A rather colder Applebuck season.
Sunlight streams through the open curtains as the first rays of Celestia's orb break over the distant horizon, and you reluctantly awaken to an empty bed, yet again. You've long since stopped trying to argue that she should wake you up with her, but Applejack will be Applejack, and you realised long ago that you wouldn't change that for the world.
No, she needs your help later. She's used to late nights and early starts, you're not - she can't have you working tired, she has a buisiness to run, and more importantly, you could hurt yourself. Apples come first, apples come second, and though you may not have been born one, you're an Apple to her. And Apples are hard workers, or at least, you tell yourself that, as you force yourself out of bed, into the cold morning, and stumble out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. A quick shower, good tooth-brushing, and a hasty dressing later, you're ready to go, wearing clothes so overwhelmingly "practical" you had to pay Rarity not to redesign them.
Breakfast is, like always, an apple. You can't stop yourself savouring its delicious, juicy flavour and texture, and like always, it makes you think of Applejack. Of her hard, round behind, and her strong, capable legs. Of her tied back hair, and the hat that keeps the sun out of her eyes. The sound of her hooves clopping across the hard path, or the softer fields of Sweet Apple Acres is a sound you dreamed of for so long before she finally asked you to move in. Big Mac had left for the now green plains of Apploosa, at least for a while, so the arrangement made sense. Which is Applejack all over - no romantic gestures she can't afford, no asking people to move in when she hasn't the room, no great risks, just Applejack. Always and forever.
But you can't think about Applejack and continue procrastinating without feeling guilty - she's done so much for you, given you a job and a home, when nobody else would. More than that, though, she gave you a life - a reason to get up in the morning, even when that morning was completely alien to you, lost in some strange world. Even if you didn't honestly enjoy the day's work helping her in the fields, you'd feel indebted to her anyway. She's said you shouldn't, but it's hard not to when she's the reason you can wake up in the morning, and the reason you want to.
So you stride out of the door, head held high, into the freezing, white-coated winter wasteland, the thick layer of snow rendering the landscape difficult to make out. Of course, first day of winter today, you should have checked the schedules. At least it makes it very easy to find Applejack, her hoofprints still fresh in the snow, leading out to the barn. You follow, shivering (Your clothes are built for summer), and point your head around the barn door, finding AJ sitting there shifting the last few buckets of apples from yesterday into the huge containers she's storing food for the winter in. Without a word, you pick up the bucket she's not using, and pour it in, before sitting down on a nearby hay-bale. She joins you a few moments later, jumping up beside you and staring up at the huge barrels of apples.
"I sure do hope we got enough for the winter, Mac being gone ain't done wonders for the stocks this year", she worries. She's good at worrying, she'd worry for the whole town if she could. You love her for it, but it's hard to keep up sometimes. Still, you feel the need to do something to say "Stop worrying, I'm sure it'll be fine", so you settle for putting your arm around her and leaning into her a little - she likes it when you do that. She's strong enough to hold you up without issue, and it gives her someone closer to worry about.
"I know, sugarcube, I shouldn't worry, mayor'll bring forward spring if we need to. It don't stop me, though", and a sigh. You hug her a little tighter, and suggest you go back inside where it's not freezing. She agrees, smiling up at you with a strained smile - the start of winter always gets to her. Having enough food for everyone is vital, and it's already past the point where she can do anything about it if she doesn't have enough. Pointless stress, but that's Applejack, always thinking of others before herself - you just wish she'd think about what it does to you.
Getting back to the house, you throw a few logs onto the fire and start its slow burn, filling the room with heat, while Applejack stares off wistfully into the distance. She hates early winter, there's no work to be done, but none of her friends can stay the same. Dash is busier than ever orchestrating the start of winter, Fluttershy is probably rushing around helping the animals who didn't get organised fast enough, Pinkie is too excited about the snow for a slow and steady pony like AJ to cope, Rarity never stops designing, and Twilight is probably studying some esoteric snow themed magic. Even the lesser friends are busy, the flower sisters, Lyra and Bon-Bon, Carrot Top, everybody but AJ has work to do to deal with winter, but on the farm, all the work is preperation.
Well, no, not this year. She's not going to spend the next few days fretting until her friends calm her down, not this year. Not if you have anything to do about it, which you certainly hope you do. Just taking her mind off of the outside world for a while should do, and there's nothing better for that than baking some sweet, sweet apple pie. You have the ingredients, you know, you've spend the past week making sure you can make it through the winter with a minimum of resupplies. You can spare the ingredients, and Applebloom'll love it when she gets back from school.
Standing up and away from the fire, you walk over to the oven, and turn the little dial to "hot", holding your hand out to the oven door as you watch the magic within start to raise the temperature to a scorching heat. "I know what'll cheer you up, AJ - a bit of baking and an apple pie!"
Flashing you a smile, she walks into the kitchen and flips a bowl onto the surface with an expert kick. "Well alright then, let's bake!"
That's more like it, but you can still see her brow frown slightly as she continues to worry, much as she tries to hide it. Gathering the ingredients, you start the baking process, cutting a slab of butter as Applejack pours in just the right amount of flour, and then begins to knead is with her hooves, pushing and prodding and forcing it around, mixing the ingredients together into a doughey mess.
You have to admit, watching AJ get covered in sticky bits of dough is an attractive concept, but luckily you manage to hide the full extent of your interest until she feels it's ready, and rolls it out onto the surface, pushing it flat in her hooves. You grab the baking tray, and help her push it into the sides, making the traditional round pielike shape.
Wandering out of the room for a while, you leave AJ to prepare the filling - her expertise with all things apple renders you useless there anyway, so you grab the book you've been reading, and sit down with it for a while.
Some time later, you hear the beautiful clip-clop sound of AJ walking out of the kitchen, her forehooves stained with flour, dough, apples, and sugar, and her hair lying at her sides, frazzled and damp from so long working in a hot room. She's beautiful - none of this "perfection" stuff, she's always right there in the moment. Always doing something, and always looking "practical". She is, however, getting the floor dirty, so you put the book down, stand up, walk over, and pick her up, your arms holding her just below her forelegs while you carry her over to the chair as she silently fumes.
"I don't need ya help to get across a room", she snaps, until you point at the floor, her hoofprints clearly visible on the wooden panels.
"Oh horseapples, I plain forgot about how dirty my hooves are!", she mumbles, looking away. You tell her you don't mind in the most effective way you can - a quick kiss, and take one of her hooves on your hand. You can do something about the mess for sure, you say, stripping a thin layer of flour from the edge of her hoof with your tongue, prompting her to gasp and whisper your name. "We got about an hour 'till the pie's done"
You don't need any more invitation than that, climbing up onto the chair and resting your upper body across hers before you properly start work on her hooves, savouring the taste of her hard work, and her musky scent, combined with the sweet flavour of apple pie filling, juicy apples and sweet sugar, and the dough tying it all together. Rolling your tongue over the hard surface, scraping off the squashed specks of apple, and licking away the juices, Applejack melts into the sofa beneath you, closing her eyes and relaxing while you take care of her.
Another lick, and her hoof is clean, leaving you free to move onto the second, quickly cleaning it with a more experienced touch, the taste all the better for it, the tang of apples being the perfect flavour for her. Finishing up, you lie down on top of her, and hold her close, happy just to be near her, knowing you've taken her mind off of the rest of the town, at least for now.
She, however, wasn't content to just lie still, as you feel her tail anchor itself under your trousers and force them down, her ability to use it like a fifth limb coming in useful once again as she smiles at you, feeling your painfully erect member slap out into her flank, and into the waiting grip of her tail, which slowly starts to stroke up and down, her harsh, scratchy hairs gripping tightly, causing you to groan on top of her, pushing your head into her mane to muffle the sounds. With a single strong leg, she pulls you back up and kisses you, savouring the sound of your moans as she continues to pull up and down, your body shuddering under her powerful grip. Just as suddenly as she started, she stops, pulling your leg with her tail and prompting you to move back a little, before spreading her hindlegs wide. What she's looking for is obvious, but you still don't react fast enough for her, as she grabs your penis in her tail once more, and pulls it forcefully into position as you shuffle forwards quickly, penetrating her at high speed, causing her tail to go limp as she loses concentration.
Gripping her upper body, you begin to thrust properly, under your own power this time, watching as her orange skin starts to flush red with arousal, and her pink slit slick with her juices, making it easy to work in and out, slamming your crotches together in time with both of your groans, Applejack's strong legs effortlessly deforming the cushions around her as she grits her teeth, her body rocking back and forth with every plunge, the force shaking her mane around as she throws back her head, her mouth lying open as she starts to lose herself in pleasure.
Unfortunately, she's practically the model of fitness and endurance, and you quickly find yourself coming up against your limits, starting to lose concentration as your thrusts become erratic as you come closer to your edge, Applejack still determinedly thrusting back, until you finally cum, pumping your liquids inside of her as she gasps in pleasure under you, her tail flicking around as she loses herself to the sensation. Alas, it's not enough, and as you collapse on top of her, she's left unsatisfied - that won't do. She'd never do that to you. You can't do it back, so, with aching muscles, you struggle backwards, getting into a comfortable position to slide two fingers between her folds, her dripping arousal making it effortless, and your love for her helping you ignore your semen as it slowly seeps outward.
Pushing in and out with renewed vigor, AJ resumes her status as lost in her own little world of pleasure as you work with enthusiasm, running harder and harder as you attempt to get her off, your hands getting stickier and stickier, and the almost feral musk of her delicious Apple pie mixing in with the gorgeous smell of the actual apple pie baking not too far away. Feeling her body tense up under your constant, heavy touch, and knowing she's close to the edge, you push harder, though your arm muscles are complaining and threatening to give in, you push through the pain, as she pushes through her pleasure, her vaginal walls starting to contract around your fingers, squeezing and pulling them as she screams out in joy, all thoughts of the outside world completely wiped from her mind. Mission complete, in that sense, not that you're thinking it as you struggle up to her head to give her a weak kiss, before collapsing by her side, completely spent, with her following you into the land of nod not too long afterwards, holding you in a sleepy embrace as she drifts off to sleep, not having moved an inch.
The pie was fine, the oven turned itself off when it was done. It's magic, after all.