Art by ChubUnited

It was a fresh afternoon right at the beginning of October. Peaches sat on a creaking bench just outside the farmhouse, admiring the fields of peach trees. Peach season was already at an end, which would mean most other peach farmers would go on to set up their other businesses. Not Perra "Peaches" Clingstone, however. The ancient family secrets of the peach-farming trade meant she knew exactly how to make her trees bear fruit for much longer than usual and, most importantly, how to keep a stockpile to herself. Yes, she sold them sometimes, but true of her draconic lineage she hoarded what was most worthwhile to her in comically enormous quantities. To her, this was her namesake: peaches.
In the basement of the Clingstone-Freestone Farms propriety was a colossal cave filled to the brim with the sweet fruit. There was enough there for her to survive a few years while being gluttonous. They were kept fresh by her family trade secrets. Every day, she would make peach cider, peach cobbler, peach ice cream, anything peachy that met her fancy. However, today was the last day of the regular harvest, and to her, this meant one thing and one thing only...
Peach pie.
While she simply adored peach in all its forms, peach pie was a special little treat for her. It combined her lovely peach jams with a crust infused with the juices and topped with a dollop of whipped cream that was - unsurprisingly - flavored with her favorite fruit. As a means of treating herself to another bountiful harvest season, she'd made peach pies.
A lot of peach pies.
Some would say too many peach pies.
Having spent the entire morning picking the plump fruits from the trees and the rest of the day making pies, Peaches decided her evening should be spent celebrating another successful summer in the best way possible: gorging herself to the brim on peach pie. Already many pie tins lay at her hooves, emptied of their content. Her stomach felt taunt and round, the soft layer of fat around it smooth to the touch. She'd heard the stitches of her jean overalls rip here and there and could feel the buttons digging in her flesh, but this did not bother her. In fact, she reveled in it. The fullness of her gut was almost as delicious to her as her treasured fruit. She could hear it - no, feel it grumbling in her paw as she brought the last slice to her muzzle. The sweet scent invaded her nostrils and made her salivate, the tip of her heavy, fat tail tapping on the ground in excitement. As the sugary flavor filled her mouth, she couldn't help but to moan happily. She chewed greedily, letting every drop of juice and jam fill every corner of her mouth as she massaged her full stomach, feeling it grow between her sausage-like fingers.
She knew she needed to contain herself. If she kept going at this pace, she'd go dipping into the hoard and glut herself like a hibernating bear. She'd be too fat to move come snowfall!
DING! went the oven, the smell of warm pie hitting her nostrils.
"Oh, what they hey." she said to herself contently as she patted her gurgling gut. "It's not like I'm getting any thinner." With herculean effort, she hoisted herself off the creaking bench and lumbered to the kitchen. There was pie to be had!

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