Sweatfire

From https://desustorage.org/mlp/thread/27134757
Contains some slobishness but not nearly to the degrees that some people take it to

>Be Anon living and working at Sugarcube Corner.
>Watch Spitfire struggling to get through the doors.
>She heaves her sagging belly up over the top step. Her hips squish through the doorframe.
>That ass though.
>Two fiery yellow globs of blubber jostling for room as the former captain of the Wonderbolts strains against the door.
>Spitfire stopped working out after retiring. She's been on a cake, ice cream and cookie binge for months straight.
>Ponies can eat huge amounts of baked goods. You've seen Pinkie Pie clear the whole counter by herself. They also put on weight really easily.
>The doorframe cracks as Spitfire manages to wedge her ass through. The mare's still got determination, even if she'll never fly again.
>Catch a whiff of sweat as the panting, wobbling mess of a mare drags herself to the counter, her gut smooshing against the glass display.
>Turn on your charms.
"'sup, Hotshot. Same as usual?"
>Spitfire brightens up as you start piling thick chocolate-chip cookies on a platter. Each one's as big as your head.
>"You know it, kiddo. A growing mare's gotta eat."
>Share a laugh and dump heavy cream into her milkshake. She likes her shakes so thick they're almost liquid fat.
>Spitfire's actually pretty cool about her weight gain. She certainly doesn't give a fuck what anypony thinks. She knows way better insults than anypony can throw at her.
>Set up her table with piles of calorie-filled treats. She doesn't fit on the chairs, so bring out a beanbag you specially got for her.
>Watch the blob of a pony gratefully sink into the soft bag, sighing in relief as she takes the massive strain off her chubby thighs.
>Once Spitfire chows down, she goes into a feeding frenzy. Just keep her plate filled and the flow of heavy cream shakes coming. She's got money from her former career to keep a hefty tab with the shop.
>Stare as drips of cream roll down her chins and down her chest fluff. She can't go out in public this messy.
>Dibs on pony cleaning duty.

>Spitfire groans and rolls over after about an hour of cleaning out the shop's stock.
>Her swollen belly has a pink tinge to it from how far it's swollen up.
>Not a problem for a big strong human like yourself of course.
"I think I'd better take you for a bath, Hotshot."
>Spitfire belches and moans in protest as you cup your hands under her.
>She may be incredibly obese by pony standards, but she doesn't weigh too much for you.
>"Mff… urp… save me some of the eclairs, Anon… nearly beat my record…"
>Pinkie takes over the counter as you carry your fatty pone to the bathroom. He belly sloshes with all the cream and treats. It growls and churns loud enough for you to hear as it works on digesting Spitfire's binging into more beautiful flab on her curves.
>Run a warm bath and prepare your brushes and shampoos to scrub all the crumbs from Spitfire's coat.
>Lower her in, but misjudge how much water her billowing ass displaces. Warm water slops over the side.
>Her eyes roll back and her tongue lolls out as you sensually rub her chest fluff in circles, then move lower to her belly.
>Get in those spare tyres good and deep. She's probably lost a whole cake somewhere in the crevices between her gut and her thighs.
>Tease her belly button, making her giggle and try to swat you away with one pudgy hoof.
"Man, you barely fit in the bath, Hotshot. Next time I'm just gonna hose you down."
>Get started on washing her ass before she can make a smart reply.
>Her hind hoof twitches happily as you scrub her coat glossy and clean, which makes her stretched cutie marks jiggle and tremor.
>Time to towel her off. Lay a towel down on the floor. Lift the bloated mare from the bath and settle her on it.
>Fluff up your blob pone till she's a snuggly yellow butterball. You get a good pinch of her thick butt cheek too.
>Spitfire rolls her eyes at your unashamed ogling.
>"Okay kiddo, I'm clean… urp… uhh, wanna help me get home?"
>Devilish laugh.
"Hotshot, you're grounded."

>Carry the immobile fatty to your bed.
>"Nice room, Anon. Really love your style."
>Her sarcasm is dripping like sweat off her flanks.
>She may be a blob, but she's still got a sharp tongue.
>Yeah, you've got pink covers. Thanks for the home warming present, Pinkie.
>The bedsprings creak under the weight. Ponies don't make beds with humans in mind, but adding the weight of a baby whale doesn't help.
>Brush out her mane. No matter how hard you try, it just goes pomf back into her windswept style.
>Run your fingers through her chest fluff, and along the faint stretch marks you can make out under her coat.
>Months of damage from countless indulgences turned her from super star to super-sized, and you love it.
>Spitfire wriggles in your arms, grunting in displeasure.
>"Okay, okay, enough of the snuggly stuff, kiddo."
>Boop her pudgy muzzle.
"Oh? I was gonna get some fresh muffins for you, but uh, if you're sure…"
>Get up and make to leave. Her belly's still in overdrive trying to process the calories, but you know Spitfire's mile-wide greedy streak.
>"W-wait!"
>Heh. Too easy.
>Turn around. Spitfire's pinning her ears in embarrassment, a pinkish tinge to her bulging cheeks. She's giving you the big, emotional pony eyes.
>"Uh, I mean. It's cool. Special treat for a fan, right?"
>Well, you are a fan of Spitfire. Just not in the way most ponies are.

>Stride back downstairs with a purpose; a big, gorgeous mare demands food and snuggles.
"Hey Ponk, gonna need all the muffins."
>Pinkie tilts her head as she pulls a batch of hot muffins from the ovens, a chef's hat precariously perched on her mane.
>"Aaaall the muffins, 'Non?"
>Wink at your accomplice in crime.
"Special party. One-on-one. Tell nopony."
>Pinkie grins and hoofbumps your fist, then speedily arranges the muffins on a plate.
>What a bro.
>Return to Spitfire, who's massaging her fat rolls as you walk in.
>She whips her hooves off her belly and blushes even harder.
>"Not a word, Anon."
>Feed your gluttonous mare every single damn muffin.
>She moans sensually with each bite, caught between pleasure and pain as her stomach is stretched. Spitfire's appetite is almost never-ending.
>You keep a hand free to pet and pamper it, rubbing in circles around her stretched navel.
>Admire how her once-athletic figure is now crammed and stretched from all her reckless overeating.
>Spitfire licks the crumbs from your hand as she gulps down the last fattening morsel.
>She belches loudly, and sinks her head back into your pillow, a silly grin on her face. Soon she'll be deep in a food-coma.
>Cuddle up with the pony lump, your hands almost swallowed into her thick love handles.
>Put your ear to her overstuffed stomach and listen to it burble. Her breathing is shallow panting from the pressure of all the weight.
"So… wanna stay here for the night? There'll be pancakes in the morning."
>Spitfire licks her lips, her eyes lidded. Wow. She's already thinking about her next meal. She used to live for flying, but now she lives to be a creature of pure comfort.
>"Mmm. I'm gonna get so fat, aren't I?"
>Grin back, and sink your fingers into her squishy gut. She belches and squirms helplessly.
>Gently knead her dome of a gut, helping her digest her feast.
>This is going to be fun.