The Widest Cowgirl

“I can ride, damnit! Just help me up onto the blasted horse, alright?”
Her brother eyed first the saddled colt, then her with scarcely veiled scepticism.
“Mary, look, this is a bad idea. Let’s just hire a carriage-”
“And waste hard-earned money, eh?” Mary snapped, her cheeks flushed a bright red, “We’ve got horses, don’t we? Just give me a leg up into the saddle and we can get goin’ already.”

John gave the steed one last glance, half-convinced he could see the fear in its big dark eyes, before forcing a shrug.
“Ah, alright. It’s your horse, anyway.” He knelt down in the hay and cupped his hands, steeling himself as his sister stepped towards him, “Get on up.”

Mary squared up in front of him, and he couldn’t help but swallow nervously. Unlike his other sisters, Mary had never quite found the time for a husband, instead seeming quite happy to stay at home, growing fat off their father’s doting – and that was no mere figure of speech. Mary had been a plump toddler, a decidedly chubby child, and now, as a young woman… well, she was something else. Every time John came home to check in Mary was bigger. At first it had been amusing, something to tease his little sister about when he came back to visit, but as time went on the humour began to fade. He’d quietly assumed that at some point she’d get her famously large appetite under control, find a decent husband to settle down with, start a family of her own – but now at twenty-five she was fatter than ever, her appetite as huge as it had ever been and not a husband in sight.
She truly was massive. Her belly almost brushed against his nose as she stood before him, preparing to plant her sturdy boot in his cupped hands, the seams of her dress visibly straining with the impossible task of keeping her round, bulging belly contained. If she’d had a husband he’d have thought her pregnant with twins; the fact that he knew better, that he knew that that bloated orb protruding from her midsection was nothing but flab… it was genuinely intimidating.
However, even that chunky bulk of her belly faded into insignificance beside her lower half. She’d always been bottom heavy, but as time went on and she grew fatter and fatter, the effect was only accentuated. Her thighs thickened, pressed up against each other beneath her dress by their own bulk, almost swallowing up her knees with their plump massiveness. Her hips widened and widened, heavy pillows of fat cushioning her sides and growing steadily thicker, exaggerating her pear shape with every pound. Most massive of all, however, was her backside; a calamitously huge mass of jiggling fat that wobbled and bounced under her dress as she moved, two distinctly separate mounds of flab which quivered and bounced with vulgar, seductive glee with the slightest prompting. She was fatter than any woman he’d ever seen, and she didn’t seem likely to stop growing any time soon.

With an effort, Mary heaved one foot up into John’s cupped hands, and he set himself ready.
“Alright. Up you go!”
John’s entire physique heaved, and the full weight of his sister slammed down in reply. John was not a weak man; indeed, he was arguably a veritable pinnacle of masculine strength. However, lifting the totality of Mary’s massive body weight – at her size, after all, his help was more of a lift than a boost, her ability to jump rather compromised by her spectacular obesity – was still a near impossible task. His muscles strained spectacularly, limbs trained on the wrangling of wild horses and the hauling of railway sleepers almost failing in the face of this overwhelming burden of human gluttony.
Almost. With a growl of pure stubborn pride he heaved the massive young woman upwards. It was an almost comical sight, that huge mass of female fat being propelled impossibly into the air, but somehow he found that strength, and before his body could fail beneath her immense weight she’d managed to get her fat leg up and over the horse, and miraculously she was riding.

Somehow the horse managed to wear an expression of genuine horror on its animal face as she crowed triumphantly atop it, the poor creature struggling almost as much as John had been beneath Mary’s immense backside. Still, she was atop the miserable animal.
“See, I told ya!” Mary exclaimed, directing the horse into a painful hobble towards the barn door, “I told ya I could ride!”
John could only watch the absurd sight with eyes wide. Mary’s buttocks sagged ridiculously down from each side of the saddle, those huge, drooping orbs of pillowy fat wobbling and bouncing as the horse staggered towards the door. The abused animal was almost swallowed beneath the bulk of her huge backside, the absurd load crushing down on its back far more than it had been trained to handle. Her flabby hips weighed more than any saddlebag it had ever been required to carry, her bloated gut as much as any heavy sack of grain, her enormous quivering butt weighing as much alone as the entirety of any rider it had been burdened with in the past. Its hooves skittered on the floor and its head tossed as it scrambled beneath her immensity, her bulging, overfed body wobbling and bouncing atop its back as it struggled to walk.

It should have come as no surprise that, ailing under the preposterous load, the horse eventually rebelled. Summoning all of its own strength as she pricked it sharply in the ribs with her spurs, it heaved itself upwards and reared onto its hind legs, desperate to ease itself of the fatal weight - and slowly, impossibly slowly, the entirety of her colossal body slipped backwards, flab shifting over itself like a landslide sheering from a cliff face. For a moment she seemed to hang on the back of the saddle, plump arms grabbing for the reigns to steady herself – but her pudgy fingers fell just short of the leather and, in a sudden burst of motion, she tumbled head over heels from its back to the ground.

The horse bolted, and John jumped forwards in fear; he’d seen what a fall from a horse could do too many times before. However, by the time he reached Mary she was already cursing and swearing as she struggled to get to her feet, rubbing her enormous bruised backside with both hands. Sighing with mixed relief and amusement, John helped her up.
“I told you that ridin’ the horse was a bad idea,” he reprimanded mildly as he helped her brush dust from her torn dress, and she rounded on him furiously, hand raised. After a moment however her temper seemed to fade and she sighed, butt spreading out massively behind her as she plopped herself down on a nearby hay bale.
“Yeah, you know what?” she puffed, the pale flab of one love handle oozing through a split in the side of her dress, “You’re right. Let’s… let’s get the coach. Horse ridin’s for scoundrels anyway.”