Farmhand

“Let’s start moving these to the barn.”

Her voice is like a good bourbon, smooth with a twang at the end. It is sultry, inviting, and just super sexy. You hear it a lot through the day, especially in apple season. You had picked up slack around the farm since Mac was out with a sprained wrist for about a month now. You and Applejack were spending about 8 hours out in the orchard, gathering bucket after bucket of apples. It wasn’t easy, especially with the way the Equestrian fall was. You'd estimate it at 85-90 degree weather for the past week, with no signs of cooling down. You were shirtless most of the time, but Applejack preferred to keep something on, today it was a blue and white plaid shirt that barely got to her belly button. It covers her (usually bra-less) chest and that’s all that mattered.

You just finished bringing in the haul for the day, and you had brought in all but two, AJ behind you with the penultimate. You were both tired from today, it hit 90 for a good 4 hours of today, so there was quite a bit of sweat buildup from the both of you.

“Grab that last bushel and we can begin counting how many we got today.”

You went out to grab the last one, it was pretty heavy, at least for the end of the day. You wipe your brow and stare out to the orchard as you reflect on the day, killing time before you had to lift one last time. As you bring it in, the thought crosses your mind of maybe having a bit of fun with AJ afterwards, after a shower of course. You built up quite a stink after today.

You walk in to the barn drop your bushel as you see what’s waiting for you in the barn.

“It ain’t gonna suck itself, Sugarcube.”

She was reclined on a throne of hay, her shirt popped open and her C-cup teardrop boobs resting on her chest. Light brown freckles were splattered on her collarbone, a lighter shade than the chocolate-brown nipples. Her hat was still on, adorned on her blond mane, with the green eyes, lidded lashes, and smirk creating the biggest “come hither” look you’ve seen out of her in a while. But that wasn’t as important as what was below.

She had removed her pants, underwear, and boots, her pride and joy straight up in the air. The scent of her hit you immediately as you walk in. You could practically cut it with a knife, it was so strong. The red-orange shaft stood proud at a modest 9 inches, the shaft about 5 inches around, the head already a bit flared at 6, maybe 7. Her balls are about the size of extra-large eggs, and her whole package is adorned with small beads of sweat. The pièce de résistance, however, is the trail of precum sliding down her shaft. The trail glistens from the sunlight in the open door, and was a foggy-clear color. You hadn’t really had time to yourself in this season, but with it winding down, I guess she felt the time was right. So you were both a bit pent up from the hard work and time off.

“Well?”