Moist, spongy, bouncy cake. Creamy, rich, custard filling. Sweet, smooth, silken icing. Tart, bright jams and bits of fruits. Crisp, delightful snaps of chocolate shavings and candy decorations — taking special delight in the edible tag emblazoned with heartfelt appreciation. These things dominate Twilight’s mind as she tucks vigorously into the dessert, holding it before her in her magic’s grasp. carving forth piece after piece from the whole, and bringing each into her eager maw.

A little over halfway through — more than half of the towering edifice disappeared past her pillowy cheeks, past her greedy mouth, down her fattened throat, settled in her ever-noisy, ever-burgeoning, ever-expanding expanse of a stomach — she starts to think again on the wisdom of her course. How can she think it’s wise to let herself gorge on what she can clearly calculate to be tens of thousands of calories worth of plentiful pastry, remaining parked here, pinned by her own engorged flab?

She tries to crane her gaze behind her in between bites — a futile effort, given how thickened her neck has become, resulting in nothing but her smushing her muzzle, still busy with chewing, into her own squishy cheek. Silly to even try, silly pony, she thinks to herself, the blush on her complexion burning brighter. She swallows, hard and sure and whole. She turns forward again, swift a motion as she’s capable of, to snap up another piece of cake, hastily, hungrily, needily.

She doesn’t need to be able to turn herself around to get a sense for just how big she’s letting herself get though, she knows. Even if she couldn’t do the math in her head, even if she couldn’t estimate her ludicrous gain by balancing her enormous intake versus her utter inactivity — Another rich chunk of cake, gone, proceeding to plump herself further — She still has her other senses.

It’s been some time since she’d really tried, but she certainly knows what an (also futile) expenditure of effort it is to try to shift her bulk. She knows that it’s growing harder for her hooves to find purchase on the carpet beneath her — especially with her hind legs, buried as they are between her rolling tummy and ludicrously oversized haunches — her titanic, obscene, overfed ass.

She gulps, taking a heavy, quick breath, before stuffs another piece into her mouth, luxuriating in the decadence of both the treat and her own excess.

Even if she can’t see it, she can feel just how much of Pinkie’s room she’s taking up — how much of the floor space is coming to be occupied by herself, her plush rolls spreading far and wide, wobbly, warm. Nothing but a plump princess spoiled rotten with more sumptuous sweets than can be imagined.

=Chomp= It’s ridiculous. =Urp!= It’s so, so silly. =Nomf= It surely can’t be wise to keep going. =Gulp!=

But. Surely Twilight did promise to test a few of Pinkie’s treats. Surely, surely she couldn’t let her, friend, down, now could she? Only a quarter of the bottom tier of the cake is left — and quickly, taken up into her magic’s grasp. With a slight tremor of a hiccup, her jaw opens wide, to give passage for the last, thick, delicious chunk. Closing her lips around it, cheeks puffing out like the most overambitious chipmunk, she tastes the wonderful mass coat her teeth and tongue — and with one last, willful swallow, send it down to join the rest of it, deep within her mass.

Her lips smack, tongue gliding over them to collect the majority of the specks that had fallen aside. Her breathing comes in shallow, short huffs, trying to regain their rhythm. She pauses, feeling a deep pressure well up from within.

=BWAAARP=

The belch echoes across the room, rattling Pinkie’s belongings and windows alike, sending a vigorous tremor jiggling through Twilight’s fattened form. After another breath, long, sure, and calm, a contented, delighted sigh escapes her mouth, contorted into a silly, satisfied grin.

Her nose twitches at the scent. Her eyes glance over to the table — to the newest towering edifice of a cake left upon it. She surely must have failed to notice Pinkie coming in to place the thing, busy as she was with inhaling the last.

“Oooh,” she speaks up in excitement, “next!” Her horn flares up with light, and the the cake, ponderously, begins to levitate towards her.

She spies the note tagged to the bottom tier — spinning the cake to bring it before her face, to best appreciate it.

“To my favorite, best, cutest, hungriest little taste-tester! Love, Pinkie ❤”

Twilight smiles wide, taking the candy tag into her mouth, and biting down through its crisp sweetness, made with love.

“Delicious!”