The sun rose on another fine spring day, and the light glimmered off the Wonderbolts academy grounds. Not a creature stirred except for a single feathered quadruped that left the largest building. Spitfire’s slender body sprouted above-average wings that spread out magnificently as she stretched in the cool morning air, and then she sighed softly before stepping on to the grass. Today was the first day of the spring training camp, and this year she was looking forward to it.

Inside the barracks a dozen ponies slept, and one pony didn’t.. The mare had awoken an hour ago, and had been unable to return to rest despite being fully aware it was going to kneecap her performance today.

The orange pegasus, Scootaloo, had been wanting this her entire life. To be a Wonderbolt was her dream, but thanks to her wings sprouting in much later than most it had remained, for a very long time, just a dream. When Scootaloo came of age, however, her wings sprouted just as her feminine curves had, and it was only through grueling diet and fitness regimes that she was able to get herself into a shape to enter the academy.

Even so, Scootaloo was probably the heaviest of the current cadets.Her body was shapely, with large flanks and a pronounced set of curves that followed out from her soft face an down her body. It was only thanks to Rainbow Dash’s commitment to see her friend get in that Scootaloo had made it in at all.

Scootaloo was half way through fantasizing about herself being #1 pony for Captain Dash when the door was thrown open and Spitfire bellowed into the room. Her voice was amazingly loud and bold, and startled pegasi soon bolted out of bed and, instinctually, flew towards the nearest light source. The flapping of wings filled the room alongside screeches of surprise, and then a loud fleshy thump.

With her forehooves stretched out ahead of her and her wings frantically beating behind her, Scootaloo didn’t even realize she had jammed herself through a window until she felt a sharp slap to her round rear end. When she glanced back, she realized she was too wide for the hole she had chosen, and couldn’t even see behind her.

With a defeated sigh, Scootaloo flopped forward, and behind her Spitfire slapped her forehead. For all of her promising spirit, Scootaloo didn’t exactly have the body  of a Wonderbolt. Spitfire, however, quickly realized how hypocritical that was considering her own history, and bit her tongue instead of chiding the young mare.

“Wiggle backwards, Scootaloo,” Spitfire instructed from behind. “You’re not getting out forwards, you’re too wide.”

Scootaloo did as instructed, and slowly but surely wormed her soft body back through the window. With a plop, she fell out and landed back on her bed. The cadets stood around her, giggling, and Spitfire silenced them with a solid glare.

“I ought to have the lot of you sent back where you came from and back to school,” Spitfire growled, and faced them all with a glare. “That’s the worst first-wake up call I’ve seen in years. You’re supposed to get at attention, not flutter off like a bunch of started geese!”

Spitfire soon blew her whistle, “Now at attention,  cadets!”

Awkwardly, but surely, the cadets all lined up at the feet of their bed. Once they had, Spitfire stepped before them, back and forth down the line as she eyed them all up. A gentle murmur started to fill the room as she did, growls of hunger coming from somepony, but the source was too faint to determine.

Scootaloo, however, realized it was actually Spitfire.

“Today you’re going to be in class with Soarin,” Spitfire started, and couldn’t help but grin slightly at the faces of disappointment she met, all except Scootaloo, “Soarin is going to instruct you all on safety, teamwork, and mandatory hoof signals. You don’t even get to touch  the training line until Soarin has cleared you all, is that clear?”

Scootaloo was the only one to reply, with a solid “Yes Ma’am!” before her own stomach growled quietly.

Spitfire almost seemed thankful to hear it from someone else, “First, breakfast. Mind your calories…” Spitfire spoke, and kept her eyes on Scootaloo before she left the barracks.

A few minutes later Spitfire flumped down into her office chair, and threw her legs up over desk. With a deep groaning sigh she slapped her head back and closed her eyes. Dealing with cadets was always a huge pain. To be sure, lording around her authority was fun, but Wonderbolts tended to attract egos, and ego bred conceit.

Soon Spitfire’s buttons started to slip off, one by one, nimbly detached by her wingtips. A soft growl came out of her stomach once again, and then Spitfire swept up her breakfast of oats and honey. It was a perfectly healthy meal for a perfectly healthy mare, and the Pegasus enjoyed it while it lasted.

Once Spitfire was done her bowl, however, her stomach released another low grumble. With a roll of the eyes Spitfire sighed again, and mumbled a curse at her own body. While her stomach capacity had won her awards before, it always tended to interfere at the worst times. Spitfire knew she couldn’t let herself slip, not now.

Yet when Spitfire glanced out her window, and watched  Scootaloo on the field having trouble with the zipper on her flight suit, a teasing thought entered Spitfire’s mind. Perhaps she could let things slip, just a little. That mare was getting along just fine after all, and for that matter nobody would judge her relative to that.

It was all Spitfire needed to get seconds, and then thirds, and took a lap at her desk nursing a slightly swollen yellow bulge that pushed aside her uniform.

Out on the field, meanwhile,  Fleetfoot was busy ushering the cadets through morning drills after their classwork. The sleek and nimble light-blue Pegasus mare fit into her outfit like a glove, and was filled with a sense of empathetic shame while Scootaloo desperately tried to get her zipper up her thick barrel.

“Alright Wide Body,” Fleetfoot barked to get Scoots attention, “Forget it for now, leave it off and we’ll get you a bigger one.”

Scootaloo snapped to salute, and the zipper ran all the way down before the outfit more or less burst off of her and hung down halfway up her body, “Yes ma’am!” she returned enthusiastically.

Fleetfoot grimaced and grit her teeth. The poor girl didn’t even seem ashamed of it.

“Yeah… uh,  I uh…” Fleetfoot started, but found herself losing focus as she gazed upon the well-curved  orange Pegasus.

Fleetfoot had never been straight, but getting this worked up over a recruit was a new and confusing experience for her. “Just… uh,  go do ten laps, I need to do something in the office....”

The cadets all saluted, and quickly swept themselves into the air. All except Scootaloo, who lagged slightly behind but still got up there. Unlike anybody else around her, her body wobbled slightly as the slight fat coating every inch of her moved about. Fleetfoot watched, almost drooling, before quickly bolting by wing into the headquarters and ducking into the staff lounge.

It was empty, thankfully, and Fleetfoot paused to take a breath while sweat beaded on her brow. Stress was mounting, and Fleetfoot glanced towards the fridge. Inside was her salvation, but it was a salvation with a price. The mare had expected it to take much longer to get to this point.

Quickly, eager to soothe herself as soon as possible, Fleetfoot threw open the fridge and withdrew her ice cream. Without bothering to go for a bowl or even a spoon she ripped the top off the container and stuffed her muzzle into it. Groaning with an almost sexual sense of release, the mare desperately licked at and sucked in the high-fat vanilla and chocolate blend.

It took hardly a minute for Fleetfoot to consume it all, and the whole time her throat undulated with each needy swallow. Once it was done, a powerful pain filled her head as brain freeze set in, but Fleetfoot ignored it entirely and simply belched before letting the small tub fall to the ground. At her middle her suit was a little tighter, almost imperceptibly, from the half-gallon of ice cream.

Dreamily, Fleetfoot finally left the break room, and watched as the cadets landed back at the starting point. Scootaloo was behind them all, within regulation time but only barely, and she was panting for air as soon as she landed.

The cadets hadn’t noticed her, so Fleetfoot was party to some of their taunting while she walked over.

“Hey, Wide Body, shouldn’t you be settling down instead of flying? You’ve got like, child bearing hips honey,” One of the mares taunted. “I’ll help, I love a mare with meat on her bones…” one of the stallions soon added.

Fleetfoot darted forth by wing and put a stop to that fairly quickly, “Hey! Blue on blue, can it or I’ll put you on probation!” she barked, and then felt a simmering soreness in her middle as soon as she stopped moving.

While the cadets watched  in confusion, Fleetfoot felt a pressure at the back of her throat and coughed slightly before she hiccupped, and then an intense pain came to her middle. Before she could say anything, Fleetfoot coughed out a wet belch and then spit out a mouthful of ice cream on the grass before her.

Entirely embarrassed, but noticing the cadets were more confused than judgemental, Fleetfoot glanced around and put a hoof to her mouth to hold down further vomit before she felt the cramps subside, and then hiccupped again.

“I’m not feeling great today, okay? So how about you all make this easy on me. Besides, that little display was enough to make me sick itself. Scootaloo, you’re on point- lead this ‘squadron’ through a simple v-formation lap,” Fleetfoot spoke, her voice cracking with simmering stomach pain throughout.

Scootaloo saluted, and the other cadets groaned softly. “Can it! A squadron is only good when you know your strengths and weaknesses. Just because you can fly faster than her doesn’t mean you should!”

The cadets, hesitantly, saluted. With an equal hesitation they took off after Scootaloo, and Fleetfoot was finally alone on the grass. Able to sit and nurse her stomach, she soon found that she had a visitor. The sound of a deep gutteral belch drew her attention, and Fleetfoot turned to watch Spitfire approach looking as if she was four months pregnant.

Spitfire’s face was slightly green, her belly was slightly red, and her body was making dull bubbling groans. Fleetfoot watched in awe and disgust, she had only seen this once before after the a pie eating contest. Spitfire’s capacity was legendary, but she wasn’t known to gorge herself on duty.

“Captain?” Fleetfoot greeted worriedly, “Are you… feeling okay?”

“Are you?” Spitfire growled, and gestured to the puddle of ice cream. “I’m… fine, I just had a heavy breakfast and wanted to see…”

Spitfire took a deep breath, “what you were up to.”

Slowly and inelegantly Spitfire laid herself down on her side, and wiggled so that her swollen middle could sprout beside her. With a soft groan she laid down her head, and rubbed it with a hoof gently.