“Ulk… ulk… ulk… ulk…”


Blackjack chugged down the last of a bottle of whiskey, emptying it with a noise like a draining water cooler, then tossed the glass container aside, where it hit the ground with a dull thud and a clatter. “Ooogh, fuck… ooooooaaaarp!.” She covered her mouth as a wet, hefty belch rose out of her alcohol-inundated stomach, bubbled up her gullet, and escaped out her mouth- explosively.


A heaving sigh followed, and she flopped backwards, into a haphazard pile of still-full whiskey bottles that massed about as much as she did. They clinked and clattered about, spilling like snow in an avalanche as her weight disturbed the mound of them, but none broke under her (admittedly quite fat…) bulk. Curving out from beneath her chest, down to her groin, spilling out between her thighs, the white pony’s gut was a heavy, bloated ovoid. It rose and fell gently with her breaths, sloshed around a little bit as she gave it a rub with her hoof, bubbled every time an odd ‘urp’ escaped it… “Mmnf… how many bottles is that, P-21?


A blue stallion with deeper blue for a mane gave a noncommittal grunt. He was too busy looking tiredly into the campfire they were all sharing. “Dunno, ten or so? You’re the one that got drunk and bought a hundred bottles of whiskey, and fuck if we’re lugging that around- you’re finishing all of those tonight.” Blackjack just answered with a plaintive moan and rubbed her belly some more, urging some nauseous burbles from it. “But P-21, I’m gonna buuuuurst…”


“And maybe you’ll stop whining. Drink up, tubby.”


The white-coated mare groaned, and opened up an eleventh bottle with her telekinesis, then put the throat of the thing to her lips and started glugging down the contents. Both her hooves were on an increasingly-engorged stomach that looked like a big bulge of white dough, kneading it around, squeezing it, trying to quell the overburdened gurgles that constantly sounded from deep in her belly. The eleventh bottle was downed quite quickly, as the mare had grown accustomed the volume she was consuming, and was already quite adept at drinking entirely too much whiskey. Her belly found it more disagreeable than she did, if the steady groans it made were any indication…


Her belly felt warm, at least. And her head was a bit fuzzy… enough so that she didn’t notice the next ten bottles disappear down her gullet, and was surprised to look down and find that her stomach- previously looking like she’d gone and swallowed a watermelon whole- was now big enough that she may well be expecting a foal, maybe two. She gave the side of it a prod, and it wobbled back and forth, rippling a little bit as the liquid inside responded to her poking. Then she whimpered a little, and another burp chased that. “Bwooooooooorp!”


Another of the ponies around the campfire, an off-white mare covered in evenly-spaced crimson stripes, like a particularly bloody zebra, groaned, then put her metal-shod hooves to her fuzzy red mane and screamed. “You fucking pig! You wake me with a goddess-damned belch one more time and I’m gonna feed you one of those bottles!”
Blackjack considered that statement a moment. Blackjack wasn’t a terribly smart pony, and was too drunk to discern whether or not Rampage’s threats were genuine. Blackjack upended another bottle of throat-warming whiskey, drank it all, then gave her belly a loud, meaty smack. Again, it wobbled like gelatin, and the fluid inside audibly splashed about… and then Blackjack gave another loud, windows-rattling “BUUUWOOOOORP”.


Rampage looked up at Blackjack again, mouth fixed in a tight line, eyes wide and bright with fury. She was using a rock as a pillow, and had the thing between two trembling forelegs. A single squeeze, and the rock exploded into rubble, disintegrating between iron-hard bone and muscles.


“You… mmn, yous look a bit pisshed, Rampage…” Blackjack gave a drunken giggle, and covered her mouth as another noisy little ‘ELP’ escaped her digestive tract. “Hey, what’re you doin’?...”


Rampage had gotten up, piercing pink eyes focused right on the whiskey-bloated horse, and was walking in a rigid line torwards her, limbs shaking with the effort needed to not rush forwards and beat Blackjack to a pulp. “You are going to finish all this whiskey right now, and then I’m going to duct-tape your mouth shut, and then I’m going to sleep. I hope you really like whiskey.”


“Eheh… hey, P-21, you wanna , wanna call her off?” Blackjack grinned nervously, and started scooting backwards on her ass, dragging herself along with her forelegs. “I, uh, don’t wanna get evisherated…” Her stomach quaked a little as a shiver of digestion took it, in addition to the forward-and-back-again swaying her movements produced. She’d scoot away a little, and her belly would lag behind in the motion, rolling like a wave as it caught up… and then it’d swing forwards too far with a splash, only for her to move AGAIN and leave it lolling around like a rolling water balloon.


P-21 shrugged. “She won’t hurt you too badly…”


 Rampage, being on all four hooves, and not burdened by a sloshy bloat of a belly, easily walked up on Blackjack, and pinned her with a simple hoof to her gut. Blackjack could only huff as Rampage forced her down, flat on her back, and kept pushing down till the swollen belly was flattened a little, and Rampage’s hoof was pushing deep into the center- it was almost shaped like a donut, a really gurgly donut! “Huaaarp…” Blackjack weakly burped. “G-get off me, dammit!”


“Hey, Lacunae, you wanna help me? I just realized I don’t have the dexterity for this shit.” Rampage drapes herself over the firm-but-sloshy bloat, pressing her hooves into it with a leer, and a snicker as Blackjack wiggles a little. “C-careful, that’s sensitive!”


Over on the far side of the campfire, a midnight-purple alicorn rears her head, blinking blearily with drowsiness. “Wha?... oh, she’s still drinking those. Right.” She puts her head back down, closing her eyes to sleep, but her horn lights up with a faint blue magic. A few of the full bottles scattered around Blackjack are enveloped in the same glow, and are then levitated into the air, contents swishing around a little as they’re turned upside-down and raised above Blackjack’s head- her mouth, specifically.


“W-what? Hey, don’t you do that!” Blackjack tries to turn her head aside, or squirm out of Rampage’s grasp- anything to get her head away from the impending, whiskey-flavored doom.


Rampage creeps up Blackjack’s body, clawing her hooves into the sore, severely bloated stomach and climbing like she’s on a rockface, getting riiiight up into Blackjack’s face- and then she grabs the unicorn’s head, squeezing her jaw open, and forces her to look upwards. “Open wide, fatty!”


Lacunae pops open the first of many, many bottles of whiskey, and shoves the mouth of it into Blackjack’s mouth, letting the warm, stinging fluid pour riiight down her gullet to warm her belly like a fire in winter. The first whiskey bottle empties quickly enough, leaving her belly a bit fuller, and a bit bubblier with the air swallowed alongside it… and when she spits the empty bottle out, and tries to belch up the swallowed air, a new one replaces it in her mouth, and she’s forced to glug down more. Rampage cackles, and Blackjack just whines a little as dozens and dozens of bottles arrange themselves in the air around her…




***




“Ulk… Ulk… UUUUURRRRPPPPP…”


Blackjack polishes off the last bottle of whiskey. She’s no longer pinned to her back- thirty something bottles ago, her gut had outgrown her, grown heavier than the heavyset mare, and she’d been quite helpless to stop it when the sheer heft of it had caused her to bowl over and roll atop the thing. Rampage didn’t have any need to pin her down, now- she’d gone and laid herself over the swollen mare’s somewhat fattened flanks, and was quite enjoying poking and prodding her gut, watching ripples travel through it. “Oooh… was that the last bottle, piggy?” Rampage grins devilishly, and gives the alabaster gut a cruel, hard slap, laughing as it jiggles and quivers and grumbles. “Fuck, Blackjack, you’re a goddamn balloon!”


The swollen-up mare herself can only weakly groan, and burp again. “Soooo much whissshkey… ish that all of it?” She hiccups, and her whole belly heaves upwards a little as she does. “Mmfg, fuck… gonna pissh a river…” She tries to walk- this doesn’t work. She’s elevated a few feet off the ground by the girth of her middle, and can’t even touch the ground with her hooves. Just treads air for a few seconds, drunkenly unaware of her immobility. Rampage rouses her with a little slap right on a stretched cutie mark, smirking. “Hey, bloatmonster, you’re not going anywhere…” The red-striped pony slides off the “bloatmonster” landing on all four hooves, then makes to go back to where she was sleeping…


When she has about three feet between her and the globular, ballooned pony behind her, she leans forwards onto her forelegs… then gives a massive kick with her hindlegs, hitting Blackjack square in the side of her stomach. Thankfully, her belly is quite malleable, full of fluid at it is- her hooves sink almost harmlessly into that gut, despite the loud clap of hooves on soft flesh it creates, and it just rocks Blackjack atop her tummy some. Still, making those gallons and gallons of warm whiskey in her belly slosh about so violently has consequences… Blackjack moans a little as bubbling starts up anew in her stomach, like a shaken-up bottle of soda. Right at the top of her belly, what felt like just below her esophagus, a pocket of gas was building, bulging, growing bigger and bigger…


Blackjack tries to hold her mouth shut, but that’s futile, of course. She can’t do anything as all that air builds up, and then rushes up her throat. Her blushing cheeks bulge outwards like ripe tomatoes as, for a moment, she manages to stifle the burp- but the volume of it is too much to possible contain. Her mouth opens in a big ‘O’, and she gives a climactic belch, wet with all the whiskey she’s had, strong enough in stench to where it smells somewhere between rubbing alcohol and rotten meat


“BOOOOOOOOOOUUUOOOORRPPPPPPPPPP!”


Another few burps follow, all of them quite polite and petite compared to that one, and Blackjack slumps atop her enormous whiskey belly with a little moan. Rampage snickers… then snuggles up to Blackjack’s side, nuzzling into the soft, squishy, fuzzy waterbed that was her stomach, and curls up riiiight next to that, like a cat getting cozy next to a warm leg. “Finally… a bit of peace and quiet…”


Across the campfire, a different, higher-pitched burp sounds, followed by the crinkling of cheap plastic wrapping and a pony hungrily chewing away at something. Rampage shoots up, glaring daggers at a pegasus greedily stuffing snack cake after snack cake down her gullet- Morning Glory. She was quite trim compared to Blackjack, but her stomach made for an abrupt bulge on her lithe body, distended and gurgling as it was- around her were a few dozen discarded plastic wrappers.


Both of the ponies’ eyes meet, and they stare down. Morning Glory sheepishly gulps down a soft mouthful of chewed snack cake. Rampage continues to glare. “I swear to fuck, Glory, if you belch, I’m gonna feed you till you match your marefriend…”


Glory rubs her stomach a little, mouth twisted up in a consternated line. Glory blushes her cheeks bulge with an attempt to keep a belch down. Glory soothingly rubs her pushed-out belly as it starts to gurgle and burble with indigestion…


“Ooooh, fuck… BWOOOOORP!”