Heat Season

Applejack treasured precious moments such as these, when she could allow herself to not think, not ponder and not care, and simply allow the wellspring of plans, thoughts, ideas and to-do prospects that so constantly rattled in her head to leave, leaving her mind a mercifully empty space. Serene. Quiet. Like an early spring morning in her apple orchard, when the birds had not yet arrived from their southern travels, when the nearest harvest loomed well over the horizon and the many wild critters that called her kin’s land home had yet to emerge from their long winter naps.

Sometimes she’d wander the orchards on these quiet mornings, the stillness broken only by her soft hoofsteps; her body invigorated by the last lingering traces of winter’s chill. Fond memories. Fond moments that belonged to her alone. Little pockets of peace and quiet in an otherwise busy, often harried life. She looked forward to moments such as those.

Even now, as her legs burned pleasantly, bouncing herself atop Anon’s body, scratching an itch that had been building for what seemed like a small eternity, Applejack found herself strangely at peace. No thoughts muddled her mind. With this clarity she could lose herself to the moment and fully embrace the seemingly endless treasure trove of carnal delights Anon presented her.

He hung in there far, far longer than she expected, well past the point even the hardiest of stallions would have long since finished. When he said he and Pinkie spent the day in bed, Applejack had not believed it, dismissing it as another tall tale, as stallions often bragged about. She now saw a kernel of truth in his words.

Her own body felt the strain of her efforts. Of course, her current actions were nothing compared to the rigors of farm life, but every time she bounced atop him, plunging his stallionhood deep within her, filling her with nothing but satisfaction and a deep carnal bliss, her breaths grew heavier and deeper, and she moaned to the heavens, feeling a satisfying, primal sort of delight in vocalizing her pleasure.

*SMACK*

“Gah!”

A sharp, stinging pain caused her to stiffen. The rhythmic motions she’d fell into came to an abrupt end and her legs did an awkward sort of wiggle as all momentum suddenly ceased and her rump fell back, impaling her marehood anew atop Anon’s dick.

She whipped her neck around, wide-eyed and surprised to see Anon. She traced the sharp pain to her right flank, at the exact spot where his hand rested. Applejack blinked gormlessly as she could just barely make out the hints of a red imprint beneath the offending appendage.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he held Applejack’s unblinking, unrelenting stare.

“Sorry,” he said lamely.

“’S fine.” The pain faded quickly, devolving into a most... curious sort of tingle. “You surprised me, is all.”

Readjusting her position, Applejack resumed her earlier motions, slowly bobbing up and down Anon’s shaft, picking up speed as she settled into a rhythm. His hands settled onto her hips, pulling her back during her downward thrusts, plunging his hard dick deeper within her. Combined with the strain of her motions, heat flared within her like a furnace. And still her attention returned to that stinging patch atop her right flank.

“Again,” she mumbled.

Anon looked up. “Huh?”

She half-turned, regarding him from the corner of her eye. “That thing, with your hand.” She averted her gaze. “Do it again.”

Again she resumed her motions, bouncing up and down his dick. Still hot and hard, hitting her in all the right places. Anon’s hand retreated. Applejack moved steadily, less fast now, waiting with bated breath. She didn’t have to wait long.

A loud, meaty smack echoed in the otherwise deserted barn, and a stinging heat flared anew in the same spot at her right flank. She clenched around him like a vise, eliciting a fresh groan from Anon as her hips pistoned with renewed vigor.

*SMACK*

Her left flank now. The burning pain receded even faster, leaving that curious tingle in its place.

“Oh, buck,” she moaned.

She moved faster now, more desperately, coaxing sounds of approval from her partner, who in turn graced her with even more of that strangely addictive burning sting, again and again until the entirety of her flanks felt red and raw all over.

“AJ.” So lost in the throes of passion, she barely registered her spoken name. His voice sounded faint and far away. “I’m close.”

“Inside,” she gasped. “Oh, Celestia... do it inside!”

*SMACK*

It took all she had to not finish there and then, her simmering, near boiling climax held at bay by dint of sheer, bullheaded stubbornness. With the entirety of her efforts dedicated to the singular task of holding on for just a bit longer, and milking her partner to completion as bounced up and down him, ignoring the screaming protests of her muscles, Applejack lost control of her voice.

Each new slap was swiftly followed by a rapturous cry of bliss, her voice cracking, reaching higher and higher levels of pitch with each flare of burning sting, progressing to the point she all but screamed to high heaven.

Anon stiffened beneath her. His hands dug painfully into her hips. He pulled her tight against him and let loose, flooding her tunnel with load after load of his hot seed. Applejack let loose. A sea of white flared in her vision as all restraint finally broke and wracking throes of her shattering climax shook her body to her core. Somewhere far away she registered the screaming pitch of a mare. She didn’t realize until some time later it came from her.

Her legs, spent now from the strain she placed upon them, finally gave way. Gravity pulled her backward and her limp body fell atop Anon. One arm wrapped around her, steadying her. She vaguely felt the damp perspiration from his body. His enticing scent filled her senses.

A lifetime of country hospitality demanded she thank her partner for showing her a grand old time, yet her tongue felt like lead in her mouth. Her lips were scarcely more responsive. Anon’s hand settled atop her head. He ran his hand across the golden tresses of her mane in a strangely comforting manner.

Granny Smith would no doubt give her an earful were she to find her lying down atop a stall—male she’d not even paired herself to, but Applejack was as a pony whose thirst had been quenched after a long stint lost in the hot, baked desert.

The afterglow and deep-seated satisfaction of the incredible rut she’d just experienced left her wanting little else but to settle back and bask in the shared heat of her unlikely partner.

His fingernails trailed little paths across her scalp and Applejack’s eyes fluttered close. To hay with it. She pushed everything from her mind and leaned into his touch, content to enjoy their shared moment.