Pax's Sexty Minute Pony Stories Submissions

Desert Moon

South of Equestria, far away from the lush forests and rolling hills, sits a single, solitary town: Appleloosa. A sort of “oasis” in the vast rugged wastes of the desert, it sits alone in the face of the harsh elements. In the eyes of most ponies, this backwater town is nothing special, inhabited mostly by the ponies of the earth.

However, there is one thing that sets this town apart from its surroundings. Just near the outskirts sits a veritable forest of apple trees, the largest in this part of Equestria. This orchard, planted in just a year, grew to be the town’s lifeline. But, it has almost brought the town to ruin, its locating angering the neighboring buffalo tribes whose stampeding grounds were covered by the trees. Thankfully, thanks due in part to the deliciousness of apple pies, the two sides came to a truce, and the town continued to prosper.

But, our story is not about the orchard, it being merely the setting. No, our story concerns the lonely soul that trudged through the path in the cold desert night. He walked silently, taking care in not making a sound.
He was a medium sized pony, bright coat and orange mane. He wore a leather vest and a brown cowpony hat sat upon his head. His flanks were marked with the image of a bright red apple, a symbol of his talent and profession.

Braeburned continued glancing behind him, making sure he wasn’t being followed. He knew that what he was about to do was not entirely accepted by everypony in his town. A small part of his mind pleaded with him to come to his senses and turn back, to return to his comfortable bed and forget this all happened. But that small part was drowned out by the larger, less sensible chunk of his brain. At this point, he didn’t rightly care what could have happened.

“You’re late.” A voice called out from the trees, stopping Braeburn in his tracks. He turned to the direction the soft, feminine sound came from and saw what he had come all this way for. She was a small thing, barely reaching the farmer’s height, with a brown coat and an amber mane. Her head was adorned with a bird feather, a symbol of fertility in her tribe. She was a buffalo, and by all intents and purposes, she shouldn’t have been there.

“Ah was, ah was getting us some food,” he answered, gesturing towards the saddlebags hanging from his sides. He lifted the flaps, exposing some plump, freshly picked Red Gala apples. He gave her a small, apologetic smile, which seemed to ease the buffalo.

She returned the smile and gestured towards the trees, beckoning the stallion to follow her. He complied, and they made their way through the mass of branches and roots. After what seemed like a few minutes, they finally reached a small clearing near the edge of the orchard. In the middle, a small fire was burning, warming the otherwise cold night. A large silk blanket was laid out on the ground, far enough from the crackling embers of the fire.

Braeburned stared at the site in amusment. “Ya sure outdid yerself, Strongheart,” he said, “where’d ya get the fire wood?”
Little Strongheart pawed at the ground nervously. “I, um, peeled some of the bark off the trees,” she conceded, “sorry.”
The farmer couldn’t really be mad at her, especially considering the effort she put in setting up this spot. “Ah’ll tell the others that it was termites,” he reassured her. He laid down of the blanket, patting the spot next to him. The buffalo understood the message and lied down next to him, nuzzling his coat softly.

They laid there for a while, merely enjoying each other’s company. “Ah, ah missed you, ya know?” the farmer said, breaking the silence. He accentuated this by placing a small kiss on the native’s head.

Strongheart blushed deeply and responded with a kiss as well, this time on his lips. Braeburned did not object to her boldness, and he closed his eyes, kissing her back with much fervor. When they separated, they looked into lovingly into each other’s eyes.

“Ah love you, darling. The folks back home don’t really like it, but Ah don’t care,” He whispered into her ear.
She smiled and pecked his lips. “Ayoo aniinish'ni,” she returned in her native language, “my tribe may be at peace with yours, but they wouldn’t approve of this.”

Their lips connected again, this time stronger than before. Their mouths opened and their tongues began a lover’s dance. Braeburned felt his stallionhood stand to as they kissed. Judging from the smell of arousal, he could tell she was excited as well.

They missed this, they wanted this, they needed this.

When the need for air forced them to separate, he found himself on top of her, poised at her entrance. He stared at her face, looking for some sort of confirmation before beginning the act. She craned her head up and licked his muzzle; that was all the confirmation he needed.

He entered her, eliciting a gasp from both of them. Weeks of meeting like this have bestowed them a fair amount of experience with sex. They moved like clockwork, him thrusting gently into her, and her moving her hips up to meet his.
Every time they did this, they felt more alive than usual; their love for each other fueling their act with more passion than the love poems of old.

Eventually, the farmer felt the pressure build up in his loins, signaling the end of their fun. He slammed his hips into her and felt himself tense up as he released his seed into her. At the same time, her inner walls clenched as she climaxed, her juices mixing with his.

Fatigue hit him like a stone block and he collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily. He opened his eyes and smiled as he saw her sleeping lightly.

Looks like those apples are gonna have to wait till tomorrow, he thought to himself. He closed his eyes, and fell asleep, next to the buffalo that he loved.

FIN