Smallergod
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Borrowed Time - Chapter 1 (part 2)
🕑 Added 2019-12-05 04:30:39 +0000 UTCContinuing this collaboration which is a Patreon exclusive for now (heck! :D)
A new collaboration between myself, and my dear friend Firefox!
Written by Firefox
Illustrated by Me
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With a strained groan and a widened stance, Loretta leaned forward to start sifting through clothing. Company was rare, and her mother was the only other resident of their home, so Loretta found no fault in maintaining a state of near-nudity in the privacy of her room. The desired garments were sniffed, and if she deemed them within acceptable boundaries of scent, they were laid out at the top of the pile.
“Gotta do laundry soon,” she murmured, finding more than half of her clothing too rank to wear.
There were perhaps fresher pairs of panties strewn about the heap, but she resolved to save those for school. It was highly unlikely that anyone would be getting close enough to smell how musky her sweat had made her current choice of undergarment. The amount of effort that went into changing panties was also a sufficient deterrent.
Applying a bra was, thankfully, far less strenuous. She leaned forward and took the selected bra between her feathery fingertips, then glanced at her ample chest in the mirror. Without support, her breasts merged with the rolls at her sides, making them look like another stack of flab on her body. The only real distinguishing feature that set them apart was the pale grey of her wide, puffy areolae, nipples partially swallowed up by the surrounding softness.
Carefully, she wrapped the lacy garment around herself, clasps forward. As she fastened the hooks, she could feel the fabric rubbing against her sagging underarms, biting into her back rolls as she squeezed against her own heaving breasts. The bra sat on top of her flab at first, but once she had secured it, she began to twist it around her body like a thin, black nut on a very soft, very thick bolt. All it took was a little squirming to get it to slip into the creased fat along her sides and back.
The cups themselves were another matter. Pushing past her own breast, she reached into one side of the bra and lifted until she felt the elastic against her belly, then carefully set her flabby tit into place. She repeated the process with the other breast and spent a few moments inspecting her reflection. Now that her bosom had been reined in, she sported very deep and defined cleavage. She was well aware that her breasts easily ranged in the double D’s, but the sheer size of her bust was downplayed by the immensity of the rest of her body.
Specifically, her belly was the biggest thing about her; a shuddering apron of black-feathered blubber that hung halfway to her dimpled knees and provided an adequate shelf for her breasts. The sheer size and weight of so much flesh kept it from retaining a perfectly round shape, in addition to being molded by the way she had been wearing her clothing for years. Her flab folded onto itself horizontally, her belly button completely swallowed up between the rolls that spanned all the way around her broad midriff, as though signifying her equator. A very shallow crease ran vertically down the center of her gut, bisecting the lower rung of her belly into two distinct curves. Even at a complete standstill, the act of drawing breath was enough to make her tummy jiggle.
At present, she had her quivering belly partially penned in. Everything south of her navel fold rested snugly in her panties, the elastic mostly lost under the uppermost swell of her paunch, and in the deep folds of her love handles. She knew that the sheer size of her gut kept her decent the majority of the time, but at some point, she had decided that going without panties was a line that could not be crossed. This was due largely in part to being aware of how massive her fupa had become as her weight continued to balloon.
Loretta clicked her beak a few times, then turned her attention toward the other item she had dragged up from the bottom of her clothing pile; a black tee-shirt with the white outline of a cartoon character across the front. The sight of the pegasus brought a faint smile to the feathery corners of her mouth. But, like the fandom that had sprung up around the cartoon from which the character hailed, the image of the winged equine was a far cry from its former glory; now faded, cracked, and peeling, the shirt itself covered in indeterminate stains. She was hesitant to be seen in public wearing it, but it was one of the few shirts that was remotely clean enough to wear out of the house. At the very least, the pit stains were almost impossible to detect.
The shirt had been rather tight when she bought it at a convention a few years prior, and in that time, she had effectively stretched it out with her growing girth. It still sort of fit, but she knew getting that shirt to cover her bulk was still going to be a struggle. Her feathery digits spread the shirt as wide as she could, and reaching inside for the sleeves, she lifted it toward her chins. Her hands and forearms passed through with no difficulty. It was her sagging biceps that always clogged the sleeves. This was the first hurdle in the process, but the hurdle in question was overcome easily enough. With a bit of squirming and tugging, her doughy upper arm swelled into the open like baking bread out of a pan, and getting the other arm through proved no greater difficulty.
The neckline of the shirt was generous enough that she had no trouble getting her head through, and though it was a snug fit, her breasts were decently accommodated as well.
Pulling it down around her belly was a different story. She gripped the hemming carefully, lamenting the growing number of holes that resulted from forcefully trying to conceal her massive gut, and began to work the fabric down over her middle. For a few moments, this was no real challenge, but as she forced the garment to conceal more and more of her flesh it became more and more of a chore. She remembered being able to get that same shirt near to the lowest curve of her tummy once upon a time. Now, it scarcely clung to the soft lip of her upper gut, revealing the deep trench that had consumed her belly button.
The effort required to dress herself had her panting softly, her beak hanging open. It wasn’t until she swallowed dryly, and was forced to briefly breathe through her nose, that she remembered for a second time that she was supposed to investigate the possibility of bacon. A muffled gurgle reached her ears and she rubbed the upper hemisphere of her belly purely out of habit, looking at the swell of her middle in the mirror. The longer she wondered why her mother was cooking, the more she realized that she was absolutely starving.
Figuratively, at least.
