s not… I’M not sloshing enough.”  You pull yourself from the side of her stomach, the cold air an unpleasant reminder that you’re taking every part of your being away from where it really wants to be.  But, you tell her, as a good assistant you intend to give the star athlete the massage she deserves.  Your hands sink in, a test slosh, then move around her slowly in an attempt to find her sweet spot.  A few steps at a time between pushes hardly takes you halfway to the front of her belly, a fact that is making it increasingly difficult to stay focused.  But you move, push, and move again, listening to her breathing get faster.

“There!  Oh my gosh, ooooh my… yes, there!”  Front and center, best view in the house.  You can see her half-lidded eyes crest the horizon of her own belly as she rides the waves.  With both hands groping and pushing, you resume her after-workout de-stressing.  The view is incredible, belly stretching out almost as far as you can look in any direction.  Wanting to experience even more, you fall to your knees.  Greeting you face-to-face is her bellybutton, deep and dark.  In the soft light of the cellar you can faintly see the sweat glistening,highlighting a ring curving around the navel.  Your traveling hands can’t help but explore.  Your circular massages move closer, until you finally rub around it once and prod inside with a finger.

“AH!  OH gosh, O-” Dash is cut short as can hear her flail and slip from her comfortable straddling position.  Your hands pull away.  “No!  No…. Again, please!”  You plant your hands gently to each side of her bellybutton, thumbs teasing the creases and rolls of the tightly-squished opening.  A loud lustful moan rumbles through her stomach, so strong it makes your thighs clench and hips buck in response.  Licking your lips, you continue your exploration.  A slow, squeezing massage accompanies your thumbs slipping and prodding around her navel.

(“If Twilight says that this is your thing...”)

You spread her bellybutton with a thumb and plunge two fingers in.  Dash is silent, but you feel the reaction ripple through her as you slide the fingers out, then in again, a slick squelching noise from the heat and sweat.  It’s hotter and more arousing inside her bellybutton than you could have dreamed.  Your painfully erect cock grinds against the underside of her stomach as you finger her impossibly blimped belly.  Pushing your hips into her, you lick your lips, hardly able to believe what you are about to try.  Forming your hand into a small cone, you push.  Hot and slick, your fingers enter with ease up to your knuckles.  Dash lets out a long, slow groan of lust.  You pull out, and push your hand a little farther.  Her navel envelops your hand up to the wrist.  You can feel the cider in her belly slosh against you from all sides.  Out, and in again.  Halfway up your forearm; it’s so hot, so slick, and so deep.  You pull out slowly, and plunge in quick, expecting to find the bottom.  To your elbow.  Your free hand gropes the plump flesh around where your forearm is being swallowed by her gut, frantically trying to keep up the sloshing that she desires.  Dash seems to have lost all control, yelling, moaning, grinding, and sloshing; you feel near that point as well.  You grind your cock against her stomach in a primal, animalistic reaction to your arousal.  As you slowly slip your arm out of her slick bellybutton, the cold air feels unwelcome and unnatural.  You want nothing more than to try one final thing.

“OhhhHHhhhhh… Oh my gosh… this… this is incredible... “  Dash sounds as if she is in a daze, drunk on more than just the cider.  You trace a few circles around the squashed navel, following the furrows to their heavenly center point, in the hopes of getting Dash’s attention for what you feel is the final moment before you’re both too far gone to care.  “A-AH!  Keep going, please… I need it.  Oh, Celestia, do I need it…”

You form your hand into a cone once more, and press gently into her bellybutton.  It takes a slight push, but lovingly accepts your hand to the wrist.  You can feel the lustful heat surround your hand once again, and you keep pushing.  The sensation travels up your forearm, hot and slick.  Almost as greedy as Dash herself, her bellybutton seems to be a bottomless pit.  You rest your face against her gut as you keep going, moaning in time with Dash as she tries to ride her own stomach to orgasm.  The heat inches up your bicep until you can feel her bellybutton kiss your shoulder.  The whole of her belly is undulating around your arm.  Dash yelps and squeals as you wiggle your fingers in a desperate attempt to find the true depth of her belly.  You rub your face into her gut as you move your arm.  The heat, the sweat, her moans, and the scent of sex and pheromones in the air are all driving you mad with lust.  With a loud squelching noise, you remove your arm.

“H-hey!  Don’t stop!  Ple-aaaAAAH!”  In nearly one swift motion you remove your pants, thrust your chest into her massive gut, and plunge your dick deep into her bottomless navel.  Your hips slam against the front of her tummy, sending her rocking on enormous waves of cider.  Your arms and hands grope for purchase on her slick body, having to resort to forcefully gripping the gut, feeling your hands and arms nearly lost in the folds of her expanded stomach.  Your pounding is hard and steady, Dash’s navel making obscenely arousing schlicking noises as you thrust.

“Aaah!  I’m so -nnngh!- huge!  The biggest!  I have to be!”  You peer over the horizon of her sloshing stomach to see the face of what you can only imagine is pure ecstasy.  Mouth agape, the corners turned up into a huge grin, and fluttering her eyelids in in the throes of lust, Dash can only moan and exclaim how massive she is.  Enormous, gargantuan, monumental, bloated, massive, huge, blimp… It’s all too much for you to take.  You thrust and hold, gripping anywhere you can, as you come.  You can feel it go on for what seems like forever, load after load.  The wobbling ripples of her cider-filled gut almost seem like they want to milk you of every last drop.  And her bellybutton gets what it wants; not a single drop spills out, Dash’s stomach apparently not content with consuming only cider.  You slump against her stomach, completely spent, feeling the waves of her stomach die down slowly.

“Gosh… that was… mmnn…”  She sounds happy.  It makes you smile into her stomach.  “Did it… did any…  You know, spill out?”  You’re surprised at her candidness, but shake your head.  No, you tell her, it seems like her belly is still a bit hungry.  You can see her bite her lip, peering over her stomach with half-lidded eyes.  She gives her belly a smack and a strong push, sending you rocking gently.

“Well, what are you waiting for?  Fill me up.”

Like a phoenix from the flame you can feel yourself growing hard within seconds, your dick nestled in the comforting embrace of her bellybutton once more.  This is the type of competition with Dash that you could get used to.

--------------------

Now what in the hay were you thinkin’, Twilight?!”  Applejack’s shouting can practically be heard from outside as she paces around the library.  “She was… they were… using her…  Hrrmph.  They were fuckin’ in my MY cider cellar, Twi!  What I needed was about a dozen or so strong fellas to get that butterball out of there, why’d you only send the one?  And the one you DID send ended up stickin’ it… in her… you know!  That’s six months worth of cider gone, sucked dry by just one greedy little brat!”  Twilight has remained still and silent thus far, letting Applejack rant, her cheeks turning more red the longer Applejack yells.

“Well… you said…”  She absentmindedly drums her fingers on the sides of her plump belly.

“Now what could I have POSSIBLY said that had you confuse ‘help’ with a guy who.. with a… with HIM?!”

“Well what that little glutton needs is a good pushin’ to get her goin’”  says Twilight in her best southern accent, her cheeks practically glowing red with embarrassment.  It takes Applejack a few moments to digest the implications of what had just been said.  Speechless, she slowly looks over her friend’s fat figure, eyes wandering until they rest upon the purple-haired girl’s particularly rotund midsection.  Twilight’s hands slowly move to cover up her bellybutton,  as if to hide it, and she flashes a nervous, guilty smile.