Fashion tasted so good.

As a fresh wave of the best kind of fashion hit Hoity Toity's lips, he allowed himself a minor correction; himself, and no other. At the very least, he told himself, with literal self-satisfaction, elegant shoulders flexing as he rolled his lips around the flare of his shaft, it certainly tasted creamy.

He shuddered pleasurably as his great member, easily long enough to reach his lips and then some, throbbed against his muzzle. The demands of creation were vast, indeed. Opening his maw a bit wider, he felt his cheeks bulge out with mass as he swallowed down the proudly pumped head of his bulging stallionhood. Hoity gave a muffled coo of appreciation, his arms wrapping around his enormous length as it bulged and swelled with arousal.

Well-endowed beyond a mare's wildest dreams. The hyper-packaged Hoity was more than just a fashion icon—he was a sexual legend. He murred happily around the pulsating mass of cockflesh in his gullet, gulping down inch after inch of his enormous organ. A flare fully half a foot in width smeared hefty dollops of the finest of precum against his throat as he swallowed it down, each inch of length making his core clench with anticipation.

Soon, the very moment—the evocation of being!—but first, as with any art, the process.

A soft moan left his esophagus vibrating around the tender, spongy volume of his magnificent member, stimulating it to even greater stiffness. Lovingly, Hoity began to stroke at his length, one hoof curling around the fat medial ring of his shaft as the other pushed lower. The same unmatchable cock that had stuffed Fancy Pants' own marefriend so full that she squealed inside her own dressing room—that had left her belly swaying and slapping, huge and pregnant, against her legs as she sauntered down the runway... The very shaft that, on lonely nights, he imagined stuffing down a likely mare's throat—that Ponyville sewer, he recalled, with that lovely, heart-shaped ass bobbing pleasantly in the corner of his vision. How he'd clapped for her, showered her with praise...all while yearining with every fiber of his being to cram his cock down her throat before rutting her like a broodmare. The very thought made his hooves twitch with excitement, even as that very premiere cock drooled pints of pre down its owner’s throat, filling out his well-kept belly as it growled with hunger.

Hoity exhaled, the hot mist of his breath making his member twitch madly. With his muzzle stretched as wide as it was, he still managed to grin smugly. His great glutes, sculpted from years of constant workouts, flexed and pushed against the sides of his seat. He may not have been a body-builder, nor a giant, but Hoity was well-built enough that his muscular rump strained the arms of his chair, and his thick hind legs reached nearly all the way down to the floor from the cushion of his high-legged stool.

It was his inspiration stool, he said—and it was, in a way. After indulging in a mouth stuffed full of his own cock, and lost in the haze of sensuality, it was rare that Hoity didn't come away from release with a clear, vibrant mind. His hips pumped swiftly now, his body falling into an easy, familiar rhythm as his lips pushed and pulled up and down his throbbing length. Grunting, Hoity felt his great balls slosh and swell, their loads groaning inside of his enormous ballsack as his musky testicles drooped lower and lower toward the ground.

So virile, he thought, groaning around his fat, drooling flare. He gulped eagerly at the unending stream of his frankly exquisite pre, grunting with pleasure as he facefucked himself harder and harder. So big, so strong. His foreleg hugged his mighty shaft to his chest, and he basked in the familiar sensation of his flare pushing out beneath his broad chest. Well-shaped equine pectorals bounced, flexed, clenched around his lurching girth as, with each pump of his hips, Hoity approached release.

How he savored the looks—scandalized, offended, lustful—

It was never said that Hoity Toity, master of fashion and rutting alike, left a customer waiting. He fed willfully upon their lustful moans, preyed upon the jealous, blushing stares as his massive endowment wobbled and swayed between his shapely legs whenever he modeled a new pair of his own fabulous lingerie.

Plebeians, he called them—small in body, in mind, in any way you cared to venture, weak-willed, and so utterly wonderful wrapped around his cock. At that point, he thought smugly, some of his glorious "big" could thus be imparted—for a small time, at least.  

His bouncing thrusts sped up, his little "gulp, gulps" of arousal swallowing each cup of pre that splurted against his throat. Hoity moaned, powerful shoulders flexing and rolling as he felt his hot pre sloshing in his belly. His mighty, powerful cock flexed and trembled, its inevitable and feracious release close.

They might think him obscene or not, but he knew that each one of them knew their place. He was the undisputed ruler of the fashion world—which of them could speak out against his magnificence, his divine mandate over wherever his unfettered talents took him? Genius recognized no boundaries, and such a powerful sexuality could not be contained. More than one insolent model had given into his demands, meekly meeting his strict schedules for just one more lick of that incredible cock, hooves curled and heads bowed low as they whimpered for just barely a taste of his load—

Hoity's hooves trembled, shook—and with a grunt, he felt himself go over the edge. Powerful thighs clenched and flexed, his hips bucking as he thrust his member deep into his throat. His eager gullet swallowed and gulped as quarts of his unparalleled seed spilled their way from his head-sized testes down into his waiting belly, thick, gooey ropes of cum splashing down into his gut as he moaned in near-absolute pleasure. He continued to knead his balls in an almost haughty, lazy fashion, their great churning depths fat and supple in his hoof’s grip while they spilled a torrent of seed down his throat. His muzzle bobbed up and down around his shaft as his belly bloated out, rounding, squishing against the base of his engorged, throbbing shaft.

With a final grunt, Hoity pulled his lips free of his unequalled member with a wet pop! He groaned, then leaned back in his seat. His belly, great and round with seed, sloshed wetly as it began to digest its gooey load. A gob of exquisite spunk dripped down Hoity's chin, and he licked it up, smirking, as his hoof moved to rub at his newest creative bulge.

"Delicious," he murmured. He gave his bloated cum-gut a pat, and his smile widened. Why, come to think of it, that had given him an idea...

The mares of Canterlot, he decided, would look so much better trussed up in white.