Spring In Her Step

“Oh. Hey Big Mac! Are you here about the wiring?”

“Eeyup. Your sister in?”

“Nah, Rarity’s out with Fluttershy; she asked me to let you in and stuff,” said Sweetie Belle. “I’m so glad you’re here; this place is like a sauna without the AC.”

Big Mac walked through the door and wiped his boots on the mat. “Ya got the part?”

“It’s on the kitchen table. Head on over to the living room, I’ll bring it to you. It’s uh, upstairs, first door on the left.” Sweetie Belle padded off to the kitchen, barefoot on the immaculate boutique floor. She wasn’t wrong about the AC, thought Big Mac. It was sweltering; Sweetie’s short, pleated skirt and thin white spaghetti-strap top were downright necessities in this heat.

He made his way up the stairs, toolbox in hand, and entered the living room. It was cooler in there thanks to an open skylight. The living room was messier than the shop downstairs, if you could call a few open magazines and two empty mugs on the coffee table a ‘mess’.

Six feet up the wall, next to a stepladder, was a hole where a panel of drywall had been removed. The hole was twelve inches by twelve inches, and wiring and gem matrices were visible behind it.

As soon as he set his tools down next to the stepladder, Sweetie Belle walked into the room, with a cardboard parcel in one hand and a glass of lemonade in the other. She placed them on the stepladder.

“The part is in the parcel, and I got you a drink in case you get thirsty,” she said.

“Thank you kindly, Sweetie Belle.”

She beamed at him, two cute dimples gracing her cheeks once more. Her face was the picture of angelic innocence.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said, “I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”

“Uh, wait,” he blurted, “Where’s the fusebox?”

“Just above the door,” replied Sweetie, pointing at it. “Don’t worry, all the switches are off.”

“Thanks.”

Big Mac’s eyes lingered for only a moment as she walked off, and then he got to work. He was no master technomancer, but he’d picked up a fair bit out of sheer necessity after dealing with enough old and rusty agricultural machinery to last two lifetimes. It was a simple busted refractor junction — inexpensive to replace, but fitting a new one correctly could take some wrangling. Rarity had been unwilling to risk it and had asked Applejack. She’d been busy with market day, so she sent Macintosh in her stead.

The first thing he did was double-check the fuse box. They were off as Sweetie had said, but it paid to be on the safe side. He climbed a few steps up the ladder and removed the old junction. It was a cheap thing, a crab-apple sized cube with different slots and contacts for wiring. He heard it rattle as the broken internal components moved around. He cast it aside, and removed the new one from its packaging. This junction was sturdier and a better quality, with ‘FP Industries’ stamped on one side.

Rewiring it was a careful, boring task, but he was done in less than five minutes. The new junction had several tiny lights on it. If the input and output were both working, a yellow and a green light would go on. If only the input was working, only a yellow light would go on. Big Mac walked over to the fuse box, and flipped the switches. He returned to the hole in the wall.

Neither light was on. The input wasn’t working.

With a grunt, he turned the fusebox back off and double checked all the connections. He put his face to the hole, and shone a torch inside. Past a tangled bundle of wires, two feet to the side of the hole, he saw a tiny red light. He knew exactly what the problem was. The helix relay, a tiny cylinder that kept the flow of magic constant, had a burnt-out sapphire. Replacing one was simple as apple pie. He removed a tiny plastic baggie from his toolbox, with a sapphire the size of a popcorn kernel inside.

He hit a snag as soon as he tried to remove the burned out sapphire. The thaumatic installation was a slapdash, amateur job. Whoever did it had used wasteful amounts of wiring and stiffed on the components, almost certainly a builder cutting corners instead of hiring a qualified technomancer. When Big Mac tried to reach his hand under the wiring, it bunched up above him and blocked him from the helix. He tried to go over it, and it forced his arm at such an angle he couldn’t get any leverage. He tried to go through it for a brief moment, before realising it was impossible to do so without tearing half of the wires by accident.

His hands tapped the inside of the wall, searching for any grooves. No luck, the tiny panel was the only part that could be removed; the rest of the plasterboard was a single piece. He swore in frustration.

“Tricky, huh?”

Big Mac’s ears turned bright pink as he realised he’d just sworn in front of Sweetie Belle. He cleared his throat. “Ah, eeyup.”

She idly looked over the broken junction. “Is the new part working?”

“Can’t tell yet. The relay’s got a burned-out sapphire an’ ah can’t reach it.”

“I might be able to get to it,” said Sweetie Belle. “My arm’s a lot thinner than yours.”

“Huh. Yeah.” He looked at her arm, and then looked to the gap in the wall. “Ah think that could work. You know how to replace it?”

She rolled her eyes. “I can replace a sapphire; I’m not an idiot. Besides, me and Apple Bloom helped rig up the clubhouse last year, remember?”

He smiled grimly. “Ah remember Apple Bloom coming back fer dinner with no eyebrows.”

“Mistakes were made,” she said, shrugging. “Which is why we don’t let Scootaloo play with tasers any more, but that’s not the point. Do you want me to have a go?”

“Sure.”

She climbed the stepladder and sat on the top step, facing parallel to the wall. It wobbled slightly as she reached inside the wall, causing her to squeak in panic. “Uh, Big Mac, can you hold the ladder for me?”

He got in front of her, his powerful hands gripping the ladder in place. He was entirely unprepared for what happened next.

Sweetie Belle lifted one leg, and draped it over his shoulder. Her knee rested against his neck. Big Mac could see right up her short skirt.

“Uh, Sweetie Belle—” He tried to shift, but her free hand grabbed his hair, not quite hard enough to hurt.

“Eep! Stay right there, I’m getting close!”

Big Mac stood shock still, his face flushing pink, trying to look anywhere but between the teenaged girl’s legs. Her fingers relaxed, gently tracing through his hair, and her heel rubbed tiny little circles below his shoulderblades. Her lower thigh touched his jawline. His face burned. She must have been able to feel it.

“‘kay, I’ve got the relay, just popping the old one out...”

She lifted her other leg, and rested her tiny toes on Big Mac’s chest. She dug in, gripping his skin lightly between her toes and the ball of her foot. He swallowed, the hairs on his arms prickling up. Her feet were little things, barely as big as his hands. He could tell how soft her skin was even through the fabric of his t-shirt. Her toes were adorable, the big toe the size of a small grape, nails painted lilac to match her fingernails. She was either too young to have callouses, or had scrubbed them away with pumice. Her feet were perfect in every way.

Sweetie Belle’s fingernails raked lightly through his scalp, leading his head ever so slightly down. He had to look, it was impossible not to look. He looked up her skirt, and could see her panties.

They were covered in little pink hearts.

Big Mac’s heart thumped in his ears. His breathing was slow and steady, but he felt like he’d been huffing amphetamine-laced glue. Nope nope nope, he thought, she’s Apple Bloom’s age. That’s prison-time age. Sweetie Belle was muttering something, but Big Mac couldn’t hear. It was a whisper in a thunderstorm.

The foot on his chest started to move. Her toes splayed out as she trailed her foot down, making him twitch and grunt imperceptibly when her middle toes dragged over his nipple. His skin tingled under her efforts, somewhere between a tickle and a shock. She was still massaging his scalp with her fingertips.

She knew what she was doing. She had to know what she was doing, and all Big Mac wanted to do was move her leg and move her foot and tell her to knock it off but oh Celestia he didn’t.

He kept his gaze locked between her legs while she teased him with her foot. He was staring right at her pussy, his face barely a foot away from it. Her panties were just too tight, molding perfectly over her lower lips. He couldn’t tell in the light, but he swore he saw a tiny spot of dampness at the base of her cleft.

He wanted. He wanted to reach forward and rip those cute little pink-heart panties down, then plant his face in her pussy. He’d be sloppy, his rough stubble prickling her pristine thighs, her juices spilling down his chin like an overripe peach as she babbled incoherently and grabbed two thick handfuls of his hair.

The scent of her sex reached his nostrils. He had expected something thin and light, the tang of apples that carries through an orchard. Instead it was strong, sweaty, almost overpoweringly musky. This girl was all woman. It hit him as if he’d opened an oven full of fresh bread in his face. He let out a strong breath through his nostrils, almost snorting like a bull.

He wanted more. To grab her and pin her against the wall, kissing the little slut, letting her moan and push her cute little tongue between his lips. To nip and suck down on her neck, digging his teeth into her skin just to hear her squeal from the pain and the pleasure, sucking hard enough to leave a beautifully hideous purple splotch on her unblemished skin.

Her foot had trailed below his chest and was now winding its way down his abdominal muscles.

His want hurt. He wanted to bend her over his lap, squeeze her soft butt like bubblegum hard enough that she whines, then bring his palm crashing down on her buttock. To spank her and scold her for being a naughty, underage cocktease, to see her butt wobble and redden as his hand smacks it, to see her eyes well up with tears, and then to push two fingers between her legs right into her jailbait pussy, showing her just how fucking wet she is and how much she gets off on being spanked.

Her foot was an inch above his belly button. Her toes curled and dragged down two inches, then uncurled as she raked her toenails up his skin an inch. Two inches down, one inch up. Curl down, rake up.

His want became need. His need, to strip her clothes off and lay her on on her back. To get between her legs, and rub tip of cock between her sopping lower lips. To paw at her tiny breasts like the animal he is, as she bites her lip and her toes curl against his calves. To cherish the look in her eyes, pupils dilated, that look of fear and lust and want; to leave her breathless and blushing in anticipation of what his fat fucking cock will feel like as he claims her virginity, and leave her chest tight with fear, having no idea how that monster of a cock will fit inside her.

He was close to breaking point. She was grabbing his hair and twisting hard, but he felt no pain, only excitement. Her foot was below his navel, it dragged down, raked up, dragged down and the ball of her foot was pressing against his belt and then five toes dipped and sneaked under his belt, under his pants, slipping a half-inch under the waistline, wiggling between his skin and his underwear—

“Done!”

The voice snapped through his mind. He tore his eyes from between her legs and looked up at her. She was beaming at him. Her face was the picture of angelic innocence.

Before he could even think of a response, she withdrew her legs and the hand in his hair, and then climbed down the ladder. A burned-out sapphire lay in the palm of her other hand.

“I swapped the new one in, so it should work now,” she said, her voice full of guiltless cheer. “I’ll go switch the fusebox back on, we can see if it works.”

Big Mac didn’t move as she walked away. He could still hear his heart in his ears, and he was sucking in breaths as if he’d been plowing for an hour. He shut his mouth when he realised it was hanging open.

“Does it work?” His head turned sluggishly to look at Sweetie Belle, who was standing on a chair under the fusebox.

He turned back to the hole in the wall, his mind running on automatic. A green and a yellow light glowed in the darkness.

“Works just fine...” he said, his voice distant. He pressed a button on the junction, and several things whirred to life. The television turned on, as did the AC unit. The low drone of the air conditioning did nothing to cool the heat that burned off him, and the low drone of the EBC news presenter did nothing to dull the passions inside him.

“You fixed it!” Sweetie Belle tackled him in a full hug, wrapping her arms around him tight, her face at level with his shoulders and her small, soft breasts pressing against his chest. “Oh, thank you so much Big Mac!”

“Shucks, yer welcome...” He lightly patted her on the back and on the arm, just below her songbird mark. His heart beat slower, but still thudded against his chest. She pulled away, lingering ever so slightly, and then looked at the clock on the wall.

“Oh, it’s quarter to,” she said, “I’m meeting Bloom and Scoots in fifteen minutes; I’ve got to get ready! Thanks ever so much, and oh, there’s some bits on the kitchen counter downstairs, next to the microwave. Gotta dash!” She rushed off, her feet pitter-pattering on the carpet as she went. Macintosh Apple wiped the sweat from his brow.

Sweetie Belle had just hugged him from the front. He hoped she hadn’t felt the painfully hard erection that strained against the crotch of his jeans.

Though, part of him hoped she had.