Part I - Dark Woods and Bright Huts
Glowing with Passion
B_25 & Brony-Wan-Kenobi
~ I ~
Dark Woods and Bright Huts
Cold winds licked across her bare skin. Trees of towering dark wood made the world and covered the sky in deep green clouds of foliage. Deep in the woods was where Applejack found herself. Finding herself there alone.
The Everfree Forest never ceased to amaze. It always took her sense of balance and tilted it slightly to the left. It didn't matter who entered, what you did, coming or leaving, staying or going—its cold touch tickled in places not usually sensitive.
Applejack sighed while she walked through the carved path, only it and where it led clear, and everything else bloated with trees and bushes and other such things. She didn't mind the forest. Or tall grass brushing against her feet, damp spades filling in the crevice between her toes, the cold and nearly slimy texture stirring a mixture of delight and disgust.
“Least I’m off the farm for a while,” Applejack muttered to herself, sighing once more. Within seconds, her mind flashed with images of her brother, head low and shoulders lower, silent and sad. It’d been a while since he came home like that. “But comin’ out here ain’t exactly helpin’ the head either.”
Her eyes drifted shut. Risk in a place like this. But the prospect of growling timberwolves paled to the images of her mind. Besides, closing her eyes and exhaling heavily, slowly, made her body expel her stress with every breath.
No words. No grunts. No breathing.
Applejack eyes clenched while she repressed the rising of her thoughts—but fighting her anxiety head-on always intensified it. The black world of her mind brightened with shooting lines of red and orange and green.
Comin’ back home in the rain, not even his feet makin’ the wood creak. Not speakin’ a word. Stayin’ in his room when he wasn’t hard at work. Applejack fought back the familiar sting in the corner of her eyes. Always havin’ to keep to himself when he has a family worried for him… would it kill the boy to speak up!? Keeping himself alive but always disappearing…
There was no sense in fighting those thoughts. No amount of giving Big Mac work off and covering for his duties ever seemed to do him any good. She’d find him out on the field anyways. Slumped against a tree, gazing lazily into the sun, never blinking but always thinking.
Sometimes, it looked like he bled more relaxing than working.
A branch crunched. Sickening cracks crying from beneath her foot calling for the opening of her eyes. Applejack whipped her head around with her heartbeat rising, skin sweating, gazing around for danger only to find more trees flanking all around her.
She sighed. All of this was wounding her up to no avail. Unable to help her brother, by talking to him or taking his work, her best efforts gone... not quite ignored—but something close. Her teeth bit into her bottom lip while metaphorical ones did the same into her heart.
There was nothing Applejack could do following Big Mac's breakup, but with that being said, there was something another lovely lady could do to ease his wounds. And just as the thought spun upon the cowgirl, the distant hut of stone came to loom in the distance.
Applejack kept walking even with the heavy weight upon her shoulders, a blush taking to her orange cheek and an itch at the back of the throat that no amount of coughing could clear. Suddenly, she felt so very exposed—her dark-blue denim shorts hugging her upper-thighs, leaving the rest of the bulky muscle exposed to the word.
The button shirt leaving her blouse exposed didn't help. Neither did the sandals she wore out to the forest. Even her stetson felt small on top of her head. The memory of before only made what was to come next make Applejack wish she wore a blanket around her body she could hide away inside.
Applejack had taken her brother's share of work that saw her to the edge of the forest. Only when her cart was full did she hear a creak echo, not from the wooden wheels. Her head had whizzed up, and her gaze had been taken deeper into the forest—sticks breaking, growls sizzling, breathing sounding.
Such a situation drew her feet closer with a rope uncurling into her hand. The closer she got, the louder the sounds became. Not sound but sounds. More than one person. Which one of her workers dared going this deep into the forest? Had they been attacked?
Applejack wrang out her rope while opening her mouth to yell. But when she stumbled upon the two, the people creating the sounds—she, for the first time in a month, heard the first sound of her brother. Not just a sound, but groans of pleasure.
That, of course, came with the following sight.
Zecora didn't so much stand as be bent over by the hunk in red. Barely anything covered her grey fur—brown leather sprawling over her wrists, a thin cloth hanging between her thighs, pulled taut by spread legs—while she hugged her chest against a base of a tree.
Applejack... never expected to see such a thing before. Stunned. A voice trapped at the bottom her throat. She watched her brother to ram his thick cock into the perky, tight ass of her striped, rhythmic friend.
Feelings of disgust, a rising shame, the need to turn away. Those were all worthy things to feel, to endure, and to do. Yet, none of those things occurred. Moments of shock could be justified for eyes to be kept on the scene, but once a minute has passed, the list of justifications ran short.
What was Applejack supposed to say? What was she supposed to do? Watching her brother’s fat cock beat deeper into that tight ass, bending the zebra forward, his wide crotch smacking into her plush flanks, stuffing his dick fully inside. His balls, slapping, against her thighs and producing delicious slaps.
And their raw speed! Applejack stumbled back. The intensity of her brother’s thrusting, hips flying, crotch smacking, fucking the poor, small girl without any regard for their difference in size or strength.
Zecora grunted without groaning. Despite being fucked like a sex toy, something minuscule enduring something massive, she backed her ass against his every pump—head yanked back whenever he gripped her long hair.
Applejack had seen, experienced, and enjoyed rough sex. But her experiences had never been this raw.
What in the hay do you think you’re doin’ girl!? Get your head outta of the bushes! This is your brother you’re admiring here.
Applejack ditched the memory as the tickle of grass transitioned to smooth stone beneath her feet. She slowed. Pausing before the door to the hut, her body hot despite cool winds, skin burning even though shorts and a button up shirt was all she wore, she knocked on the door.
“Er, Zecroa? Yoo-hoo? Anyone home?” Applejack tapped her knuckles against the door, lightly, nearly wishing its sound didn’t reach the one inside. Being nervous was unlike her. The couple, during their intercourse, hadn’t caught her… but even still, she suspected they still knew. Mac had asked her to come here, now, on short notice. “Big Mac said to come see ya 'bout—“
The door creaked open.
“Ah! My friend Applejack! I am happy to see that you are back.” Zecora appeared behind the frame, stepping to the side, her eyes glowing blue. “I hope your journey found you well for you have come before the bell. But please. Do come inside.”
Applejack didn’t complain, watching the zebra gesture a hand inside. Without another word, she entered, the creak of the door following behind her.
“You may take a seat before the pot, while I go through this lot.”
The hut laid bare like usual. Stone shelves filled with decorations. Applejack ambled to chair in the middle of the room, sitting down, and fidgeting in place. “As I'm sure you must know, your brother and I together have grown.”
There was some growin’ there, alright.
“As I'm sure you are well aware, my tribe and I are known for different kinds of wares.” Zecora neared the other side of the hut, turning around and bending forward, sticking out her perky little derriere. Underneath the short cloth worn around her hips, supple and striped cheeks peeked out from its shadow. “The customs of our culture may to some be strange, but nothing for them to be afraid.”
Applejack shook her head while lifting her hands. “Hey there! Go easy there, sister. I ain’t the kind of girl that needs gifts.” Her hands collapsed onto her lap. “You’ve already helped plenty gettin’ that funk out of that red grump.”
Zecora rose and, this time, with strands of shiny white twirled around her finger. She turned with a smile, placing her other hand on her lithe hips and pushing them left. “This is no mere gift, my friend. Such tattoos are traditions to give a tattoo to the eldest sister of the stallion we are intertwined with.”
That’s what all of this was about? Getting a temporary tattoo? It didn't make a lick of sense to Applejack on why that would even be a thing—but she fought to shake her head from those thoughts. The last time she'd made assumptions about Zecora was about her wanting to eat her little sister.
Applejack has since tried to avoid assuming altogether.
“So that's all this is about? Putting a tattoo on me?” Applejack chuckled while gazing down at her wrist. Her sleeves had already been rolled up and, with that, she held out her arms.“Guess I'd have to take a look at the design first.”
Zecora approached her with a knowing smile. Something was off about the way she sauntered over. Never before—except the first time they met—did Applejack feel any fear towards her. But now, there was something strangely sexual about everything she did.
Was it the outfit? Zecora never dressed heavily, not looking much different when he had been nude and… yeah. The zebra wore loose brown cloth over her chest, covering the tiny mounds of grey; breasts the size of apples, and yet, equally juicy to the eye.
It made them more attractive in a way—small enough to fit in a palm, half a squeeze consuming every inch of their size. Tight. Everything about the zebra was tight in a delightful way. Tight hips and tight chest and tight ass; a compressed body supplemented.
Zecora walked with a poise leaking pheromones. She wore sandals and nothing more. With only a covered crotch, the compression of her thighs laid exposed, shifting delightfully with her stride, accentuating the treasure of the pussy nestled between them, plump against the fabric. Easily seen if looked for.
“I'm afraid this emblem is not one for the arm.” Zecora came to the wall behind Applejack, pulling a stool and dragging it in front of the orange girl. “It is more special than superficial. This symbol reflects one's being, and thus, goes on the belly.”
Applejack shivered. Her shirt had already been rolled over her taut stomach, clinging beneath her chest. Her hands rose to cover the area, it feeling exposed, but fought them down to her lap. She may have been uncomfortable—but disrespect would cause all to feel sour.
“You're... really sure you have to do this?” Applejack leaned back into her chair, sighing, while a chill settled over her tummy. She enjoyed showing off both her curves and her tightness, her body more freely express and exposed than others—but in the presence of the exotic, suddenly, her freedom of body suddenly felt a bit too exposed.
“It’s been our way longer than memory.” Zecora sat on the stool, leaning in close, an inch too far, while she the sheet grabbed in her other hand. It glinted for a moment. Curling lines of tribal aesthetic. They tingled in Applejack’s eyes with feelings of something ancient. “Unless we give this to the sister of our beloved, it shows our love extends to only one instead of all.”
What in tarnation did that mean? No point in pushing the matter forward. All of this bloated the air with an awkwardness that made it dense to breathe. From the barely dressed zebra to how exposure her orange fuzz—Applejack wanted to leave, to get out this sinisterly sexual situation.
Applejack let her head fall forward. “Alrighty then. If this means something special to you—then I don't mind so much.” She leaned back in the chair, leaving her taut, orange belly exposed. “Guess there ain't much wrong with rocking a new charm on the farm.”
Zecora grinned. “Your first rhythm! Interesting too! That's not supposed to happen until the tribal tattoos are applied!”
Applejack blinked. “W-What now? Oh no! You don't mean—“
Small white fingers pressed against Applejack lips, closing them while the zebra laughed softly. “Nothing more than a joke. Please, however, keep still. Doing this twice won't feel very nice.”
The sheet froze the trimmed fuzz of the belly, nearly causing it to suck in. The rest of the tattoo sprawled across her crotch, dangerously near the top of her waistband, close to the place beyond sensitive from previous events.
“And now we are done! The tradition is now complete.” Zecora peeled the sheet off from her belly, leaving the black spirals across her crotch. It cooled the spot, a sensitive heat beneath suppressed, glowing dimly green—then ceasing. “And might I say, it accentuates your natural beauty far more than I had expected.”
Applejack knew better than to comment about what 'natural beauty' even entailed. She was all for others who enjoyed expressing all that made them sexual, more in tune with that aspect of themselves... but she couldn't quite see herself falling in that same direction.
At least, that's what she thought.
The next several days came in a multitude of tortures the cowgirl had never experienced before in her life. Never explicit. Nothing outright telling her something was wrong. Not at all. Those delights came in subtle packages that tickled her thighs with a feather, pinching her sensitive tush with denim shorts feeling suddenly too small.
A wetness quivering from her needy, burning, desperate pussy.
Applejack's body twisted as her leg struck a tree. She yelped, orange cheeks burning red, her thong digging into her crotch, wedging between her folds. The cotton rubbed against her skin, teasing her to the point her legs trembled. She feared putting her leg down, panting from the strike, fearing cumming then and there.
What caused her to be so wound up? How did cold showers burn her skin hotter? Applejack hadn't been the same, that was, since catching her brother fucking the zebra savagely in the ass; two primal beasts indulging in their basest desires: pumping and thrusting and fucking, sexual bliss in its most natural state.
Applejack clenched her eyes. There was no way any thoughts of her brother would lead down such a road. But try as she might, even as her foot smacked into the grass again, the idea of his delicious thick hips, so wide and strong, beating into the small backside of that tiny zebra...
She turned and leaned against the tree, panting, every exhale an explosion of steam. The sun licked the hill she stood on. It’d been closer ever since that day. Maybe that’s why she was so hot, being so in heat, being so sweaty and dirty and needing.
“Doin’ alright, sis?”
Applejack fought the shock to jump upon hearing the rise of his masculine voice. Bass, lower than low, tingling her spine into sinking from underneath its command. The tall red boy had come to her right, carrying a wooden basket with both arms, the girth of his muscles exposed beneath his rolled-up sleeves.
“D-Doin' just fine.” Dirty half-lies because she couldn't tell him the truth. Panting. Sweating. Burning. “Just... worked a little too hard without thinkin’ to bring any water.”
Big Mac shook his head. “We’ve talked ‘bout this! Ain’t no shame in takin’ care of yourself. You ain’t set on beatin’ anyone else on the field so why are you tryna beat yourself.”
“Just a little wound up is all. My mind ain't exactly in the right place as of late.” Now if that wasn’t the truth. Her eyes flicked down for a second, admiring the tight pants hugging the muscles of his round thighs, his shirt clinging to the trenches in-between his abs—round pecs of red threatening to burst through the shirt. “But I'll be alright once I get some rest. You... don't have to worry about me.”
But Big Mac didn’t look convinced. His face narrowed as he turned away, his dense shadow blanketing over her tiny frame. She’d been taller, stronger than her friends and, while she felt big in her own right, those feelings crumbled in her brother’s shadow.
He easily towered over her. His frame spanning twice her own. A powerful, red body accompanied by a deep voice. Stoic and silent; slow and deliberate. Something about him, despite being a farmer, urged others to earn his respect, to prove they their presence worthy rather than the reverse.
“Don't need you passin' out here.” Big Mac Shook his head. “Especially not in this heat.” He set the basket on the grass, rising and turning back to her, coming to hold out his arms. “If you ain't feel well, I can carry ya—“
“I really did mean it when I said I was fine!” Applejack nearly lost face as her back slid down the tree, her clad bottom pushing against the wood, diving her thong deeper into her crack and tighter against her slit. Landing on the ground, her cheeks pressing against the hardness, nearly causing her pussy into finishing. “Just need a moment to catch my breath is all. That’s all it is, alright?”
Big Mac watched her, like a giant to a child, towering over her. Her neck craned back to his frame in, doing her best not whimper at seeing his chest pressed against his shirt. A sexual pec of sheer masculinity.
How could someone else be that hard, so strong, so... raw? His hardness made her softness tingle in delight and demand to be kneaded. To have his strong hands brushing over the back of her shorts, squeezing the fabric and the cheeks buried beneath, teasing her smallness with a restraint power.
Monstrous hands so light.
Why had she become so... needy of him as of late? It didn't make sense. Like any other girl, gifted with well-endowment and knowing what it looked like in the opposite sex—she was as guilty to perverted fantasies like anyone else.
But actually craving him! Stuttering in his proximity, blazing with heat inside his cool shadow. Again and again. The damned sensations teasing her around. How her legs curled together, thighs welling close, pressing against the crotch of her shorts.
“Ya really sure you're okay?”
“More than okay—now git!”
Big Mac kept still, maybe struck by the strange curiosity of the scene, but seeming to know better than to question it. Shaking his head, he lowered his arms to his sides, shurgging. He turned and picked up the basket once more. “Suit yourself. I'll send Bloom to scout the fields with water if ain’t back in ten.”
He left down the hill, and Applejack knew, without a doubt, she hardly made it out of that interaction with honor still intact.
The shallow glow of blue, a cool night, had finally came.
Applejack laid her back against her bed, above the covers, eyes unable to close—ears twitching, painfully, at every groan, moan, and everything in-between coming from down the hall of the second floor.
The couple didn't hide their lust. Sharp creaks of a bed intermixed with whispers, muffled by walls and becoming echoes due to distance.
No point in trying to sleep.
Not when Applejack wasn't tired, body aching but in a different sense, a heat, burning beneath her skin, ticking every inch of her and denying any possible exhaustion. The rising moans, the deep groans, the wet slaps and sweet sounds of a savage fucked—everything about it hot, enough to make anyone feel just as hot.
Getting caught wasn't a fear of theirs. Apple Bloom had just left to spend the weekend to stay with her friends, and Granny Smith—well, she hadn't done much of any hearing in these last few years. That left only one in the house.
And even then, with it being Applejack, the two felt no need to keep quiet about their lust.
Applejack hated that. How her eyes clenched, trying to repress the pitch of their moans, but in the darkness behind her lids, she saw the images those sounds suggested. Zecora, with her front against the headrest, a red hand gripping her neck, keeping her pinned, fucking her as hard as he desired, as quickly as he liked.
Celestia... when did Applejack become so naughty with her thoughts? Her round ass now feeling tight, her curved chest feeling like they were overfilling in size, the contractions of her pussy itching at the prospect of finally being filled. She'd long since lost her shame when the fires of arousal caged her body.
But breaking free was impossible.
Whenever that stupid stud came close, there was no stopping the glowing heat radiating above her crotch. Pressing a finger against her orange skin caused it to sizzle. It wasn't enough to masterbate now. Slipping a hand through the back of her shorts, cupping a handful of orange suppleness against her palm, squeezing—nothing.
Applejack never felt herself so lost to her heat before, feeling like the sun, burning everything but past her skin. The rising pressure of sexual deprivation locking her deeper into repressed frustration.
It killed her. Slaughtering her heart and nipping at her folds. The knowledge that those sexual beings fucked and sucked and did as their delights requested. No clothing to hide away sexual pleasures that so desperately wanted to be exposed and expressed.
Applejack should have known better than to go this low, trying this far to release everything repressed—but panting in bed, with beads of sweat covering her face, all because she did nothing became too much. This damned arousal, all this accursed heat; something had to go before she blew.
That's why she came to sit up in her bed, propping her back against its frame, slipping her hand out of her shorts. Clothing. Tight, contracting articles that suppressed so much of what needed to be expressed.
Away with them!
Applejack was vaguely aware of her heavy breathing while her hands worked at her belt, struggling to uncollapse it, rolling the head back and groaning while she pulled the band through the loops. Each inch slid across released some of the pressure bound against her body, inching toward freedom away from all this imploding.
The belt freed with a metal click. No need to worry anymore about that tool. She held it over the side of the bed and then let go, not caring for the thud of metal against the wooden floor, hoping that it would clue those two into knowing that Applejack could make some noise too.
Next came the shorts. Those were harder than she had expected. Sucking on her skin and draining it of life, they had to be pulled, one tug at a time on each side, tugged lower, and lower, a horrible hugging of the fabric as it squeezed her thighs into bursting from the pressure.
But after an intense squeeze, a scoring and soaring heat billowing out from them both, a breeze brushed over her skin. The shorts slacked between her knees, pulled over the arch of her legs.
Applejack didn't bother touching them, twirling them around until they reached her feet and then kicking them off into the room—they sizzled upon striking the wooden floor.
But, still, that wasn’t enough.
Glancing down her body, it told her what remained to be done. Her exposed, plush, orange cheeks welled against the bed, propping her body slightly up, yet clothing still restrained her. The cotton of the dark-green panties cupped her bottom too tightly, her natural sexuality begging to be free.
Even more than that feeling, however, were the round breasts, too big for her small top, stretching the fabric to its limits. Applejack rolled her head back in elation at that sharp difference; something setting her apart for that sexy zebra.
Where Zecora's petite frame rendered her body cute, her breasts were a size just above apples, and while that accentuated her exotic charm—it was also the founding difference between them.
Applejack didn't take her top off straight away.
No.
What fun would there be in unleashing her tightly-bounded mammaries so quickly? So full, round, a set of perfect orange melons barely restrained by the thin fabric. She'd forgone a bra.
They only wounded her further.
Soft panting broke the air as the sheets crumpled beneath her shifting. Applejack laid a hand against her belly, above her crotch, like her palm had rested against a hot mug. Holding it there, some of the heat within her belly breathed out breathed, her fingers adjusted and adapted to the heat.
Be it a trick of her mind, the heat fogged inside her head as well, with a glow warming against her palm. Pulsating, slowly, emitting additional heat. Damn. Flames beneath the skin soared through her veins again.
“Oh... n-no you... don't.” That same hand slid up her belly, fingers appreciating its tiny width, a diet hard to keep, a workout regime keeping her beyond tight, though with some freedoms, in eating small snacks and taking long naps, that allowed some fat to expand the cheeks of her ass, a softness to expand her breasts to round perfection. “Mmhmm... aren't I just... the perfect little thang...”
Those words were lies, not outright meant, for they lowered the flames within. Repressing that which burned underneath her skin, rendering her folds dry patches of skin and darkened fur, that perfect little tunnel desperate for lubrication.
Torture. Applejack clenched her eyes to repress her exasperation. It took every inch of willpower to not rip off her panties, to not shove her fingers into her cunny, probing herself, feeling herself, thrusting into herself.
But this heat bested her. It wouldn't give itself away to such a telly act. Like riding a bucking bull, she had to keep on top of it or lose the feeling, the pleasure, the expression once and for all.
That's why when her hand finally slipped underneath her shirt that her eyes nearly rolled to the back of her head. She didn't know why her tits were so sensitive, brushing over the hill of her orange breast lighting fires across the fields of fur, igniting a flaming brush pricking beneath the skin.
This wouldn't be enough. Applejack rolled up her head while biting into her bottom lip, repressing a groan when it was moans she was supposed to be making. Though her breasts, these aching things of sensitive skin—no amount of teasing, of brushing fingers brushing over their slope, could ever execute the raw, beating need to be pleased.
“Don't do me in like this.” Applejack's hand pressed back against the interior of her shirt, pushed there by the welling of her orange mound, unable to contain all of its marshmallow fatness into her palm. Her hand squeezed at it, welling the softness between her fingers, but her gripping, her kneading—it teased and never succeed in edging her over. “H-How... how am I no good for my own body!”
Anger. Hatred. Sadness. They boiled, and they welled, and they flew. Her other hand tightly curled the sheets of the bed, digging her nails through the fabric, unable to restrain the wounded need to be pleased. Even letting herself go, kneading her own breasts without a notion of shame, like a boy touching one for the first time did nothing to fulfill the aching beneath it all.
Her body, aching, without stopping.
“Aw, shucks? Who am I tryin' kid?” Applejack pulled her hand out of her top and rose the other from the bed, using them both to undo the buttons in the middle of her top, and upon popping a few, moan in release her melons bursting into freedom. “Just haven't been givin' it a full, hardy try!”
Applejack shook her head and freed the long lock of golden hair against her back, shaking the rest of her body as the shirt came sliding down her arms. Grabbing a sleeve with a hand, she tossed to the side of the room—a wave of heat becoming free from her top, like the bunched steam inside a sauna bursting freely through an opened door.
With both of her jugs exposed to the world, they didn't slag in the slightest from her chest, full and impossibly buoyant, they considered gravity only a gentle suggestion. Of course, with the dreamlike mood of the night, Applejack took a moment to do something unlike her.
She admired her best, sexual assets.
The perfections of her breast. Smooth fur of orange coursing over the soft slope of the hill of softness, the initial layer firm, but everything underneath softer than soft. Perfect proportions with a balanced heaviness to them both. It may have been shameful to admit it more, but Applejack had no problem wondering it now—how she'd been blessed with such a great rack.
Applejack continued to breathe heavily while she sat back, lifting both hands before her face, appreciating their slender size. Smooth fingers and trimmed nails. Below, her tits hardened in the air, warmed by the heat of her body against the cool breeze always a foot away from her.
The circular fuzz around her tits darkened the closer it neared to their base. A dark shade of pink coated the two, hardening nipples, each twitching upward, in minuscules spurts, a contracting hardness that welled the aching feeling within them to lip-biting extremes.
Why did it have to be like this?! Applejack outright panted as the coursing flames of arousal burned hotter at her body. Little twitches of the legs shifted her body in place, little pricks of a needle stabbing at different, small spots over her cheeks—her breasts contracted into themselves, hungry to be squeezed by a big, hard, steady hand; nipples stiff, begging for lips, to kiss and lick and suck.
But nothing did the trick. Not even throwing her own hands upon her plump swellings of orange, a sheen across the fur at collecting her sweat, every squeeze, every knead like a pinch when she needed a grab. Unable to pump her own breasts to satisfaction; what the hell was happening to her?
Applejack closed her eyes, arching her hips into the air, groping her tits. Hard. Harder. Tight. Tighter. Near suffocation. Lock the fingers together through the flaps spilling out through the gaps, pinching at the welling softness, a touch higher of pressure—decreasing the intensity of aching only by a smudge.
It didn't work.
No amount of effort could reduce the pleasure. Her tongue lolled past her lips, slapping against her chin lazily; an animal lost to its primitive heat. Her body burned, and her basic touch couldn't cool. If one's own acts failed, then doing more, applying more, would only damn that feeling even worse.
Moans echoed from down the hall.
Could that be the trick? Applejack rolled her head against the pillow while looking to the door, seeing the latch not locked over, knowing that nothing would hide her. Big Mac's throaty groans; Zecora's occasional squeals, creaking and cracking, high up, in the most adorable pitches... sinking and soaking down into low moans; like whimpers of a bitch fucked slowly and laboriously.
Applejack turned her head away from the door, gazing over the peaks of her settled breasts, down the slim landscape of her body down to the surge of heat between her legs. Dark-green cotton damp and matted, the fabric more wet than dry, drying, like the pussy it tried to hide.
Was this taking things too far? Listening in strictly to the couple fucking savagely down the hall? Hearing the meaty slaps of masculine thighs clapping into the supple cheeks of a tiny ass, the raw sounds of sex, of intercourse, of two beings releasing the heat that boiled from the peaks of their sexuality?
Applejack curled her head, up and down, left and right, ceasing the fight. She kept a hand pressed against a breast, meshing it outward with pleasure, holding a palm covering where the steam escaped. The other searched down to her belly, rubbing over it, in small and slow circles, light traces of her nails brushing over the skin.
Nasty. Dirty. The sounds of sex coming down from the hall, the heights of bliss coming from her brother of all creatures. Was this even right? Her fingers traced over the marking left on her belly, following each line its sprawl, moaning, feeling something becoming unlocked.
Her hand touched down on the crotch of her panties.
The contact rocked her spine. A shiver exploding in bursts of tingles across her spine. But how was this the case? Beads of sweat washed down her body as the main course had yet to begin. The damn aching, the sinister welling, that itch, pulsating, from deep within her cunny.
It took a few moments of teasing for things to make sense within the haze of her mind. With her bottom lip tucked into her mouth, AJ knew what she did. How her fingers slid up and down the cotton, pressing into the thin fabric, feeling her plump mounds on the other side. Her folds, once dry, drenched themselves in her wetness.
But it wouldn't be like the times before. Oh, no. She'd learned her lesson from when she first tried to deal with the heat. Applejack wasn't strong. She didn't have the strength to press upon her softness with the hardness it craved. No amount of her pressure could bring her pleasure over.
Time for a change in tactics.
Applejack's ears perked up to the distant creaking, of the small bed strained to its full capacity, holding the two savage lovers. Listening to the brother and friends while they fucked like animals. There wasn't any shame in indulging this low anymore.
What the body wanted—it got its wishes.
“Going at it so loudly while you're lil' sister is here... are you dirtier than you let on... Big Mac?” Applejack giggled at her words, every exhale a release of steam. Her fingers dived up high, right against the small nub which barely pressed against the cotton. “And you Zecora. Always exposing yourself like that. Naked all the time.”
Her head rolled back at the high moan of the zebra, uttering her own while rubbing circles into her clit, milking the pleasure while the distant pitch rose! But then it fell. Fading away. And her fingers dipped low, below, against her gaping little hole at the husky growls of her brother.
Each growl cracked the air with power. The slapping of his muscles a hungry whispering of masculinity. Applejack didn't bother with the shame, a hot blush occupying her cheeks while her fingers dipped into her hole, fabric included, stretching the cotton as deep into herself as it could.
That's how it came. That's how it went. Moans drawing swirling fingers over her clit; groans sucking pumping fingers into her hole. The green fabric welled with her juices. Soaked to its every fibre.
Applejack, the pervert sister, masturbating to the distant sounds of sex, her brother and her friend, savagely fucking, all for her amusement. But fuck did it feel good. The release of the heat oozing out between her lips. Her cum thicker, denser, gooier than usual.
Fear came. Quickly for her; slowly for them. The rises of their sounds, the creaks growing and the moans blowing and the bliss flowing through the air. One didn't have to be there, from the floor rocking, to know the lovers were reaching the finale of their ecstasy.
Applejack whipped her head around like it would help, knowing that she had no aids to relieve herself with, nothing else that could help her express the burning arousal. Quickly, she lifted her heavy ass off the bed with hands reaching to her hips, tugging the thin strands of green down her thighs, over her legs, and off her ankles.
Bare, and ready.
Heat rolled freely off her body, but even then, she still felt like a furnace. Applejack settled the cheeks of her ass against the bed, rocking back and forth on them, hoping to quell the pricks tingling across their smooth slope. Her legs spread wide, thick orange thighs falling out of the way, leaving the steamy slit, nestled below the tattoo, exposed to the world.
Applejack didn't bother with the foreplay.
One set of fingers pressed against her mounds, sinking into a layer of squish, rubbing them for only a second. Then, her index fingers hovered over to the inner of her folds, pressing out against both, spreading herself wide for what came next.
Her ring and middle finger curled into her hand, aimed at her contracting, steamy, open hole. Pumping themselves inside, the cowgirl threw back her head, great hair dancing in every direction, a shudder rocking her shoulders from the penetration.
Harder... faster... louder! Applejack swayed her head in place at the squeals bursting through her lips, the whines of pleasure cracking at their own pitch. The cacophony of her brother and friend fucking down the hall filled the house with sounds of sex, creaking and moaning and slapping, blistering her pussy into a twitchy needy thing.
But as her fingers pumped into herself. As her back rocked against the sheets. While her breasts swung in place, so full and so round, their movements slight due to their firmness. During the meshing of her cheeks, up and down the mattress.
All of this, gone, at the final moan.
No. No No.
The lovers broke into yells of each other names with wet slaps and smooth smacks cracking the wood of the walls. Following the sounds of splashing, rising at the lowering of their breaths, the creak of the bed gave a final cry—before the two collapsed upon it.
Applejack blinked. The cooling heat of her body, within seconds of silence, soared with intensity. Each pump of her fingers tucking deeper within the welling tightness found, with pain instead of pleasure, the sides of her fingers scratching against dry walls.
It didn't make any sense! Like some magical essence messing with function and fluctuation of her body. Biting both of her lips inward, biting hard upon the plushness—it took away the pain of pumping a dry pussy... but at bringing no pleasure.
Applejack huffed through bit lips. Had being a dirty, incestuous pervert really the cause of her wetness? Her eyes closed, and her imagination exploded. The mental image of Zecora, her knees and hands sinking into the mattress, her long, white and black tail, held up by a strong hand, raised a little higher than needed while a big, fat cock pumped, filled, and savaged her tiny little pussy—walls clenching down on his girth, milking his taste, savouring the true feeling, the utmost bliss of actual hardness.
Hard. Hardness. A rock, somehow, made soft.
Applejack did something she wasn't supposed to do. It happened on occasions during hard times, hazy minds, blistering crotches. Rolling onto the side while a breast meshed into the bed, and a cheek rose into the air, Applejack pumped her fingers deeper into her cunny, risking three, and spreading them wide.
But slowly, and beyond naughty, the image of the striped zebra transition into the wide, slender, orange farm girl. Applejack chuckled against her hurting lips, shameful at the exaggeration the deepest part of her being conjured up—but, at the moment, complaining about it was foolish.
The width of her orange butt, so much more round, filled out to the limit, firm yet plush, supple but soft. The jiggle of her cheeks backing into Mac's crotch, like a marshmallow flying at a stone well, meshing and welling against.
Like such a thing would stop her. It was the aspect of the game that made her little pussy moist. Beating her cheeks against his crotch, while his cock launched within her tightness, spreading her out, collecting her tightly. It didn't matter how hard she backed her butt into his crotch, it would never submit, and all her softness could do was spread against his hardness.
But that was the point. The desire to beat and get fucked by something hard and unbeatable. To do her best, to get fucked so hard, only to reach her hardest backward thrust, the tightest clench of her pussy—all for Mac to grab her tail, yanking it up, and truly thrust against her ass, truly stretch her pussy out to its extreme, a dormant power now unleashed to the expecting, but slightly suspecting little girl.
To go from partner in sex to a mere sex toy, for the towering hunk, coated in red.
But even as intense as her imagination burned the fantasy in the back of her eyes, the masculine musk her lungs hungered for had only the weak scent from between her legs to settle on. The long tuft of her pubic fuzz trapped in the scent, sure, the only natural part Applejack left untouched about herself—but it barely trapped in the smell she so badly wanted to stuff her snout into.
The smell she desired wasn't feminine, oh no, the tingles shooting underneath her skin craved dense masculinity.
And her fingers, deep inside her and far too slender, could never spread that hole of hers to the limit, for her walls to contract, fruitlessly, against something long, something hard, something she could barely handle to keep inside of herself at all.
Then. The pain became too much. Efforts to reach high, to go over the edge, beat the feeling into herself too hard, constant masturbation went on too long—both her, and her body, needing rest from the vain efforts.
And the heat returned.
As did a knock on the door.
Author's Note
Can I recall the last time I wrote regular sex?
It's been some times I've written about a couple that's, let us say, regular size? Micro and macro are my jam, but if it becomes all that I write about, then the fundamental way I write sex will change. Not only that—but I will get worse for it.
Why does B state this as the case?
Because everything informs something else. What is useful for one may be helpful for something else, even though contexts and uses be different, something fundamental applies to both.
What I mean by this is that, if I keep writing micro, then I'll keep using the same stuff within that genre. When I write outside of micro, I am forced to try and do different techniques, some of which, be it descriptions or character interactions, may inform something else, something new and different that will work in micro.
Hence why I was glad when Brony-Wan came to me for a different kind of idea, something I wouldn't typically have written on my own—but giving me the chance to experiment with something new for, in having done so, I've learned and earned a few new tools to apply to the rest of my written works.
As for the theme wedged beneath the skin of this story... catch my notes in Part II.
Part II - Specialty in Sexuality
~ PART II ~
Specialty in Sexuality
Applejack's heart peaked in pitch while her fingers froze against her crotch. She rolled at once, trying to slip underneath the covers—only for them to be tucked into the corners, underneath the pillow, pinned as well underneath the mass of her ass.
“J-Just a second!” Her fingers slipped out of her cunt, leaving her tunnel contracting, hungry, a desperate slit poking out further from her mounds. Head whipping around, her shiny green eyes shot around the floor for discarded clothing. “Just gettin' undressed for bed! Give me a moment to—“
The metallic click of the door froze her body, the creaking of its wooden frame paused her heart. A footstep. Then two. A zebra now in her room, standing beyond her cracked open door, still, silent, holding a pot, with a brush sunk into its depths, a hand holding the two wooden handles over its top.
“Your brother and I heard your cries from your plight.” Zecora smiled with a step closer, each creak of the floor underneath her stride like a crack of lighting on a silent night. Sinister. But without ill intent. “Do not have any fright. Come to judge you, I have not.”
Applejack felt small. The character of a child merely controlling an older girl's body. Feelings like these were ones she enjoyed, but only in privacy. Giving herself up here, before this smaller, more expressive girl—giving up a fight so quickly would result in a foul defeat.
“That's good! Because I'm doing plenty of judging for us both.” Applejack turned to the side of the bed and cast her feet to the ground. Her words did nothing to deter Zecora's gaze. Still set upon her. Eyes resting between her legs. “I don't know how your kind deals in privacy, but 'round these parts, we're a fan of keepin' our privates private!”
“That so?” Zecora walked from the shadow of the room, her body having been obscured by the darkness. The light blue-hue of moonlight came to cascade over approaching body, starting from her feet, slowly rising over her slender thighs. “My gaze has been set on your natural beauty for quite a while. But the lack of your closed legs shows perhaps maybe you are in denial.”
Gazing down exploded Applejack's fears into truth. Her thighs, supple at the surface, supplement by the thick girth of muscles underneath, laid not straight across the bed but spread. She was even leaning back slightly, half of her pussy exposed above the sheets, drooling, almost like it was trying to feed at laid below.
And Applejack... couldn't find it within herself to care. Like the haze of heat and the aching of her tired body removed her standards, the 'acts' she was supposed to do. A proper girl like herself should have shot an arm across her chest, a palm against her crotch, barking at the other to leave.
And yet, there she sat, freely.
“That tattoo I placed upon you, as I know you are quick to gather, is no ordinary decoration.” Zecora stepped into the moonlight, fully exposed, fur grey and black free, golden bars and hoops, around her wrist and her neck and hanging from her ears—the only clothing she dared to wear. “It serves a function. To express the repressed.”
Y-You mean you lied to me!?
Applejack didn't have any words to reply with. The shock of seeing Zecora naked took some of the mystery out from her eyes. They small but proportional. The lumps on her chest, grey spirals capped by black rings of fur, ceasing around her tits.
They looked like they were made of chocolate. Thick. Black. Delicious. Dangerouslydelicious. The kind where you'd fight yourself back from taking a bite. What did they taste like? For something so plump, so sweet-looking, the imagined taste of them resting on Applejack's tongue was bitter.
But bitter, sometimes, was better.
“The mind, be it divine, can sometimes make us blind.” Zecora stood in the moonlight and, even with Applejack sitting, only came up to her eyes. But there something free about her small body. Being naked. Standing open. “That tattoo I have placed upon you cools the mind and ignites the body.”
“So all of this has been because of you! I knew it!” Applejack shot up from the bed, standing tall, a strange delight tingling her crotch at towering over the girl. Being bigger, fuller in chest and ass, also taller. Such... a turn on. “Knew this wasn't usually like me! You best darn reverse whatever voodoo you did to me.”
“I can see the news has made you rather harsh, but it was only done so you would listen to your heart.” Zecora stepped toward the side of the bed, placing her pot on the counter. She leaned forward while she did so, lifting the striped cheeks higher. “It's only through conflict, through heat, our true being is revealed.”
Applejack held her tongue. Twisting her head to the side, she listened, but hardly willingly.
“The more we suppress our truest being while we are still alive—the more of life we miss out.” Zecora gripped the handle of the brush, sinking it into the pot, letting its strands collect with the thickness of blackness. “We barely have enough to sate our tastes. Much less when we repress our pangs of hunger.”
Applejack didn't want to, she didn't have to, but she sat down on the bed. At any moment, her clothes could be put back on. Collect them from the floor and put them back on. Yet the articles laid on the floor, looking heavy against the wood, and keeping that way.
“It was by no mistake we made those sounds as lousy as we did, for it was your ears we did not want to miss.” The brush lifted from the pot, dripping in black blotches. It looked... cold. “Tell me, sister of mine, why do you think I wear these tribal designs?”
Applejack shrugged. “No different than when I wear my stetson. It's a part of who you are—reminds you of where you come from.”
“So very close to the mark.” Zecora turned back to her while holding the brush, stepping close in that gait of hers, small hips swaying, left and right, much like pendal clock. With a smile, she crouched before her legs. “But these markings serve more than just that. You wear your hat to keep cool from the sun; my kind wears these decorations for a similar function.”
“H-How do ya—“
“That tattoo brought the fire of your being to life.” Zecora pressed a hand against her orange belly, not caring for the shiver from the body they produced. Instead, they traced the design, arrows within spirals, both of which pointed down—right at the exposed clit. “And with that fire given wood, it burns through everything... not untrue... but disingenuous.”
Applejack closed her eyes. Her mouth opened to bark the smaller girl away... but the frigid temperature of those delicate little fingers cooled the boiling waters beneath her skin. Sensitive. Oh, how that cold touch made her all so sensitive—ready to burst, to quake, to explode at the tiniest stroke.
“I... I... I haven't... felt like myself these past few days.” Applejack closed her eyes while her shoulders dropped. The steam of her breath ceased, cold panting coming through, a chill to her body bringing peace to her tense muscles. “Feels like I can wound myself up but can never finish myself off. The heat. I've never struggled with feeling hot in my life. Summer nights underneath a thick blanket—that's just normal 'round these parts.”
“Allow me to suppose.” Zecora's voice went silent for a moment, and seconds later, cold lips pressed against the tattoo. Like water from the arctics sizzling over a forest fire. Release and relief. But a desire for those lips, the cool of cold metal, to press against Applejack's lips—dry, searched, searching for wetness. “The usual attempts went astray?”
“First time in my life I'd ever thought of buyin' myself a toy.” Applejack bit her bottom lip, not wanting to, but rocking her body into the face pressed against her. More, a little more, a need to have those lips meshed against her. “Taking off them clothes helped cool the trick down. But when ya got a fire burnin' within ya...”
“Mmhmm.” Like being yanked from a waterfall and tossed before a burning pit, Applejack nearly screamed at the cold lips pulling away from her belly. Her thighs rose at once, stopping half-way, craving to lock that small little striped head between her legs. “You've learned quick. If that's the case, when the fire within you burned through all that was hollow and lies...”
Applejack opened her eyes. Rocking with her feelings, and expressing them honestly, always felt like the right thing to do—no matter the situation. “I listened to you goin' at it with my brother. Felt every inch of my body cravin' to be a part of it. Even... kicked you out of it at one point.”
Zecora only giggled. Lifting the brush into the air, she let her wrist rest on the orange thigh. For a second, they kept still and silent, a drop of black spilling onto the expanse of curving white. That drip. Minuscule splash. Ice spreading across the skin, freezing the fire underneath, or, at least, giving it something proper to burn through.
“My kind are of these stripes, because long ago, a choice was made.” The brush lifted, the flat-end of strands pointed at the thigh. Slowly, carefully, it brushed in the skin—a starting of a line, or a blot that would go away. “Once the magic of unlocking the fire within was revealed, everyone knew that keeping alive at such an intensity—even though it kept us true to our utmost being—would then burn through us all.”
Applejack felt the need to say something witty, some remark to regain control of the situation—but torture silenced her. Pain, of the brush, slowly, curving across her thigh. It fought back the welling smoke beneath her skin. A girl set on fire, jumping into waters floating with ice.
“Others advanced in their ways, but left the core of their beings astray.” Zecora shook her head while stopping the brush, nearly pulling a yell from her subject. “Seeing us live easier lives, while maybe better, left everyone distant, some apathetic, most ignorant of what they felt—trusting only the words told to them.”
Applejack felt it. The rising of strands pulling from her skin. She nearly kicked. Her pussy nearly shrove at the lost of coolness, of the liquid imbued within it. How it slowly replenished everything wet about her—and how it threatened to take it all away again.
“Nothing is wrong about living life at less of an intensity.” Zecora lifted the brush, watching the legs shake, and the back of Applejack's feet kick into the bed. Her eyes kept down while she talked. “But you must be careful when moving too far ahead, that you do not leave too much of yourself behind.”
The brushed touched down on the thigh in a stroke—spiral curling into a smaller spiral—before shooting out in the direction of the distant crotch. Like magic, the whole frame of Applejack shuddered in place, her pussy twitching with life, folds gaining in colour, a light drool pooling from her little hole.
It'd been a long time since Applejack wet the bed.
“So all the way back then, countless years ago, our kind made a choice to live with nature. The nature of the world as we found it and lived with; the nature of our bodies we came into being with.”
Stunned. There wasn't any replying to that. Even while her body rose and dropped—pleasure one second, pain the next—her ears kept finely tuned with the story. The fluttering of her heart matched its beats; its points touched something deeper of herself, something always there, dormant, but through the spoken words coming to will its existence back into Applejack's mind.
“And in the place where that magic of your tattoo was discovered—so too did we find this... paste.” Zecora laughed while lifting the brush to the other thigh, painting lines and shapes and stripes. “Put upon every child, so long ago imbued with our very skin, it keeps the reaches of the fire contained—without putting out its flames.”
There was a smile on her lips while she painted. So focused on the task at hand, clasping a hand over the leg she worked upon, trying to keep it still, but happy by the shudders of her project nonetheless. The goings were, so much so, she lifted the brush to the table next to her, dipping it into the black paste before resuming work again.
“The tattoo ignites the fire of your being. Like the rest of our kind, you burn, flames orange.” Zecora shot and stroked the brush forward again, the arrow within the spiral escaping out through it, coming to direct once more to the orange crotch. “But its effects can still be removed. This paste can be washed off before it sinks and then wells up underneath the skin. If living fully, expressing everything truly, is not for you...”
The brushed stopped. Progress ceased. Potential questioned.
Applejack squeezed her eyes shut while the cold thickness pulled away from her legs. Never before had her body felt... so genuinely alive. The closest were the times on the farm that called her being into question, long days spent deep in the woods, catching up on downtime, pushing her body to the limits.
Her body burned.Muscles aching at every step. Legs spasming after each kick against bark. She showered in her own sweat, no band on her hair, golden strands shooting around freely in the head. Shame tainted the memory of how she ditched her clothes then, working in the nude, feeling fully exposed... but also fully free.
And to feel that way again, free and in heat, an intense feeling of the body.
To experience that again, to express that again, to be that again.
Life was too short, for Applejack, to spend on shame.
“Do it.”
Zecora didn't smile this time, oh no, she grinned with teeth showing. Between them, a glow of green emitted—barely as bright as the moonlight—in short flashes. With a blink, Applejack glanced down at her belly. The lines of the tattoo glowed a dim green, while the spirals flashed, each timed with her breath.
As her being came into acceptance, true acceptance of life, Applejack's tattoos glowed brighter.
And that wasn't just it. The cold brush lifted against her midsection, while it painted across the tightness of belly, the zebra lifted for the job. She rose, and then she fell, resting her small bottom upon a muscular thigh—how something so little could get close to another, through skin to skin contact, without causing it to feel strange.
But to feel... free.
It was when their eyes locked that Applejack understood the true extent of her choice. Zecora's face hovered dangerously close—her exhale coming to brush the fur on her chin. Eyes. Both of them locked. In them, Applejack saw herself.
Her own eyes. Green. Always bright. But now shining. A green glow encased within the frame of her lashes. She blinked, wondering it some trick of the mind or something caught. But no matter how many times her eyes closed and opened, the glow of her gaze burned bright enough to cast a faint light on Zecora's cheek.
“Do you feel it now?” Zecora asked as she leaned in close, blowing winds onto Applejack's lips. Teasing her. Rather, letting her know of what was, what could be. “Your soul becoming alight and alive? Allowing me... to lead you through the path.”
Applejack didn't have any time to object to the lips pressed against her own, so small but still so supple, slim and sprawling things easily overmatched by her own. She kept frozen, by her own shock, the zebra leaning in close while her hand swirled below, the brush running across her back from the act.
Applejack blinked. What to do? Nothing, it appeared, when she kept motionless. The lips worked against her, these little things the most powerful she'd ever kissed. Without grace but somehow with elegance, they pressed into her in some raw, primitive way, full of energy yet savagely applied.
A full body mirror kept to the side of the door, a quick place to check her outfit, now made to allow Applejack to witness what she slowly became. Entirely nude in a dress of orange fuzz, small tufts thick and filled with sweat, now with black lines rubbing across her belly.
How... hot it would be to be like her. Zecora that was. Always walking around, wearing nearly nothing. To expose and express her body at all times, in tandem with the flame burning within her, a sexual being. She got hot by the idea of it.
Applejack felt wet by the growing fantasy.
The idea of... becoming a slut.
Zecora pulled her lips back with a laugh, with the line around her torso complete, to begin painting triangles and blocks and the like over her belly. With a lick of her lips, she took to Applejack's again, her other hand, free, falling to between the orange thighs, free no longer.
Applejack closed her eyes and melted into the kiss. Her belly glowed brighter and her skin hotter while the pleasantly cold zebra worked against her body. How she imagined herself entirely transformed, orange and black, wearing nothing but cloth for any visitors, delighting in how exposed her sexuality was to them.
Maybe even if that visor was only her brother.
The work of the brush reached higher to her chest, freezing the skin and fur as it sunk in, bold at first, starting to become faint after a moment. While the transitioned continued, while the zebra kissed her lips, a cold hand set on her other lips—Applejack flung her head around, by inches of courses, at the frigid fingers working at her folds.
What would be better? Applejack's mind asked that question as it imagined them in the kitchen below. Both of them walking into the room, fully in the nude, letting the sexual tension rise at everything being revealed?
Not that far ahead yet, but with time, no doubt would come.
Rather they would meet downstairs, after this change in them both, barely clad in anything. Brown cloth over her breasts, not so much hiding their sides or roundness, but rather, hiding the tits underneath—even if they poked through the fabric.
The same covering her crotch, though just her mounds, with the cheeks of her ass—well, half-covered. Something for reality; something for fantasy. She'd cook something, while Big Mac stood mostly exposed—a faint cloth hiding his cock, something that's size, that's girth couldn't be hidden no matter what was placed over it.
The nimble fingers against her cunny, finally, sliding across the length of her slit then pushed inward. Two set together, swirling around, cooling the hot walls back, all around, with their freezing touch. It shouldn't have felt great, it shouldn't have been enough to deliver what her cunny had been craving, and yet, fuelled by fantasy and talent, Applejack brought her legs together—clenching her tightest on the two fingers.
And in that fantasy, while she bent over the stove, a shadow passed over her. The figure of red with a mouth of silence. Turning her around, a firm hand grabbing the middle of her top. With a yank, her breasts set free.
Before Applejack could hope to say or do anything, another hand would set on her head, pushing her down to the ground, knees falling to wood. The perfect height for her breasts to impale themselves on the thickness of his cock, nuzzling it between them, while his head poked through and toward her chin.
“Suck.”
Powerful voice. Single word. Guaranteed act.
Slut. That would be what she became. A toy for his delight. Her assets made to serve his hunger. How she would kneel before him, pressed down by a steady hand, while he rocked his cock through her bosom, hugged by the tightness of her breasts, smooth roundness he slid across, its thick head beating, slapping against her chin.
There wasn't any choice in the matter. Her head tilted forward, lips parting, further and broader, far more than ever before. The back of her mind tickled with fear—could she even fit that mass of cock into her mouth? Like sticking a pole of meat down her throat. Choking without a doubt; breathing unnecessary.
But, as Applejack came to learn, she was a slut for cock.
So her lips opened wide while taking his twitching length into her mouth, feeling steam arise from the red-leather member as flames coursed beneath its surface. It slapped, its weight heavy against her tongue. Applejack fought to keep it lifted and levelled within her maw.
“Suck!”
Applejack's eyes exploded into openness upon the raw pressure applied to the top of her head. The red hand atop her air applied only a modicum of strength from Mac's bulky bicep—a suggestion of movement to him, a reinforcement of pressure to her—sliding his shaft, down to its middle, inside her mouth.
Her lips shut. Plush surfaces of ample softness. Blinking, and knowing she had no say in the matter, the orange slut's head bobbed down the hunk's cock. To her relief, the fingers digging into her scalp relieved their pressure—but keeping firmly there, nonetheless.
What saved Applejack, in the end, condemned her to sucking cock.
“What a good lil' slut you are.” Big Mac grunted. A small neigh slipped past his lips. “Forced onto yer knees, bobbing on my dick.” His head rolled back loosely, eyes closed, tightening. “Could use to go... nnghnnn.... bit quicker.”
Applejack wasn't sure if that was a demand or a request, but when the hand gripped her head again, pushing her down only to tug her back up—feeling his cock poke into the back of her throat, then teasing away, only to slam forth again—she got her answer as to who called the shots.
Mac slipped his cock out from her chest, no longer caring for the plushness of her breasts. He wanted to be sucked, to have his cock milked, for his sturdy meat to be pleased. The change of stance allowed for more of his cock to be stuffed inside her mouth.
But for whatever reason... she didn't mind. In fact, her eyes blinked not to repress the event but to embrace it. Feeling a hand reach forward and wrap around the dick, Applejack delighted in its hardness, in its roundness, its girth and its warmth, the pleasant heat burning into her hand like a hot mug of coffee.
And while that hand jerked off the base of his cock leading to the start of her lips, the slut's other hand dipped down between her legs, feeling her thighs wet, slit slick, pussy gushing with overflowing juices. Every inch of her tingly walls contracted to consume more of the sensitive sexual pricking her pussy.
“Teasing yourself?” The heavy clicking of his teeth drove aroused fear into Applejack's pussy, like a kid caught with a guilty hand inside a cookie jar—the latter being her cunny. “Gettin' off to the idea of suckin' yer brother dry. Not that I... mind.”
And with that, his firm grip yanked her close, far too close, the mass of his shaft shovelling inside her mouth, there not being enough move to contain his rod that it went shooting down her tight throat. The velvet muscles tensed around him, coughing and choking followed by air pleading to escape—a warmth, a hardness, a fullness of cock filling the slut.
“But your priority is me,” Mac hissed. “You can touch yourself however much ya like—so long as yer gettin' down and dirty to the idea of me.” He flicked his hops, quite cruelly, not to shove his cock inches deeper down her throat—but to smack his crotch, the one her face smushed against, hard against her cheek. “Or else your place will be here, with my cock down yer throat and your face pressed against my crotch, forced to worship it. Got it?”
Applejack couldn't hope to speak with the slab of meat in her mouth, or with her face pressed against his crotch, the faint brush of his plump balls collecting on the top of her breasts. They felt heavy. Hefty. A pleasant weight actually sinking into her bust.
She'd always known her brother was stacked in all the places that mattered, but when it came to his dense nut sack... so painfully fertile... no wonder why he and Zecroa got... so... well along...
Applejack gasped as she felt herself coming too. Had she been standing? One glance down her legs confirmed her feet against the wooden floor, orange thighs painted over, with plenty of space in-between, think black stripes of various lines—some thick and some thin; some bold and some faint—different sizes and lengths.
“It seems you travelled inside the desire of your being.” Applejack rose to the standing mirror again, admiring the full of her changed body—with the smaller zebra standing below the left of her shoulder. “Tell me, how has all of this left you feeling?”
Applejack didn't reply. She blinked. Lifting a hand to her face, she raced the lines stroked at her chin—two on each side, a long one followed by a short one, side by side, accentuating the cuteness of her face.
“It feels... different.” The stripes on the side of her face also packed in her look, tiny lines, three each, underneath her eyes. The faintness of the blackness synced well with the vibrant orange of her fur, a synergize making her feel... exotic. “I feel hot, but cold, at the same time.”
“You are slowly becoming one of us, then.” The sliding tickle reminded Applejack what they'd been doing before she left. The small, black and white hand, pressed against her mounds, a finger tracing up and down her tight slit—another drawing circles on the fuzz of her clit. “Tell me... do you feel free yet?”
“I do.” The words came quicker than the chance to even think of them, the chains of her mind shattered by the immediate reactions of her body. The words were sincere and honest—if only because they had the audacity to be blurted. “To be honest with ya, s-sugarcube, I-I can't help but be more like you.”
“Is that so?”
“Barely wearing a thing. Having all these stripes over me. So tribal... and yet... something seems so freeing about 'em.” Applejack shook her head at feeling a duo of fingers push through her folds, their chill touch brushing inside the tightness of her cunny once more. “Having my nipples pierced with long golden rings—wearin' that brass all over my body, against my neck and around my wrist. It would feel...”
“It feels very nice, indeed.”
Before any more words could be said, any more admiration made, a creak came from the door to the side, a crack and a glimpse into a hall—quickly overtaken by a towering silhouette. High above, green eyes glowed through the darkness, brilliant and kind, though due to the sheer boldness of their light—dominating in a strange kind of way.
“Couldn't help but hear a fussin' in here and... oh.” Big Mac pushed the door all the way open, a foot coming into the room—but keeping hovered in the air. Above, his brilliant eyes blinked, first on Applejack, then to Zecora. “I... you two took to each other quickly.”
Applejack didn't know what to feel other than a kid, caught painting herself in the nude, stumbled upon by her older, smarter, wiser brother. That he'd say or do something, bark at her to wash and clean up—something scolding, punishing, something embarrassing.
“Your sister took to me without needing much of a hook.” Zecora slid her fingers out from Applejack's cunny who, out of reflex, clenched her legs together to try and keep them trapped within her. But their nimbleness was their escape, their tips coated in thin femcum, a taste of bittersweet coming to press into the zebra's lips. “And from what I can tell, you are not the only one to be giving her the look.”
The look? Applejack blinked.
“What the heck does she mean by that, Big Mac?” Applejack's voice charged with power and control, even though faux, since he still towered over her, broad red chest exposed, strong muscular legs available—thin, spacious boxers pressed still by his flaccid cock. “Can't believe ya! Eyeing up yer own sister of all things!”
The anger fake. The words hollow. An act done to justify herself.
Zecora should have stopped her, and yet, she kept silent. A grin took to her lips as she left the younger one's side, pot and brush and all, leaving her design complete. The farm girl made into a faux zebra, stripes rolled over from her thighs to her face, different markings for different places, but the whole coming into a holistic perfection.
“So? What do... you have.... have... to say...”
Applejack blinked. He didn't just... no. It couldn't be. A trick or desire of her mind. But no matter how many times she blinked her eyes, rubbing them with a fist—and then two—the sight kept the same. The one of her brother, standing tall, leaning back, an erection rising against his boxers.
An erection, it seemed, the little sister's words evoked.
“So much you two kept hidden beneath clothing and words.” Zecora must have set the pot on the table for, when she appeared standing in-between them, she did so with free hands. With a palm covering her mouth, she chuckled, tinged with a mature pitch. “I could always sense what you two locked away, wondering why it must be that way.”
Zecora flipped her gaze to the towering giant of red, sauntering up to his waist, coming up only to his chest. Her eyes rested underneath the underside of his sculpted pecs—thick plains of muscles sharply defined by endless exercise.
“The mind of your brother would never dare to see you bare—but his heart, though it would never harm you, desires you that way.” Zecora drew a hand against his pec, wide enough for a stroke, his heart, deeply buried, pumping, vigorously, for ripples to roll across his chest. “How easily your kind succumbs to the mind. Hearts beating to be free. Contained by shackles of clothing and the beliefs of your times.”
Applejack hadn't been looking where she should have during the exchange. Rather, her eyes focused on the hard tent pitched within her brother's boxers. And what a slut she felt like. Her supple cheeks clenched together, short stripes on their sides, rising across their height.
Thoughts. Thinking. Hazy. The boiling of blood melted the skin into orange paste. The opening her mouth released steam scented in... something. All opinions wiped, all feelings high, the body set alight.
“It would appear the one in orange has broken her chains.” Zecora reached a hand down to the stretched out boxers, letting her fingers trace across the member straining the fabric. It didn't twitch but din’t throb—nearly bursting through the material anyway. “Your brother's cock is rather special, is it not? The very thing your body has been aching to acquire?”
Applejack couldn't think. The creaking of wood beneath her feet to ears was the first clue she'd taken a step forward. And then another. Step after step. Biting of the lips. His gaze, so high above, watched her—its weight pressing down on her shoulders.
But, her body bore that weight, walking forward without any shame.
“Do not think your brother and I are done with are fun—though I will permit you to have some.” Zecora stepped aside, waving her hands back to her sides, slowly backing away, all until falling her ass onto the bed. “One moment will be made for you two connect, but please do not slack.”
Applejack approached her brother with hands clasped behind her back, nearly resting on the top slope of her flanks. Her body felt painfully bare underneath his gaze, stripping away at her trimmed, orange fur to the skin and flesh beneath it all.
She didn't fight the feeling back. Rather, Applejack stuck her chest out—perfectly curved breasts wobbling from the movement—while she stood tall. Bare and in-front of her brother. Every for him to see and do with as he pleased.
“Do ya, uh, l-like what ya see?”
Big Mac blinked at those words. He stood there silently at her, almost like everything before he appeared like a dream. His erection pressed higher in his boxers—another effect Applejack being Applejack had made—and she grinned.
“You were always the kind to speak more with your actions than your words.” Another tingle ravaged her pussy at the control of it all. Faux authority. While her body continued to act, the back of her mind knew, should what was about to happen, happen, then that control would quickly be lost. “Ya know. My jugs are feelin' rather cold out in the open like this.”
Big Mac kept still.
“Mind placin' your hands over 'em? Ya know, give 'em a squeeze for warmth?”
Big Mac paused for a moment longer before his head dipped. Reaching both of his hands forward, the hardened skin of his hand laid over orange melons, each palm nearly enough to cup all of her size into them. It wasn't a matter of them being small, but rather, how truly big Big Mac was.
And the contact... was everything Applejack had desired.
His hands had been slow. Cold and firm. Something big, something substantial, something overwhelming consuming a small and sensitive part of her. Without even giving much pressure, not an inch of force, he kneaded her breasts harder and tighter and more forceful than any of Applejack's desperate attempts.
Big Mac squeezed her in a way that made her spine erect, her body rocking back and forth before settling into stillness, the bottom of her feet rolling forward so she could raise higher to be grabbed by him. So gentle. So slow.
For any other lover, this may have been alright.
But, for Applejack... she was a savage in need of a brutal fuck.
“Come on now! Don't you want to do more than just grab at your lil' sis'?” Applejack chuckled on the drunkenness of her arousal, feeling the last of her inner, rusted chains snap away. She stepped toward him, her breasts pressing harder against his palms, welling out further from their sides. “Such a big and juicy cock down there. It came from all the naughty images you have of me, doesn't it? Seeing how soft and cute I looked. Don't ya wanna be with me?”
Her hand slapped down onto the top of his boxers, feeling that hunk of meat against the palm of her hand. Burning hotness and rock hard hardness. Gripping it felt like a ticket to a rodeo. Mac's cock throbbed, beating the underwear and her hand upward, both struggling to keep the mass down.
O-Oh nelly! That thing there has got a mind of its own!
Applejack never hungered for cock in her life before. But now it had been driven out from her subconscious... even her heart drooled at the thought of it. More and more, as they stood together in that bedroom, large hands cupping her breasts, squeezing them with lax tightness—Applejack could hardly contain herself.
“I'm just your slut of a little sister! So small compared to her, always in yer shadow, easily crushed underneath the size of ya.” Applejack's hand glided over the top of his cock, feeling its presence through the fabric, getting it to sporadically twitch. It'd hadn't stopped growing. “What I wanna know is how you ain't more full of yourself. Carrying around a cock this big. Feelin' it slap against your thigh when you stride.”
Her hand slid to the waistband, not hesitating to tug it back from his red crotch, gazing into the abyss of shadows below. It was hard to make out in the moonlight, but within the thick darkness inside the underwear, Applejack faintly made out the mass of red. “And just the smell of it too.”
Oh, what a faithful slut she was. But she didn't care anymore. Applejack leaned forward into the open waistband of her brother's boxer, making his hands lower with her chest while she struck out her heart-shaped ass, swishing her tail aside to offer a peek to the patient, third lover sitting on the bed.
Overwhelming and overpowering. Overfilling and overpowering. Like a dense wall of masculine musk slamming against her face. That scent. It's smell. The entire world inside Mac's boxer stunk of dense masculinity, like he was wearing the same underwear for a week, forgot to shower, and continuously exercised with them on.
A drug. A current of musk filtering through her nose, slipping inside her mouth, travelling down to her lungs where it made its new home. It should have smelled nasty to smell something so boyish, so unclean and kept that way.
But being the dirty, fucking slut that she was, Applejack's only response was to lean in closer.
Mac had to let go of her jugs when Applejack leaned in closer. He kept still while his little sister only pulled his boxers out more, keeping them on for whatever reason, sticking her face well past the waistband. She gulped down the air inside his underwear, sniffing across the top of his cock, taking a tentative lick at his hardened skin.
“Applejack dear, just so you are aware, your rump is shaking everywhere.”
Applejack couldn't care less for the words. Not when cock throbbed against her nose, smacking underneath her chin. Like a call to her, to be held by her, to be slapped against her, to be sucked, to be fucked, to do and be as it pleased to and by her.
And the slut didn't mind taking orders from the perfect dick.
“This ain't right at all,” Applejack said with her face still where it was, diving in deep, one last time, to lay a kiss against Mac's dick with her plush lips. Her thighs rubbed together at the contact, unable to keep heat and juices from leaking out from her pussy. “Keeping you wound up like this. You're hungry to be serviced. That cock of yours is a monster deserving of calling the shots.”
Applejack pulled up straight out from his crotch—but slipped a hand inside of their anyways. The elastic snapping against her forearm drew a shiver from her spine. She didn't lead him to the bed by his hand, but rather, with a tug on his cock.
Walking toward the bed, with her hand down her massive brother's boxers, gripping his dick, feeling across its length... how dirty all of this was. Her mind still struggled, still knew it was wrong to do all of this—that a mistake was being made, everyone should put their clothes back on, and then reflect on all of this—but Applejack's body continued to act on its own.
And by that, her hand dived deeper into his boxers, below the mass of his cock to the plump, bulky and hefty balls. They pulled the soft sack around them taut with their size and their weight and, just like the rest of his member, were hot to the touch.
What would it be like to lift them even for a moment? Take the strain off his underwear? Applejack's hand was only big enough to hold one of his nuts and, even when she did lift his weight, giving the undies some slack—she had to call the full muscle of her arm to raise and keep the ball held.
Had Big Mac always been this much of a hunk? Even while she gazed upon his face high above, seeing his head so far away, its quiet, chiselled details left her feeling so naughty. A small girl walking next to a hunk, barely half of his height, struggling to hold even one of his balls while they walked.
“When you come to enjoy your brother, though you will struggle against him time and again—not once will you ever win. “ Zecora had been sitting on the bed with a leg crossed, smiling at the two as they approach. She turned in place, lifting her knees to the sheets. “It's only when you submit will his force emerge. Even when you ride him, it's always he who is in charge.”
Zecora dropped her hands to the bed as she crawled to its middle, bobbing the firm bottom of her striped cheeks, granting the two sight and a reason to hurry to the bed. Everything went fast, and even Applejack's' heartbeat faster by the moment. But her body acted by itself, and her pussy lusted with juices for this to happen.
The stripes, painted on her coat, becoming faint as they slowly sunk beneath her skin.
What am I even doing right now?! The last cry of logic screamed from the back of the girl's head, strong enough, even while they walked, to whisk her hand out of the boxers. She lifted it before her face. Grabbing Big Mac's cock like that. That ain't like me! Nether is all this sexy-talk either! This ain't like me—none of this is!
The bed groaned a heavy creak upon bearing the weight of the towering giant, squeaking still as he shuffled across its surface. At once, his eyes closed while his snout became taken with the scent of his sister. At one pony, he even twisted and lowered his face to the sheets, pressing against them, inhaling her scent deeply.
And while he did so, with his red muscular legs straight across the length of the bed, his cock pressed at the front of his boxers. Further. Wider. Fuller. His size became intense. His boxers, the buttons keeping its front shut, buckled against the pressure of dick mounting behind them.
Finally, after a loud sniff of Applejack's most personal scent, Big Mac groaned aloud while the head of his member burst through the buttons, each snapping off and away from their clips, causing his growing length to rise in freedom within the moonlight.
That slab of dark red, a width tearing the slit of his underwear, now unleashing the brewing of his musk all over her bed. It should have taken minutes, not mere moments for the dense smell of masculinity to spread from his underwear all the way to the standing Applejack's nose.
“Wearing such a thing is rather constricting for you, is it not?” Zecora said as she crawled over her lover, a slender hand holding to his muscular thigh, the two leaning in close for a kiss. The wet smacks of their love, little slaps of delight, drew their jointed slut closer. “Mmm. Let's allow you to be free—everyone here is desiring it so.”
Applejack approached fully aware of the trail of cum leaking down her thigh, warming the fur like the heat did beneath the skin. Zecora had lowered her teeth to the rim of one of the leg holes to Mac's boxers, tugging on it, with her plump and striped butt wagging in the air, struggling to pull the fabric over his rigid correction.
It took some effort, but with a great pull, the member slipped back into the underwear—quickly lurching back up when it slid down to his legs. Mac rolled his head back with clenched eyes, thick shaft bobbing, the aching of his hardness desperate for contact.
“Lie back,” Zecora began from in-between his feet, pulling the boxers free onto the sheets. She leaned across him again, delighting in the touch of his round head jabbing into her belly, pressing into her softness, flicking up, desperate to sink more into it. “And say nothing. The desires of your body are set to be pleased.”
The giant followed the request, his full and muscular frame causing the bed to squeak underneath his bulky weight, an elation of pleasure for both of the girls present. Upon lying back, all the giant could do was lie—his fat cock arching high into the air.
“Allow now for the two who love you most to express it,” Zecora said before turning her head to Applejack, offering a wink. She sat to the side of the right thigh, curling a hand around the base of his erection, dropping her lips to his leaky tip. “But as you had delight with his tool, so too is it time for me to have my own.”
Applejack crossed her arms and shook her head. “Now that ain't fair! You get me all horned up 'bout wanting to fuck my brother—only to take away the best part?”
But Zecora knew better than to take such a dig. Rather, with a soft laugh, she patted the top of his plump balls. The soft sack pulled taut by their hefty weight. Round. Soft. Perfection. A look of pure deliciousness.
“Without giving a mask to what you feel,” Zecora quickly said, eyes up from the head of Mac's dick, giving it's twitching top a quick kiss. Something to tide it over for another moment or two. “Express all that has gone through your mind. State your desires.”
Applejack did something she usually didn't.
Act without thinking.
“Right now I just wanna eat my brother up.” Applejack slowly shook her head while her knees feel onto the mattress, it sinking below her weight, some of it already impressed by the mass of her brother. Her pussy itched with greater brushes of flames. “Kiss and suck at every inch of him. Rub my face against one those pecs of his.”
Big Mac's face lurked in the distance, held up from the bed and looking at her, an expression impassive, eyes glowing green. Silent. Like a creature, a thing, something to sate her lust. A tool and an object. Maybe something more beneath it all.
“I wanna hug my entire body against him,” Applejack purred the words as she leaned down, like a crawling cat, one hand to the left of his thigh and another pressing down on its right. The girth of his leg called the softness of her frame. “To let my thighs and my breasts squeeze around his leg.”
Applejack said the words with a grin. She could feel the weight of her ass bob through the air, lowering herself over his leg. Her thighs fell against the sides of his ankles, pressing and welling against the girth of muscles—finally something hard to squeeze against.
Then, a yelp blew through her lips. The tension of her cleavage while her boobs apart down the slope of Mac's thick, muscular thigh. It being sturdy to the surface with layers of dense bulk beneath them.
She loved it. Having her round breasts fail to cover Mac's landscape of hardness, hugging her bust against his thigh, smothering it with her softness, waxing smoothness across him. Pained groans whispered from afar. Mac was getting off to having his little sister, fully nude, cover one of his legs with most of her sexuality.
Shame there wasn't more of her for every limb.
“But even as I'm finally hugging his hardness, I want more than just that—something for me to really stuff my face against.” Applejack stopped nuzzling his thigh with a cheek, knowing what was to come next. Gaze traveling to the underside of his cock, there was an open space where the top of his balls laid free. “Something dense with musk, masculine to the touch, and tasting especially salty.”
No sense in holding back. Crawling further across his leg, Applejack took special delight in lifting herself up over his balls—then dropping into his sack. Her eyes filled with brown and her nose became overwhelmed with spicy heat. Heat. Subtle, undulating waves of heat rolling over her face.
Drunken laughter echoed through the bedroom. Squeaky moans of a young girl's delight. Like the little slut she'd desire so long to be like, Applejack stuffed her face into the vast plane of her big brother's nutsack, a small bitch who knew her place against them, wiggling her face against the two orbs.
“It would appear your slut of a sister has found her purpose in this life.” Applejack blinked at the words—before a hand pressed her harder into the sack. Zecora's hand. Gripping her scalp, pushing her into the world of Big Mac's balls. “To nestle and nuzzle your magnificent balls. To take every whiff of their dense scent. Well? Little slut. Why are you not working?”
Applejack slammed her other hand into the other thigh, finding purchase in the strength of muscle there. Slowly did she rise against the force of the hand—successfully knocking it back with a heavy push. The air, fresh and with masculine musk, she gulped down every breath.
“Git back!” The voice. That rage. That strength. “Dumb slut don't know her fuckin' place.” Something arched in the distance, something red, something vast and shadowy hovering over the air—then slapping, smacking, gripping the back of the small girl's head. “Don't think you were quite done appreciating my sack.”
“But Mac—“
Intense force pressed against the back of her head, through the sturdiness of his hand, that pushed Applejack's face down again. Her hand rested on his other thigh, and though he pushed up against him—another wave of forced, applied without restraint, shoved her face back into the place against his nuts.
“There ya go.” Big Mac groaned the words in a low growl of utter satisfaction. “Nice and tightly packed against my dense balls. Stuck underneath the fatness of my cock. What a good little slave of a slut you are.” That strong hand then rolled her face sideways, against the sides of his balls. “How 'bout you gon there deep, and give a nice kiss to my sack. It'd be a nice pillow for you.”
The hand pressed harder against her head, and even either her hands on either of her thighs, always pushing—Mac always doubled her efforts. If anything, the throbs of his cocks above confirmed how much her struggling delighted him. Knowing he was burying his little sister deeper into his nutsack.
“Sink in there rather nice.” Big Mac kept the pressure applied once Applejack sunk as deeply as she could into his sack, the full and long sides of the balls within pressing against her cheeks, keeping her trapped as though they were walls. “But I ain't feelin' any appreciation down there.”
Applejack slowed her struggling. Her nature was to fight. If someone was holding her down, to trip them up and find a way to escape. But even now, wiggling against Mac's nuts, hands pressing against his thighs—all made useless by a strong, still, steady hand against her head...
It burned her nether lips. Mounds set aflame with folds beyond fires. Her cunny contracted its tightest to deal with all the arousal.... the lack of any contact... the inability now to even make contact. To be stuffed against her brother's balls, held there, inhaling their taste, filling her lungs only with his plump nuts.
Knowing herself to be forced in the place beneath his cock.
And it made her wild. Thrashing not for means of escape but for the sexual bliss it electrocuted through her body. Be a trick of her mind, but she could feel hearts forming in her eyes. Savagely used and fucked. The barest and most primitive moves zebras engaged in.
What point was there in fighting what she so desperately wanted? Shoved and stuff against the juicy balls encased in the smoothest sack rubbing against her cheek. Applejack nuzzled it. Opening her mouth and exhaling upon them. Closing her eyes, letting her lips part, tongue fall out, licking the sensitive place, feeling the shudders quake through it as the trembled around her—before curling her tongue, along with some of the sack, into her mouth.
She suckled on parts of Mac. Taking flaps of the sack into her mouth, sucking and suckling, salivating over the salty flavour, smooth surface, the creamy, dense thickness of masculine must. Spicy. Overpowering. Delicious in every aspect.
“Such a good slut now, ain't ya, sucking on your brother's nut suck.” Big Mac was not one to make sure anyone was excluded. His gaze set over on the zebra. With a grin, his other hand took to the back of her head—pushing her mouth down the length of his cock. “And you suckin' me off too. Nnngn. T-Thank you, girls.”
It seemed like a strange place and time for a compliment, but both girls, really, weren't complaining. Applejack ceased to struggle against the hand, becoming limp against it, allowing it to smother her face within the field of Mac's delicious balls.
And Zecora, already used to a rough time, did not at all mind being pressed further down his dick, something so big, so wide, spicy on the tongue filling into something so small. But for what Zecora lacked in size she made up for in openness.
In an impressive feat, Mac's cock slid against the back of her throat, then downward, hugged by her velvet walls. Digging in deep, girth so round, it bulged underneath the skin of her throat. Mac lost it upon seeing it. Of seeing his dick tucked away so deep inside her—he thrust up, cock bugling harder against the striped throat—slapping and lifting Applejack with his balls all the while.
“It... nngnn... looks like you two had yer fill.” Big Mac fell back with a heavy pant, becoming still after hands redrawn—as if he'd regain control over himself from some savage spirit. He lay there, panting, gazing up at the ceiling. “Ya can do as ya please now.”
Despite her freedom, Zecora kept her face pressed against his crotch, a cock still down her throat. She turned her head, gazing over at him, drawing his eyes down as a result. Without breathing, and with a slow smoothness, the zebra slid up across his length.
“A silly request indeed.” Mac's cock head bobbed out from her lips in a swift motion, slapping lightly against her chin. It kept there, throbbing in place, desperate to go back in. “When all we want to do is please you.”
She reached a hand down in-between his legs, grabbing a lock of long, golden hair. Zecora pulled up the limp head of the cowgirl, eyes dotted in hearts with most of the painted stripes sunk beneath her skin. “This little bitch of ours appears to be twitching without that juicy cock of yours.”
Drool lined up at the corner of Applejack's lip. Her mind a haze and lung full of Big Mac's hefty nuts. The way they spoke to her wasn't right. Everything about this wasn't right. To engage in sex was one thing... but to be degraded by the two another.
And yet Applejack's body continued on autopilot. Even while Zecora held her head in the air with a hand, showing her off for the little slut she was, it didn't provoke a struggle from her. Oh, no. Not when, only inches away, a towering member throbbed in the great air before her.
Applejack lunged for it. Nuzzling her cheek against it while she sat up on the red, resting one hand on his crotch while the other wrapped around Mac's fat cock. Rubbing up and down its underside, tiny giggles slipped through Applejack's lips—which then pressed against it.
So thick and strong. Every kiss against the leathery skin only teased with the raw hardness beneath it all. Drawing a tongue up and down the underside of the shaft, the taste of salt and spice, two paradoxical tastes, somehow became sweet on her tongue. The flavour addictive; Applejack went in for more than one dish.
“Naughty cowgirl!” Applejack tense as something slapped the cheek of her ass, causing it to wobble back into place. Almost like a dog she turned at once, forced to crane her head back while Zecora now sat above her. “Do you think it fair to devour your brother's cock for yourself? Such a bitch that you are.” She smacked the cheeks of supple orange again, the tickles of pain transition into tickles of pleasure “For all you have taken, you owe your brother an offering.”
With a point of a finger to Mac's chest, Applejack understood what Zecora suggested.
Without hesitation, she crawled over him, turning around one she reached her destination. Applejack let her knees fall onto the bed, just over his shoulders, allowing her plump backside to present itself directly to his face.
“How does it feel to have your orange cunny exposed to the face of your brother? Showing off your pussy to a sibling—do you no longer have shame?” Zecora gave a naughty laugh while rising from the bed, letting her legs fall on either side of Mac's hips, posting her ass over the towering length of his cock. “Desperate slut to have her pussy tended to by her older brother. Shoving your cunt directly into his face. Such a naughty, naughty girl.”
Applejack could only pant, with a tongue lolled past her lips, like a dog in heat. Without any energy to reply, she pressed her heavy backside into Mac's face—arching her head back at the feeling of jaw pressing into her mounds.
For a second, Applejack feared missing her mark—until two strong hands gripped her cheeks, spread them far while kneading them hard, mouth set on the opening of her pussy. He stuffed his face inside, eating out her cunny with the utter satisfaction Applejack craved.
Meanwhile on the bed, Zecora slid her striped cheeks over the head of his member, twitching slightly at his tip prodding at her rear entrance—but moaning in release once his cock penetrated her ass. Slowly, it sunk inside, impaling her further the more she fell toward his crotch.
“Eating out your little sister's pussy... while you fuck your girlfriend in the ass... oh... where's that beast within you begging to come out.” Zecora shivered as she lifted from his length—falling back into his crotch with a heavy impact. “Two girls rutting over your body. A slut of a sister pushing her bottom against your face. Where is that... controlling stud I enjoy so much?”
Zecora's words, even though a question, were the answer required.
Big Mac pulled his way away from the orange bottom of his sister, taking a moment to appreciate the curving stripes across her cheeks. Gripping them for a moment, he stuffed his face between them again—wiggling them over his face in a moment of pure lust.
Then quickly pushed Applejack aside once he was done.
Applejack fell to the bed on her side, annoyed at finally having her pussy pleased, rising... only to see a sight worthy of drawing fingers back to her fuzzy mounds. Big Mac gripped the smaller girl atop his cock by her waist and, like a toy, raised and dropped her on his cock—quicker than what she could have done herself.
Zecora rolled her head back and moaned loudy while the strong hands on her hips lifted and dropped her, the thick cock stretching the tight tunnel within her ass further, the velvet walls crushing around his girth to keep him pleased.
And her tiny breasts, small as they were, wobbled with the momentum, chocolate tits their longest and hardest.
“Nnngh... n-not enough!” Big Mac's voice turned furious while his hands doubled the speed, his own hips flicking upward, diving his dick deeper into the zebra's rump. But even then, his cock had too much of anal—and needed something new, fresh and hot, to sate the thirst of his lust. “More... I... I need more...”
Zecora seemed to understand his plight at once, for when he slipped away from her hips, she lifted off him at once. His cock slid into freedom, looking an inch bigger than before, but now, twitching every other second.
“Orange slut.” Applejack twitched. Two fingers had been shoved past her soft mounds while she watched the two. Now that she was called into the real world, she at once crawled toward the zebra. “Come over here. Your brother's cock no longer enjoys just one. It requires more.”
Zecora sat back down on his right hip, spreading her legs over each side of his dick, sliding her crotch closer toward it. With a nod, Applejack did the same, the two into the gap between the other's legs—drawing their pussies to either side of Mac's magnificent member.
“If you desire to please your brother's cock,” Zecora shoved her cunt forward, allowing its slit to sink into the side of his dick—even the girth of a side enough to split her lips apart, filling it out fully and with a pleasant burning. “Then make love to me with his masculinity set between us.”
Applejack didn't hesitate. The heat, the burning, everything so damn hot that staying still wasn't an option. Rolling her sizable cheeks back on the hard planes of red, she then slammed her crotch against the side of Mac's member, it being too wide for her slit and spilling and pressing into her mounds.
The pleasure intensified. Soft slaps of thigh against thigh filled the air, two moaning girls sitting on the crotch of their man, soft and small pussies smacking into the sides of his cock, each contact seconds apart, their slits desperate to meet.
It didn't take long for the two to moan at every meeting. That once the teasing could be sustained no longer than their legs wrapped around behind the other, pressing their pussies together, with the large shaft between them, rocking back and forth, up and down, never breaking more than an inch apart as they rode each other and him.
“Is that all you have? Years of pent-up lust for a lacklustre act?” Zecora leaned closer, drawing the arch of the massive cock against her belly, not even twitching as it burned into her skin. She rocked against it. “The young ones of my tribe give better performances. If you can barely pleasure your brother's member—you have no hope of pleasing a true zebra.”
Applejack tightened her expression while her hips rocked on their own. She wasn't about to give up this little game she played with Zecora. The heat of her body reached its peak, sweat like lava, the steamy entrance of her pussy needing to be plunged.
Plunged by a big, juicy, throbbing and hard cock.
“If that's the case, sugarcube.” Applejack placed her hands on the small breasts of Zecora, each no bigger than an apple with her black, hard nipples stabbing into her palm—before pushing her back, off the crotch of the male, leaving the towering shaft all to herself. “Then let me show what this new girl can do!”
Applejack didn't even bother looking at her brother for approval. Everyone knew she was a cock-starved whore needing to breed. She took to bed at once, knees to the sheets with hands coming to rest at the wooden post at the end of the bed—getting herself set for what came next.
“Well? What are ya waiting for?” Applejack waggled her bottom in the air, letting her cheeks wobble from the movement. What was taking him so long to mount her?! Her head whipped around for an answer. “Aren't you gonna... gonna...”
The first feeling was the mattress sinking further beneath her knees. The second sensation burned over the crack of her ass, across the smooth plane of her lower back—tickling, even if only a phantom touch, the underside of her shoulder-blades.
“Now then,” that dark voice growled from above, accompanying the dense shadow falling over Applejack's frame. Hair covered all of her face save for an eye. And that eye gazed up at the towering male who'd slapped his dick onto her back. “You think you have any right to speak back, little whore? Wearin' them stripes without being able to take a proper cock.”
“I... I can take your cock fine and dandy!”
“That so?” While he pulled his hips back, Mac pushed his chest over her body, dipping his face to her ear. “So small and so tight. I hardly knew ya had anythin' down there.” He blew a warm gust of air against her ear. It twitched. “Tell me somethin' now. Can this even fit inside ya?”
Opening her mouth to answer the question was pointless. Especially when her lips parted for the escaping moan, the sense of something round, far too round, pushed lightly at her slit. With a whimper, Applejack gazed over her shoulder—seeing the head of the massive cock nuzzled against her pussy.
“Feels a lot bigger than it looks.” Mac's hand sunk into the mattress next to her, lifting his other to grab at one of her dangling breasts. He squeezed. Softness gushing out between his fingers. The throwback of her head conferring his control. “Let me give ya a little taste of what you'll be dealin' with.”
With those words, the weight of his frame pulled from over her back, leaving it feeling achingly hollow. Coming to rest on the backs of his legs, Mac tightly gripped her doughy tush in a single grab, chuckling while he did so.
“Let's see if we'll even fit inside.”
Applejack wasn't sure what to expect, only that she should have braced, the quaking impact slamming breaking into her bottom rocketing the rest of her body upward. At once, two slender hands pressed down on her shoulders. Gazing up, Applejack came face to face with Zecora.
“When we have our fun, more often than not, I must wear retrains.” Zecora titillated her head, smiling with eyes glinting. “Once he shoves himself inside, he... let's say, hates when you try to flee his lust.”
The first thrust destroyed her.
Applejack had been itching for something to shove deep inside of herself, to pummel to her end and press against her walls, settling that burning itch coursing through her tunnel. When the thick pillar of meat plunged itself inside, not only did her folds stretch apart, nearly to the point of tearing to accommodate him—but contracting of her tunnel ceased immediately.
At once, the head of his cock pressed, slowly, into her wetly-baked depths, every inch covered, every spot of constricted walls blown apart forced the girl to moan aloud. Applejack's hips swung up and down, in tiny bounces, in the vain hopes of escaping the overpowering fullness slowly beating into her pussy.
Beating. Stops and goes. Mac shoving himself an inch further, stopping then pulling, giving her cunt a second to relax—before blowing back in. Desperate cries before at how tight Applejack had been, begging and pleading for something thick, something wide, something hard and forceful to fuck herself silly with.
And now, she got her wish in the most horrendously, wonderful way possible.
“It looks like the little slut has finally found herself full on cock.” Mac kneaded her ass to the gushing of softness, finally hilted inside of her. Pathetic. “So fed on half of my size? Now that just ain't gonna do, is it? If yer gonna pretend to be a zebra—then you better pretend to take this well!”
Mac pulled back, leaving only his head nestled inside—before slamming back in. Applejack jumped at the attack of massive dick only to be held still by the hands on her shoulders. With a cry, she swung her head down... seeing the girth of Mac's shaft bulging through her belly.
“Zecora's half your size.” Mac continued with his powerful thrusts inside Applejack's pussy, cupping her ass to tide over the lack of his speed, every pushing inside spreading her walls apart. They loosened with every act—an unbearable tightness around his size a mixture of pain and pleasure. “And yet she takes dick better than you. Are you a slut only for small cocks? Such a big chest and ass, all to have a pussy unable to take a real dick.”
Applejack wanted to shout back at those words, but when she lifted her head, all that came out of her mouth was a lolled tongue. Smacks rolled through her body after each of his thrust, the softness of her butt finally gripped by something hard, sturdy and with pressure.
“Look high now, young one.” Applejack raised her gaze to the zebra standing before her, taller than before, with a hand on her hip. “You are now entering the zone of pleasure. But a weak whore like yourself doesn't deserve such a delight without having worked to own it.”
Zecora then pushed her hips forward, hovering her striped pussy over the wood of the bed rest. “It's not fair only you should finish.” One of the hands lifted from Applejack's shoulder, grabbing a lock of hair and, with a yank, shoved her face right into zebra pussy. “Eat.”
And Applejack didn't fight her place in the dynamic. What point was there in fighting the new truth of her soul? Her eyes closed and her head tilted, mouth opening over delicate folds with a tongue slipping into a tight hole, licking and eating out the collection of juices welling from since they first began.
She swore, even if it be a trick of the mind, traces of cum thicker than the rest, a burst of flavour. Perhaps... leftovers from her brother? It didn't matter as she ate way, finally sinking into the rise and drops of her massive cock beating and retreating from her pussy, delighting in the screaming of her walls as they spread and pressed ever outward.
There wasn't any point in clenching. Not when even at her most lax that it was still nearly impossible to take all of him inside of her. Rather than that, she backed into his dick as it came flying in, screaming into the pussy her face dived against, feeling the walls of the latter clenched tighter and tighter... this cursed night of heat... of arousal... of denied lust finally... about to be resolved.
“Now tell me s-somethin' dear sis.” Mac grunted a low growl while the smacks of his crotch blew over the silence of the room. “What are ya to me now?”
Applejack felt herself lifted at his final thrust, feeling her body lifted from the force of the impact, raised then dropped, feeling his cock buried itself deep within her. Seconds later, steamy, milky splattered against her burning wall, biting them into their very last quiver.
She pulled back from the pussy to scream: “I-I'm your slut! Your broodmare! Empty everything you have inside of me—please!”
Her eyes shut tight while the sensitive curves of her thighs pressed tightly together, the tension and heat and itching burned over in a single flame, all the contents repressed delight gushing out from all around her walls, mixing with the thicker splatter of cum as the collecting current, with a massive member occupying most of the space within her, struggled to escape through her opening.
And so too came the spurts of warm butter splashing onto her snout. Dug between the dark lips of the zebra, Zecora had pulled her face in tight, unloading upon it, between her eyes and down her cheek, a gulp of milk pooling over her receded tongue.
Within but a mere moment, the powerful stud had emptied himself inside of his little sister, falling back with a mighty creak of the bed. The zebra stepped back with a hand searching over her hips, feeling herself, delighting in the bliss of her release.
And Applejack, spent beyond her body's limits, fell to the side as the heat faded. The had sunk beneath the surface of her skin, pulsating a breeze around the places it occupied, allowing her tense body, finally, to relax in bliss.
Applejack felt the mixture of cum drooling from her pussy, and even though she should have felt pain at what it meant, it was only pleasure that followed her to sleep. Her eyes, dotted in small hearts, fell shut.
The stripes painted onto her body, now, of her.
It'd been roughly a few weeks since the fated night happened. After a quick agreement was reached by the three, Zecora moved into the farmhouse—as did her sense of attire. Everyone dressed loose, nearly free—and feeling free to do as they pleased with each other.
More often than not, when the market days came, the orange cowgirl turned faux-zebra rubbed the curve in her belly before the wooden stand of her stall. Something alive, pleasant in her belly, throbbed with the vigour known only to Applejack from her brother.
The little sister, with a bun in the oven, carrying the weight, pleasurably so, of her brother's baby.
Rarity had been the first to notice the change in her dress sense. The word she'd use was... fertile. Bigger breasts covered in a thin cloth, the brass of a golden ring, pierced into each tit, defined against the fabric. Less clothing and more metal. Chains on her ankles; brass around her neck.
And with stripes no longer looking painted on.
In a way... it fitted the farmer. Allowing her wide hips and plump breasts and supple cheeks to be exposed, covered by little, suited a new kind of look. Always appearing so fertile and free, sexual freedom without the goal of being outright attracted. There was something strange about it, but at the same time, something spiritual that freed her.
That, and the sex was great.
“This should help the baby in being a proper bred.” Applejack sat on the side of the bed, legs spread wide. Zecora kneeled on the ground before her, painting sprawling arrows and shapes and symbols in the round curve of her plump belly. “Much like before, they may take some time to sink in.”
She gazed up with a grin. “But you, orange slut of the farm, will have no issue in quickening the process.”
That would have been insulting a time before. Now, it mattered not, but teased greatly.
“And as for our process,” Zecora said before sanding up proper, tossing a glance over the bed and out the window, “I think there is a competent our relationship is sorely lacking.”
Applejack blinked. Following the gaze of her lover saw her sights outside the window, down below, where Applicable stood in the grass afar. With a twirl of her body, her foot raised and kicked into the base of a tree, rock it, but the tightness of her overall restricting her movement.
“Someone truly young to raise proper.”
Both girls gazed back at each other, grinning, with their sights set.
Author's Note
There's been a bit of a theme swimming beneath the words of this story—not too deeply, of course—but still there nonetheless. There's a certain freedom in going nude that, while I may not enjoy it, can see while others indulge in it.
The second, of course, is going with your gut.
When you are tired and your head swirling in heat, you find yourself unable to think straight. Bullshit melts away, the fibs you usually tell yourself, melted inside a boiling pot. All that remains is two things: truth and instincts.
This was a story about Applejacking feeling more freedom becoming more exposed with her body, living life with a hotter intensity that only pure truth boils through into her actions. Of course, the story is meant mostly for sex and porn and character dynamics, but I found, regardless of the kind of story, big or small, having a little something there beneath it all helps more than it hurts.
All that said, I begin to the next project, and hope you will soon find me there too.
~ Yr. Pal, B
