IX

“Applebloom!”

The voice that cut the air like a tomboyish tumbler full of gravel could only belong to one pony.

Scootaloo’s tiny wings fluttered her above ground as she came bounding through the crowd of ponies that had collected after class’s dismissal. Scootaloo’s eyes were brimming with anticipation as she parted the throng of school-children not quite on their way home yet.

“Applebloom,” she repeated again as she caught site of the target of her exclamation.

Applebloom turned her head with a bit of a surprised look, not having expected an orange pegasus filly to come barrelling at her like an on-target smart missile.

Of course, Sweetie Belle followed in tow, having considerably more difficulty making her way forward than Scootaloo had. Murmured ‘Um, excuse me’s and gentle prods were a notably less effective crowd clearing tool than simply shoving other ponies out of the way.

“Hmm?” Applebloom raised an eyebrow in curiosity. It wasn’t as though her friends attention was entirely unexpected, but when Scootaloo had a look that excited on her face there was no telling what she might have planned.

I kept my eyes halfway open from a few feet away, trying to break my habit of leaning up against the school-house wall like a barely employed security guard. I watched the exchange between the three with mild interest, wondering what hair-brained request two of the three Cutie Mark Crusaders might have come up with.

“Are you gonna come hang out now that school’s out? Sweetie Belle thought of a totally rad idea for something to try to get our cutie marks!”

Sweetie Belle pried her way out of the crowd of her schoolmates with her face clenched in determination, but didn’t quite manage to keep her balance as the last of the tide of ponies surged around her. Her front hooves slipped, and she landed face first on the ground with an ‘oof’, her pink-and-purple tail waggling above her squishy white butt like a flag of defeat.

Scootaloo rolled her eyes and turned to help her friend up, prying her off the ground like a flattened filly pancake. Surprisingly, Sweetie Belle seemed unfazed by her fall - given her proclivity for clumsiness, she was probably more than used to the occasional trip.

“That’s right! I thought about it when we were supposed to be doing our math assignment.”

I turned my detached observational glare into a look of disapproval, but kept my tongue silent as I watched the scene unfold. It wasn’t as though a grown-up telling a kid to be interested in math had every been successful.

Applebloom cocked her eyebrow again, asking for more information without investing herself any further into the conversation than was necessary.

Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle shared a look, both of them smiling outrageously, before they turned their heads back towards Applebloom.

“What about–” started Scootaloo.

“–Cutie Mark Crusader Forest Explorers!”

Both Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo’s shouted their idea at full volume, loud enough that I could see Applebloom’s bow swaying against the force of their collective verbal force.

“‘Forest Explorers’?” asked Applebloom, scratching her head and readjusting her bow.

Sweetie Belle nodded enthusiastically.

“Uh-huh! I thought it’d be really cool if we could go exploring in a jungle, and find something like a temple or lost magical artifact.... but we don’t have any jungles around here. So the forest was the next best thing!”

“Y’all don’t mean the Everfree Forest, do you?”

Sweetie Belle blinked once or twice before turning her eyes downward in as much avoidance as she could muster with a facial expression.

“Well... no. Not necessarily, anyway.”

Applebloom rolled her eyes, showing off the memories she still had from the groups last visit to the Everfree.

Scootaloo stared on, oblivious, her eyes still brimming with anticipation at Applebloom’s agreement.

“Right. Well, as much fun as that sounds, I can’t make it today.”

Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle matched their expressions perfectly, both of faces falling with big pouting lower lips as Applebloom crushed their hopes with a single sentence.

“It’s not that I don’t want to! It’s just that Big Macintosh hurt himself a little while ago, and Applejack needs ma’ help on the farm.”

“Applejack needs your help to make up for Big Mac being hurt?” Scootaloo asked incredulously.

“Well, not just my help.”

Applebloom gestured with one of her forelegs back in my direction.

That was my chance to speak up, I suppose.

“I’m not as strong as Big Macintosh by any means, but it’s not like I wasn’t going to offer to help when I heard he was out of commission. Besides which, you know the saying; many hands make for light work.”

All three fillies blinked at me as though I’d uttered something in a different language.

Oh, right. Hands.

“Er... I mean, many hooves?”

Another set of blinks.

Applebloom broke the silence, turning in my direction as she spoke.

“Anyway. You guys feel free to go exploring without me. Ah promise I’ll be able to hang out more when Big Mac is feeling better.”

Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle quelled their pouts to only a half-disappointed set of puppy-dog eyes and nodded at Applebloom’s explanation. Scootaloo kicked at the dirt once with her foreleg, but raised her head afterwards, obviously more disappointed than upset.

“We get it. Tell your brother we hope he gets well soon, okay?”

“Will do!” Applebloom smiled at her friends as they walked back into the end-of-school crowd, now significantly thinned as the last of the ponies left were making their way home. Appleblooom watched them walk for half a minute before turning towards me, smiling at me underneath her big red bow.

“Well, I guess we’d better be on our way then?”

I nodded. Sweet Apple Acres was a bit of a walk, after all.

We walked until the trees were thick enough that we were sure no one could see us. I kept giving half-worried glances over my shoulder, but Applebloom seemed sure of herself after we passed the first large outcropping of forest. I was just about to suggest stopping, but Applebloom was on me before I could speak. Without any preamble, her teeth were on the zipper to my jeans, and the sound of the metal teeth sliding down was the first sound either of us made in the otherwise silent forest.

Applebloom used her mouth to tug down on my pants as I took them off, sliding my boxers off alongside them in one go. I was already hard. My cock swung inches away from her face as she lifted it up, and she licked her lips at the sight of my fully hardened member in plain view.

I didn’t give her a chance to pounce on me though. Before she could move again, I was on her, scooping her up in my arms and carrying her forward, then lowering her slowly to the ground as I kneeled down, holding myself over her. She started panting as I planted my mouth on her neck, kissing and nibbling at the softness of her skin, drooling in unmitigated anticipation far more than was appropriate.

That’s a strange word to use. ‘Appropriate’.

“I’ve been wanting to get you alone all day,” I said, running one of my hands along her body and squeezing my fingers into the supple flesh of her butt, delighting in the squeal she made as I kneaded at her taut young behind.

“Ah know,” she panted. Her hips were moving in response to my touch, her back arching as her body asked in every way for more. “I saw how hard you were. Look how bad you’ve got me wantin’ it.”

I lowered my hand between Applebloom’s legs. She gasped as my fingers slid along her slit. True to her word, she was soaked.

I moved my mouth away from her neck and busied my tongue with the rest of her body, lapping desperately at her skin as I made my way down to her dripping honey-pot.

Though I was naked from the waist down, I opted to keep my shirt on. I could feel the solidness pressed into my shoulder where I had wrapped the pouch around my arm, holding the wooden statue close to my body.

“Applebloom.”

I moaned her name before I moved my head further downward, taking in a taste of her wetness.

She moaned back at me wordlessly, thrusting up into my tongue. Her moaning was always so loud, it made me boggle at how no one managed to hear it, no matter where we had our fun.

As I lapped at her gently while positioning myself to move forward and bury myself inside her in one thrust, her eyes shone a bright, sparkling orange, brighter than the sun blotted out by the canopy of branches and leaves overhead.

I spent a lot of time thinking about where things went ‘wrong’. Wrong in the loosest sense of the word, because there’s nothing right about what happened. ‘Right’ only in the sense that I finally got what I had been aching after for so many months; the culmination of my horrible fantasies brought to life.

I call them horrible because I’m a realist. I don’t hold any delusions about the morality of my descent into what I actually did.

But, that being said, there’s a distinction in there. Somewhere.

I don’t think I was on the first step down to the lake of brimstone when I noticed all that naked pony vag.

I don’t think I was paving my way to hell when I masturbated to the mental image of Twilight’s marehood, though that might have been a step in the wrong direction.

I’m pretty sure I hadn’t damned myself irrevocably when I caught myself ogling Applebloom’s backside and fantasizing about plowing her underage pussy in the most unspeakably depraved of scenarios.

I mean, at that point we’re still in the realm of though.

So, I probably set myself too far down the river Styx when I started the rubbing, or the errant fondling.

By the time I thought ‘Applebloom, you’re going to stay a sex hungry filly-slut, and you’re going to like it’, or the closest mental equivalent, I had pretty much written off any semblance of humanity.

But that’s what makes the question weird. Here I am in a world where ‘humanity’ is only equivalent with the moral conscience of an entirely distinct race of sentient beings - not to say that the ponies I’ve spent time with aren’t capable of understanding morality - but they’re lacking that very concise word for it. There’s no ‘humanity’ to lose - just integrity that, for all intents and purposes, seems not to exist as a question of integrity or reprehensibility. For all I know - and I have my suspicions - I could be the first individual to broach the subject of ‘foal-fiddling’ in Equestria. I could be the first anything to put my dick in a pony not of legal ability to consent.

What is the legal age of consent for Equestrians anyway? I don’t think I’ve ever done the research.

Anyway.

In a way, that’s almost a poetic distinction. I mean, in a very perverse, very horrible kind of way. The first human in Equestria within anypony’s recent memory, and what does he end up doing? Blending into the community under the guise of ‘helpfulness’, and then spiralling into a sex-obsessed pedophiliac descent that probably has no context to exist within the rest of the world.

It doesn’t speak well for the perception of ‘humanity’ as a whole.

To this day, I still couldn’t tell you why I did it. I couldn’t tell you what synapses in my brain fired when I first saw Applebloom’s taut filly butt bent over in front of me, or even why the idea of plowing a pony’s pussy had become attractive in the first place. Heck, if I’d wanted to dive down the route of interspecies intercourse, there were plenty of larger, legal, potentially consenting older ponies who I probably could have charmed into bed with the promise of ‘exotic xenophiliac fornication’.

But I didn’t do those things. I stewed on the desires that had no place in my head in the first place, and this is what came of them.

An opportunity that I couldn’t pass up, and now a world so catered to my indulgences it may as well be a fantasy.

I’d never thought that, upon waking up that first day and getting a faceful of shocked pony staring back at me, that I’d end up where I am.

I’m not sure if all this makes me a terrible person.

I mean, it probably does.

I guess the question I keep asking myself isn’t as much ‘when?’ as ‘why?’

Can I say that anyone else put in my shoes wouldn’t have done the same thing?

I don’t exactly have the wherewithal to test that kind of hypothesis.

With all that in mind, if I was given a second chance, would I do everything over again, exactly the same way?

That one eats me up at night.

But every day I wake up just the same, wooden-statue attached to my shoulder, and all my foal fantasies waiting for me to say ‘go’.

I guess if I think about it more, I might come to some kind of conclusion. Some sort of answer to myself, or the world in general, about the nature of humanity’s integrity; the bendability of morals and the notion of how decision plays into our understanding of ‘right and wrong’.

I don’t have that answer now, though, so I guess there’s nothing more to do than to ride out the crest of the decisions that brought me here.

I’ll try to find an answer as time goes on, really.

But at least for now, in regards to where this all falls and where it might go, this is

The End.