Mocha, Chimie, and The New Restaurant

You are now Mocha. And had anypony told you you were overweight a few weeks ago, you'd have told them where they could stick their tail end. However, as time has gone on... It's becoming harder and harder to ignore. You've become fat. So fat, one could likely stand side by side with another pony and there would still be some dark brown flesh sticking out from each side. Your wife, of course, just laughed off your concerns, and said you should be able to eat as much as you want, and proceeding to give you a nice hug, admittedly not being able to reach nearly as far around your body as you'd like.

But it's just a little winter weight, right? Nothing some diet and exercise can't fix!

You are now Chimie, and you are very happy with a recent turn of events. Your partner, Mocha, has been recently packing on the pounds, and you are *loving* it. Recently, you've been encouraging her to eat more, and your work has paid off. Now she's undeniably obese. Well, "undeniably" is a stretch, as Mocha keeps finding ways to pass off her weight, with the most common excuse being "winter weight", despite it being early summer. Not that you mind, the more she keeps glutting herself like she is, sooner you'll have one big butterball of a wife. One big, husky, cuddly fatty for you to enjoy and love.

She stands next to the doorway to the bedroom, looking pointedly at you. "Well?" Mocha asks.

"W-what?" Your daydreaming about a bigger Mocha has obviously distracted you.

"I asked if you wanted to go to the new restaurant!" Mocha says, mildly annoyed.

“Oh, o-of course! Let me get ready.” you stammer.

Later, walking down to the restaurant, you can’t help but notice Mocha’s body... Every step sees it jiggle and quiver, like a chocolate pudding. A hint of arousal strikes you as you imagine what it’d be like to, ahem, *experience* a body like that. And you’re reminded that those luscious curves are all yours to play with. You shudder. *Keep thinking like that and you’ll end up doing something you shouldn’t, Chimie.* You are in public, after all. Best keep your guard up. Though Mocha always seems to have that part down, in the literal sense.

You are now Mocha, and you’re tired. Not the kind of tired that’s sleepy, but the kind you’re not used to, the one where you’re physically exhausted, and from a short walk to a new eatery! You feel almost as if you ran a short marathon! Huffing and puffing, you count yourself lucky you’ve arrived. Chimie opens the entrance for you, allowing you entry. *Hurk!* You shiver as you feel your fat flanks brush against the door.

“You okay, Mocha?” Chimie asks, slightly worried.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine! Let’s just get to a table, okay?” You blush lightly.

A waitress quickly seats you at a table. She thoughtfully decides a booth would be best for someone of your... Width. Heh, the hips don’t lie! Bad jokes aside, The booth is easily filled by your enormous flanks. Er, they just have small booths! Yeah…

The waitress quickly trots over with some menus for the both of you, and departs to take care of other tables, leaving you with your thoughts. The menu had a near dizzying array of food to choose from, everything from Amareican to Saddle Arabian, all there to be eaten. Deciding on something more familiar is in order, you decide, so you go with a large, two pound Hayburger and fries. Chimie decides on a smaller Romane salad, obviously not near as gluttonous as you are.

The waitress, returning, takes your order, and soon, the drinks you both ordered are out on the table. A mocha latte for you, and a smaller coffee for Chimie. “Well, what do you think of the place, so far?” Chimie asks.

“It’s nice, I guess. We’re just going to have to see how the food is, then we’ll see how I like it!” you reply.

As if to punctuate that statement, the food arrives.


*That was fast...* You think, and your wife obviously had the same thoughts, visibly surprised by the arrival of the food in such a quick manner.

“Alright, one order of a two pound Hayburger, and one order of Romane salad. Enjoy!” the waitress quickly scampers off to who knows where, leaving you both to your meals. You almost call out to the waiter, as there are *two* Hayburgers, not one. That means you have four pounds of hayburger to chew through... All that, in your gut. Gulping, you take a bite. And another. And soon, before you know it, it’s sitting in your belly, digesting. The taste lingers on your mouth, a wonderful mix of compressed, fattening hay, tomatoes, lettuce, and condiments. Despite yourself, you find the next burger in your mouth.

You are now Chimie, and your wife has been gorging herself like an animal on the food in front of her. You had long forgotten your salad, mesmerized by the sheer gluttony Mocha is showing in front of you. Noticing her belly expand on the other side of the table, obviously being overstuffed by its glutton of an owner, you can’t help but want to rub and pamper that belly, helping her digest her massive meal.

Mocha now sits, wedged in between a table and a booth, her enormous gut pinning her against the large, couch sized seat. Licking her lips, she relaxes into her seat, her flabby body sinking further back. Seeing no further consumption occuring, the waitress returns. “Any dessert?” She asks.

“One Ice Cream Brownie, please.” you reply, intending to stuff every last crumb into your now thoroughly glutted partner.

Quickly, she returns with the requested dessert, and leaves once again. “Mocha?” you ask, hoping she was coherent enough to reply.

“Hmm?” she replies, half asleep, ready to fall into a food coma. She looked so cute... and so very vulnerable.

“It’s time for dessert~” you say, hoping she’d eat readily.

Groaning, she opens her mouth. “If you want me to eat dessert, you feed it to me.” she says.

“Of course, hun.” Lifting a fork to her mouth, she takes the first bite into her maw, and suppresses a moan of enjoyment.

Every bite is a delight for you both, and the brownie can’t help you feed her enough. Now stuffed beyond belief, the dark brown mare has a gut that far surpasses her size when she came in. Groaning in light pain, she does her best to rub her overstuffed belly. You take the hint, and start rubbing her with your hooves, and she immediately sighs in relief and pleasure.

Thinking while you massage her, you ask yourself something: How the hell are we going to get her out of here?