Rarity grimaced, her left hand fiddling idly with the lower hem of her bra’s wide, reinforced support band. Her back was killing her. Gravity had finally managed to exact its revenge on her ever-growing chest. The plump, springy, elliptical lobes of her oversized boobs slouched low & wide — two full, stout, more-than-gallon-sized water balloons. Long, faint stretchmarks pocked the stretched, milkwhite skin across the upper base of her breasts. Even the triple-reinforced nylon of her grey-silver custom-order sports bra strained to constrain the sheer, unmitigated heft of her weighty watermelons. Did she mention her back was killing her? She could still faintly remember a time before all this miserable “macromastia” business had started. She could walk down the street and still feel like a normal pony — not some walking, breathing titty freakshow. She could run. She could jump. She could breathe. Nowadays, she had to maneuver my arms carefully to avoid bumping into them. Walking around, her whole body was just one long, continuous wobble. She could feel her asscheeks jiggling behind her, the spongy bounce of her tail, and (of course) the upper-body-swaying slosh of her considerable chest. Right now, Rarity was renewing her modelling contract with the small “special-interest” video firm she had been contacted by some months prior for topless work. Her fashion & design business, having fallen on hard times, simply hadn’t been paying the bills, and her immense assets screamed monetization. Except now she had to deal with the indignity of her “fans’” adulation — not to mention her pig of a boss. “Come on babe, just one kiss, yeah? It’s customary, c’mon…!!“ Rarity’s face twisted in disgust. She turned to leave. “By the way, your ass looks great…! Have you been doing squats…?“ Swishing the elegant coifs of her purple tail, Rarity could still feel his cold, unbroken gaze eyeing her lithe midsection as she stormed from the room. The twin burdens of her unnatural, involuntary womanhood bobbed & ricocheted against each other, tugging at the polymer fabric of her big sports bra, denying her even the dignity of a graceful exit. She knew “<span class="caps">THEY</span>” would still be clearly visible — even from behind. She could feel his eyes still watching them — tracing their bounce, relishing with a smile the way the sides spilled out well beyond the concave arch of the small of her back, watching them wobble as her body swayed angrily towards the door. He whistled. “Just so ya know — your backboob game is devastating, babe.“ Her face flushed hot red. Flaring her nostrils, she flicked her tail dismissively in his general direction. “Hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go!“ … Jerk.

(this was a discarded drawing + writing-sketch from an abandoned story — the full thing is forthcoming, altho the plot is entirely different from the above — there are about 10 drawings complete for this upcoming story, the above is an outtake)