Full House: Jacks over Twos
How Do You Hold Cards with Hooves?
Full House: Jacks over Twos
“Eenope, y'all only won last year thanks to one lucky hand.”
The barn door slid open and Big Macintosh stepped over the threshold, followed closely by Braeburn.
“Luck ain't got nothing to do with it, Mac. It's simply my natural talent for cards.”
“Ah'll believe it when ah see it. In case you've forgotten, ah'm still a game up. Best o' five means one more and ah take the lot.”
“Or I win and we have a good old tiebreaker next year.”
“Hmph.”
Light flared as a lantern burst into life, sending a flickering glow out into the barn. In the centre stood a large circular table, draped in a long tablecloth.
“We don't usually have a cloth,” remarked Braeburn.
“AJ was in here earlier, she musta put it on. Leave it, ain't doin' no harm.”
“Not until you start using it to swap in better cards, of course.”
Big Mac sighed. “If y'all reckon ah'm untrustworthy, you can go right ahead and take it off. And then in the morning ya can explain to Granny Smith why it's covered in hay and cow shit.”
“Relax, Mac, it ain't good for you to be so stressed. I didn't realise you were this worried about losing.”
“Put yer chips where yer mouth is. Come on, we're burning oil.”
Braeburn pulled over a pair of matching wooden chairs as Big Mac hung the lantern above the table. “I've never understood your fancy seating out here. Back in Appleloosa we'd be happy with a couple of cushions.”
“That's 'cause ya ain't worked a day in your life. Nothin' like something to lean yer back against.” Mac shrugged off his saddle, resting it against one of the nearby stalls.
“I'm hurt,” said Braeburn, holding a hoof to his chest. “Why you gotta be so mean?”
“Maybe it's on account o' you spendin' all day reminiscing about yer one moment of glory last year, while pretendin' like it was more than a lucky turnover on the river.”
“Well alright then, care to show me how it's done?” Braeburn hung his hat on the corner of a chair before dropping into it, legs underneath the tablecloth. It really was a bit over the top, reaching all the way to the floor and trailing over the ground. Granny Smith wouldn't be pleased either way.
“Gladly,” replied Big Mac, pulling a pack of cards from a pocket in his saddle and joining Braeburn at the table. He tossed them across, and after a momentary fumble Braeburn caught them. “They're sealed, like always.”
Braeburn bit off the plastic wrapper and slid the deck out, shuffling with quick and practised motions. “Chips?”
“Right here.” Mac reached under the table without taking his eyes off the cards, and Braeburn had to resist the urge to snort at his cousin's paranoia. After a few moments of feeling around Macintosh produced a battered old case that clinked as it moved. “Same as normal, a hundred bits and that's your lot. No buy-ins. Once all games are played, winner takes the difference. Meanin' when ah win this one, y'all owe me two hundred bits.”
Braeburn grinned. “Pride comes before a fall, Mac.”
“And you ain't got none of that, huh?”
“Confidence. It's completely different.”
Mac hmphed again; a common occurrence whenever he and Braeburn had any extended interaction. He flipped open the case and counted out two even piles of the red discs within. “...ninety-nine, one hundred.”
“You sure you counted them right? My pile looks a little smaller.”
“Count 'em yourself.”
Braeburn shrugged. “I'll take your word for it. Cut for first deal – Ace high, low takes.” Braeburn split the deck and turned up his card. A Jack.
“Nice goin',” said Mac, before cutting it again and drawing his own card. His face fell, the King he'd produced staring up at him with a smug grin. “Best of three?”
***
The first few hands were inconsequential, Braeburn taking a small lead but only thanks to Mac folding. He'd played his cousin enough to know Mac was cautious early in the game. It made him unpredictable later on, when the big bets started coming down. This hand looked promising though – pocket threes. Not the strongest pair, but on for three of a kind, or even a full house to take Mac by surprise.
The flop was less ideal: seven and ten of clubs with a queen of hearts.
“Ten,” said Mac, dropping the chips loudly on the table. It was early for him to start bluffing, but he could be doing it just to throw Braeburn off.
“Big money for this soon in the evening,” said Braeburn, running a hoof through his mane.
Mac remained silent, taunting him with his eyes.
“Okay, I'll call.” Those threes had better come good, he thought, but the slightly irritated look that flashed across Big Mac's face was comforting.
A three, spades. Fantastic, he virtually had this in the bag. The chance of Mac having a pocket pair was slim, and there wasn't much else to be had out of those cards. Big Mac checked, and Braeburn did the same, not wanting to scare him off just yet.
The last card was a four of clubs. This could be problematic. There was potential for a club flush, but as far as Big Mac knew, Braeburn could be just as likely to have one.
“Five.” Mac's bet was conservative, testing the waters.
“Ten.” Braeburn was quick, slamming the chips down almost as soon as Mac played. His cousin's expression was brilliantly gratifying. Including their starting bets, there was now a grand total of over forty bits in the pot; Mac'd have been mad to let that slide for five more.
“I'll call you.”
“Lay 'em on me,” said Braeburn, with a wink guaranteed to annoy.
“Two pair, Threes and Sevens.”
Braeburn flashed him a winning smile (in every sense of the word). “Three of a kind with Threes.” Big Mac's face as he scooped up the pot was priceless.
***
Underneath the table, Applejack wondered what in the hay had gotten into her. With each clink of the chips, the reluctance inside her grew a little more insistent. Except even now she couldn't deny that the rush of adrenaline when Mac had reached under the table had been wonderful. Which was what this was all about: the thrill of almost being caught.
That, and how taboo it was. Until now it had been nothing more than depraved fantasy – a secret desire she had told no-one. And now she was under a tablecloth, right next to her brother and cousin who had no idea what she was planning to do to them. It was so deliciously forbidden, and even through her doubts there was a part of her that was struggling to hold herself back.
What if they catch you?
A hint of resistance. It didn't work; the idea of them finding her only turned Applejack on even more. If she didn't hurry they'd begin to smell her scent, and then they would definitely look. She'd have to make the first move for this to work, and then rely on their deep-seated distrust of each other to keep them from moving their hooves under the cloth.
And, of course, them not wanting her to stop.
***
“Five.” Big Mac smiled at Braeburn's agitated look. He must be on the ropes this hand, while Mac already had two pairs after the flop, with a view for a full house.
“Um... Call.”
Mac was surprised to see how badly Braeburn covered his bluff. It was almost as though he wasn't trying. He supposed a double bluff was possible, but normally Braeburn would be far more subtle about it. “You okay?” he asked. “Lookin' a little peaky there, though ah'd understand if ya can't handle the heat.”
Braeburn shook his head, wiping sweat from his brow. “I'm fine.”
“Well alright then.”
Two rounds of betting and a reveal later, Mac took the pot. Braeburn had called every bet, despite ending with nothing but a high card. As far as bluffing went, it was poorly handled.
“Ain't such a hotshot now, huh?” Mac had taken the lead in chips, though he couldn't help wondering if there was something he was missing.
There was.
***
It was now or never. Any more waiting and she'd lose her courage, and most likely be caught. Her best chance of getting out of this was to act.
Braeburn first, she decided. Even having come this far, Applejack wasn't quite ready to start with Big Macintosh, not after all these years. He would take some working towards.
She shifted around to get a better angle, head level with Braeburn's crotch.
“Five.” Big Mac's voice from above. Before Braeburn could respond, she placed a kiss on the inside of his thigh. He immediately stiffened at the contact, and she waited with bated breath.
He's going to look he's going to look why are you doing this it's stupid he's going to look.
“Um... Call.”
Crisis averted, Applejack let out a hushed sigh of relief, unwittingly sending her warm breath over Braeburn's skin, distracting him even further.
“You okay?” Big Mac again. “Lookin' a little peaky there, though ah'd understand if ya can't handle the heat.”
Please don't say anything please don't say anything.
“I'm fine.”
He was practically inviting her to continue. And continue she did, tongue running up the inside of his leg. She was obviously starting to have an effect on him, his length hardening before her eyes.
“Well alright then.”
She kept up her teasing, never actually touching his shaft, content to watch him squirm as she licked her way around it. When the hand was over she'd evidently caused a pretty serious distraction – the glee in Big Mac's voice implied he'd won rather a lot. Applejack hadn't been keeping count, preoccupied with maintaining Braeburn's excitement while still only teasing.
He'd been well-behaved, though, keeping it hidden as best as he could, and Applejack felt it time to reward his patience. She ran her tongue along his shaft, gliding upwards in a single, long stroke.
***
Braeburn couldn't believe the lengths Mac had gone to ensure his downfall. It was clearly his doing; that smug grin when he'd asked Braeburn if he was okay left no doubt. The worst part was that it was working.
It was very difficult to concentrate with an eager mare teasing him like that. And now she was really getting into it – warm tongue gliding up his length. She knew exactly what she was doing, but Braeburn found his resolve only strengthening.
Imagining how Big Mac would feel knowing that even with this thoroughly enjoyable treatment Braeburn had won was too good to pass up. Fortunately it was Big Mac's deal, and he wouldn't notice Braeburn's hooves shaking slightly as Applejack's mouth closed around him.
Focus. Eye on the prize.
Braeburn tossed in the big blind and leaned back in his chair. It was difficult to keep an eye on anything while Applejack's tongue danced around him, and he let out a restrained gasp covered up by a cough. It elicited a raised eyebrow from Big Mac, but he said nothing, dealing the new hand.
Nine of clubs and Jack of hearts. Braeburn tried to keep his breathing steady, while beneath the table Applejack bobbed her head down his length.
“You betting, Braeburn?”
He snapped to attention at Big Mac's voice. “Yes! Er... yes. Three.”
“Call.”
Damn it, pay attention. Ignore her, play the game.
A part of him scoffed at his optimism. Ignore her? Yeah right, ignore that warm wetness around your cock, sliding up and down while you can't help but thrust slightly into her eager mouth. See? You can't even ignore it when you're thinking about ignoring it.
The flop revealed an eight, a ten and a three. All he needed was a seven or a queen and he had a straight.
“F-fifteen.”
Again, Big Mac wondered about Braeburn's sudden loss of calm. Could it be that this was all a plot, a tactic to get him to play right into Braeburn's hooves? Mac had nothing, and not much prospect of anything impressive even if a perfect card turned up. Was it worth calling Braeburn's bluff? He seemed nervous, sure, but it was completely unlike him to act this way.
“Call,” said Mac, sincerely hoping he wouldn't regret it.
***
Okay AJ, time to step up your game. It ain't fair to only distract Braeburn.
She was, however, enjoying distracting him immensely; hearing the tremor in his breath as she flicked her tongue around his tip, the clinking of the chips as he tried to hold them steady, while she tried to take him as far as possible.
Applejack moved from sitting to a low crouch, bringing her ass up to the perfect height for Big Mac. Spurred on by her earlier success, and with only the briefest of hesitations, she pressed backwards into her brother's lap.
***
His first thought was that Braeburn had somehow touched him with a hind-leg. Before he had time to fully process that thought and all the worrying conclusions it entailed, Mac realised what was actually pushing up against him. A mare. A wet and excited mare.
Why that son of a... No wonder Braeburn had been acting so agitated; he was waiting for this slut to start her distraction. Well, he wasn't going to stand for this. He reached to lift the tablecloth, but Braeburn coughed loudly.
“What're you doing with those hooves there?”
Mac gave him an angry glare. “Are ya accusin' me of cheating?”
“I'm not accusing you of anything, so long as your hooves stay where I can see them.”
Mac chewed his lip. The mare's grinding was beginning to pay off; he stiffened as the scent of her arousal reached him. But now he knew Braeburn's plan. Either he'd accuse him of cheating when he reached under the table, or he'd just let the mare keep Mac's attention away from the game.
The joke was on him though. Mac was determined to win, even more so now he knew how desperate Braeburn was not to lose. The mare under the table was just a bonus.
“It's your bet, cousin.” Big Mac layered his voice with deeper meaning, letting Braeburn know that Mac knew exactly what he was doing and that he wouldn't get away with it.
Braeburn assumed Mac was gloating about the distraction he'd set up.
***
Applejack shook her rump a little, feeling her brother's hardness pressing against her skin. This was going better than she could ever have hoped, their paranoia preventing either of them from daring to look. And here she was: a stallion each end, neither of whom had any idea just who was between them.
Braeburn required little encouragement; already he was beginning to push forward a little whenever she lowered her head, even if only a little. Big Mac was at least showing excitement, if not enthusiasm. As she rubbed herself against him, Applejack couldn't suppress a moan, slightly muffled around Braeburn's member. Above her there were a few nervous coughs at the sound before their game resumed, far more subdued than before.
“Five,” said Mac, a slight quiver in his voice.
Braeburn's call was equally shaky, both trying hard to keep it together, to not show weakness. They weren't very good at it. It was time to kick it up a notch; Applejack was far too worked up to hold back for much longer. Her brother, the object of her desires in countless fantasies, was right there and ready for her.
She lifted herself as high as she could, and then lowered onto him, slowly, feeling each inch push into her. Big Mac grunted, feeling her around him. Applejack clenched tightly as she dropped, wondering exactly what was going through his mind, wondering what he would do if he found out the mare fucking him was his own sister.
She felt wonderfully satisfied, stuffed from both ends and loving every minute of it. The game above her was still somehow under-way, each rattle of chips accompanied by quick, breathless betting. She admired their fortitude; her head was spinning from the satiation of her fantasy.
Big Macintosh's name was very apt, she quickly discovered. He seemed to press against all of her at once, filling her completely. Even as she began to buck her hips, Mac remained motionless. Something told her this should have been off-putting, but strangely it seemed only to make the whole situation better.
On the one hoof she had Braeburn, easily giving in to her and falling for her skilled tongue. Putty in her hooves, responding to her every whim. If she pulled her head back he would thrust forward desperately, silently begging her not to stop. He was hers, a victim of his libido, but Mac was not so easily swayed. Oh, he was enjoying it, no question – the occasional twitch inside her assuaging any doubt – but he was still in control. While Braeburn had offered himself to her, Mac demanded the opposite.
She had submitted to him, her lust making her need him. Mac's apparent indifference proved he was just using her to get off, and for some reason that knowledge threw pleasurable shivers down her body.
She couldn't decide which she preferred.
***
Braeburn's cunning strategy of ignoring the mare under the table was not paying off. She was too determined, too damn good to ignore. His attention on the game had fallen to the point where he was simply trying to make it look like he was still playing. He wasn't even entirely sure what cards he had in this hand.
Big Mac made a ridiculously high bet, obviously trying to capitalise on his weakness, but Braeburn still had just enough of a grasp of what was going on to fold.
The mare's tongue circled him relentlessly as she bobbed on his length. Oh she was far too good, stopping to let him push into her for a few thrusts, before returning to her impressive pace and making him simply sit there and take it.
Braeburn was past caring about keeping up appearances and he doubted there was any subtlety remaining about his act. Mac could probably see him getting into it and know that his ploy was a success. Braeburn was bleeding chips, and without any modicum of focus the game would be over in a few hands unless he regained his senses.
Big Mac, however, was finding himself in a similar situation. Still refusing to grant the mare any satisfaction by moving, it didn't seem to matter to her at all, happy to bounce on his lap with no input on his part.
And it wasn't as if he was impervious to sensation, her tightness around him proving hard to resist, the familiar rising sensation each time she took him to the hilt signalling impending climax, not immediate but enough to make him accidentally drop one of his cards in open view. Hastily gathering it up, Mac was relieved to see Braeburn was preoccupied with his own cards, staring resolutely at his hand as if nothing else in the world mattered. Mac had no idea he was actually trying to keep himself from collapsing onto the table in pure submission to pleasure.
Big Mac had made a mistake earlier; without paying attention he'd thought he'd held a straight and bet 70 chips at once, only to find he was actually one short with no cards left to turn up. The relief when Braeburn had folded was palpable, and Mac was now focusing as much as he could, avoiding a repeat as much as possible.
Except he still kept making mistakes. He'd forget what was on the table or in his hooves, instead misremembering earlier hands. All it took was one slip of concentration, one single moment of indulging himself in the enjoyment the mare was providing him, and he would have to reassess the entire situation, snapping back to the game and hoping Braeburn hadn't noticed his momentary lapse with his head in the clouds (or more accurately, between his legs).
He was holding a three of a kind with sixes, time to bet high and clear Braeburn out before it became too difficult to concentrate. “Thirty.”
Braeburn's response was not what he was expecting. “Raise, sixty.”
“Ah don't think ah heard ya right. That's pretty much all yer chips in one.”
Braeburn surveyed his measly remaining funds. “Yeah, you're right.” He shot Mac a grin before pushing all the remaining chips into the pot. “All in, seventy-six.”
He was bluffing. Had to be. Trying to faze him with the mare before making ridiculous bets. And it was almost working, as she picked up her pace again, slamming down onto him with muffled slaps that he hoped Braeburn couldn't hear.
“Call.”
“What'cha got?”
Mac gave him the best smile he could muster with the girl beneath the table riding him that hard. “T-three of a kind, sixes.”
Two of the sixes were on the table, so Braeburn had at least a pair, but even two pairs lost to three of a kind and there was no way-
“Full house, sixes full of eights.”
Shit.
***
It was stuffy under the cloth, especially with her exertions, and Applejack was debating whether to pull it back for some fresh air. Eventually she concluded that Braeburn wasn't at the stage where he'd take kindly to finding his cousin's head between his legs.
She let out another moan, louder this time, though both stallions were too busy to pay much attention, each trying to hold themselves back and using all their willpower to do so.
“Five,” said Big Mac above her.
Their game started to drown out, meaningless background noise as Applejack closed in on her climax. Her hips bounced on Macintosh's lap, taking him fully each time she dropped, feeling him push so wonderfully deep inside her.
It was hard, trying to please both stallions at once, but Braeburn helped her a little – thrusting forward if she grew too complacent with her mouth after getting absorbed in her own pleasure. When he did so she'd redouble her efforts, teasing and licking, slowing her pace at the other end of the table. Eventually she'd quicken until Braeburn's next reminder, reaching a sort of see-sawing equilibrium.
And at the centre of it all was Applejack. That thrill, that pumping adrenaline returned whenever she thought about what she was doing; how risky it was, how easy it would be for them to lift the thin covering and see her there.
Excitement building, she felt Braeburn's cock twitch, close now.
Let it out, you know you want to.
“Th- ah! Thirty-five.” Braeburn couldn't keep it together any longer, his excited gasp a dead give-away. Mac seemed to somehow not notice, probably debating whether or not to go all in – his only option at this point if he wanted to bet.
Braeburn wished he could focus more, but truth be told he couldn't even remember what he had in his hand. He didn't care enough. He might as well have been playing blind, such was his grasp on the current game, his entire world taken up by that roaming tongue, the sensation as it curled around him, running up his length.
He couldn't hold it; she was too good, too eager for it. As Big Mac debated, Braeburn gripped the edges of the table and came into Applejack's waiting mouth.
She swallowed, still around him, gently teasing as he came down from his orgasm. As she pulled back he shot the last of it over her face, hot and sticky. She could feel her own climax approaching, electric shivers running through her body as her brother unknowingly fucked her senseless.
Applejack held back her shout of ecstasy as much as she could, squeezing around him as she dropped to her knees, mind beautifully blank and full of nothing but her enjoyment.
Mac felt her clamp down, shivering in delight. Close already, it was the final straw, and for the first time he moved, thrusting as he fired into his sister. She gave a final, used moan before collapsing to the floor, Big Mac's last spurt landing across her back. She trembled from exhaustion, but never had she felt as satisfied as she did that evening, lying there filled from both ends with a smile on her face.
***
“All in,” said Mac, leaning back in his chair.
“Alright, showdown. What am I up against?”
Mac shrugged. “Honestly, ah have no idea.” He flipped over the cards. Nothing. Queen High. “Damn, how bad did ah lose?”
“I don't know either,” said Braeburn with a grin, showing his hand. A four, which was meaningless, but it was accompanied by the Ace of Spades. “There you have it, Ace high wins and it's two games each. Better luck next year.”
Mac decided that if Braeburn pulled a similar trick he could live with a rematch.
***
“Ah was goin' easy on you.” Macintosh pulled the barn door shut behind them.
“Easy? If you were going easy you wouldn't have hired that little distraction.”
“My distraction? Ah believe ya mean your distraction. Ah don't even want to know where you found her.”
“Wait...” Braeburn looked uneasy. “Are you saying you didn't hire her?”
“Yer damn right ah didn't hire her! Don't try and weasel out of this one. Ah wasn't even gonna mention it, but now y'all are trying to pin this on me-”
“Mac, just wait a damn minute, will you? I didn't-”
There was a small cough from beside them.
“Um, Big Macintosh? Braeburn?” Apple Bloom stepped out of the shadows, looking up with big, worried eyes. “You ain't seen Applejack anywhere, have you? She said she was gonna come help me and Babs plan tomorrow's crusadin', but ah can't find her anywhere...”
The stallions exchanged a glance, an identical sinking feeling in their stomachs.
“When did you last see her?” asked Braeburn, voice strained.
“A few hours back, when she went out to set up the barn for you two. Ah thought she'd be with y'all, but ah guess not.”
“No, sorry, haven't seen her.” Braeburn spoke quickly, firing out the words like a machine gun.
“Nope, just been us all night.” Even Big Mac's words were uncharacteristically hurried.
Apple Bloom sighed. “Okay, well thanks anyways. If you see her, tell her we'll be in the clubhouse.”
“Will do, have a good night!” Braeburn forced a cheery smile.
No. It can't be.
The second Apple Bloom was out of sight the two stallions spun on their heels, galloping towards the barn without a word. Mac slammed the door back, and filled with apprehension they stepped towards the table in the centre, abandoned cards still splayed over its surface. Each took a deep breath, each grabbed a corner of the cloth, and after steeling themselves they threw it back.
Applejack's eyes widened, still lying in her state of bliss, proof of her exploits drying on her body. None of the ponies in that room had ever experienced a more awkward or drawn out silence. She glanced from one stallion to the other, brain whirring for some escape. Some excuse.
“Uhhhhh...” Her voice seemed deafeningly loud in that stunned quiet. “Howdy?”
