Spring In Her Step

Macintosh Apple hummed tunelessly as he opened up the motorbike headlight. He was kneeling on a tarp inside the barn, in the late spring afternoon. His dirtbike had been a fixture at Sweet Apple Acres for years, useful for quickly finding and replacing far-flung fences or broken irrigation pipes. He liked to take it for a spin once a month or so, and had had one or two exhilaratingly terrifying races against Rainbow Dash on her own scrambler.

He’d been fiddling with the bike all week, leaving it in tip-top condition. The tires were pumped, the fluids were topped up, there wasn’t a single broken wire or leaky tube. Fixing it up was good, rewarding work, and he’d felt a hint of panic as he’d run short of things to do to it. It had been a good distraction, and that distraction was disappearing. He’d acquired a higher-power headlamp and was halfway through installing it. It helped take his mind off—

soft white thighs wrapped around his head juices spilling like a peach

—things.

The barn door creaked open, and flip-flops slapped against soles as someone walked towards Big Mac. A strong sense of deja-vu washed over him, and he knew it was Sweetie Belle before he’d opened the door. She was dressed in a white cotton t-shirt and pale blue short-shorts. As she walked through the beams of evening sunlight that shone through gaps in the walls, her skin seemed to glimmer like gold.

Big Mac had cloistered himself away in his work to banish her from his thoughts, and she had found him.

He made eye contact and muttered a greeting, then returned to his work. The clip-clop of the flip-flops grew closer, until they rustled against the plastic tarp he was working on. She placed her hands on the leather seat of the dirtbike, lifted herself up and sat facing Big Mac, her legs dangling from the side.

Macintosh continued fiddling with the light. He was just thinking about improving his bike. Nothing else. Not one thing, nosiree.

“Heya, Big Macintosh.”

He gave a soft grunt in response. He was fixing his motorbike, didn’t have no time for frivolities right now. Nothing would distract him from his distraction.

“You fixing the motorbike?”

“Eeyup.”

“Cool.”

A silence settled as Big Mac continued to work. He stripped the old lightbulb in silence, and opened the new one in silence, and checked it for detail in silence and then cracked and spared a glance at Sweetie Belle. She was still sat on the bike, idly fidgeting her legs, a serene expression on her face.

It would have passed straight through his mind, had his eyes not reached her chest. Her nipples were poking out like pebbles under her t-shirt. Pointy perfection on top of her pert breasts. Big Mac’s eyes jerked away from them, back to his distracting distraction. He twisted the new bulb in place in silence and how were her nipples so hard in this heat and nope nope nope gotta fix the light or those fences ain’t gettin’ fixed...

“What model bike is it?”

“Harlequin GT89.” He wasn’t trying to be curt, it was just a careful task. Really.

“Oh,” said Sweetie Belle. “Huh, that sounds like the one Scoots got before Nightmare Night...”

“She’s got a GTL90. Frame’s lighter, smaller tank, less CCs.” He blinked, having inadvertently broken his conversational stonewall, but decided to continue on. There was nothing... unseemly about bikes. “It was second hand, me an’ Miss Rainbow Dash swapped out the ol’ wheels for ones that weren’t gonna fall off, treated the rust and checked it was workin’ proper.”

“That’s pretty handy. Have you seen Rainbow Dash’s bike?”

“Bike?” He chuckled. “She’s got two, at least that ah know of. She’s got a powerbike, ah think it’s a Baltimare Racing Industries Feuerkatze. Scary piece of metal. Then she’s got a dirtbike like this here, same make, but a GTX96. Bigger engine, lighter frame, proll’y not road legal. Fast, but burns fuel like a brushfire.”

Sweetie Belle grinned wryly. “Have you ever raced her?”

“Heh. Maybe once.”

“How’d it go?”

“That girl left me in the dust. Ah’m no Rainbow Dash.”

The two shared a small laugh, and smiled. This ain’t so bad, thought Big Mac, S’just normal, she was actin’ all silly last time and now it’s all just nice an’ normal.

“You had a boner.”

Macintosh nearly choked. “Uh.”

“In Carousel Boutique. When I hugged you, it was pressing into my stomach. It felt really big.”

Big Mac stared at the head of the motorcycle, avoiding her gaze. He was still in front of her, and could see her lower body and legs in his periphery. She flicked off her flip-flops, which landed on his knees before bouncing onto the tarp, and flexed her petite feet.

“Do you have one now?” she asked. Her tone had to be deliberate. No innocently curious child could ask a question with such innocent curiosity.

“Sweetie, ah don’t think —” Her foot pressed into the crotch of his jeans, her toes gripping and wiggling, separated from his member by a layer of denim. His jaw clenched, arms tensed and his entire body froze in place.

“Is that your cock? It’s soft and it’s squishy but it feels so big. I don’t even know if I could wrap my hand around it...”

Nope nope Apple Bloom’s age too young too young nope nope nope—

“Wow, I can feel your dick getting harder, it’s growing,” whispered Sweetie Belle. “Is that because I’m touching it with my feet? Do you like it when I do this with my toes—” they curled down, groping at his shaft, “—on your cock, Big Macintosh?”

As she massaged his shaft through his jeans, she moved her other foot forward, pressing the toes against his chest. She started to trail her foot upwards, dragging her big toenail up his tank top, up to his windpipe, tracing a line through the thin sheen of sweat on his neck. The soft pads of her toes touched his chin, and he could smell the faintly-sweet perfume of her moisturiser.

“Please tell me, Big Mac,” she said, her voice thick with need, “Tell me how good it feels...”

Oh Celestia ah want it but nope nope we’ll get found out we’ll lose the farm she feels so good nope she’s right there wants it so bad more than me—

Her big toe grazed his bottom lip, gentle as a feather. It was all he could take.

“Sweetie Belle!” he snapped.

She tucked her legs back to her body with a gasp, her pupils turning to pinpricks. He looked her her, his nostrils flared and eyes blazing. She looked back at Macintosh with a mixture of confusion and fear. His heart twisted when he saw her expression, but he knew it had to be done.

“Ah’m sorry Sweetie Belle, yer real pretty and — and I want to — but, Luna above, yer mah kid sister’s age! Ah’d go to jail, we’d lose the farm, an’ ah could never do that to mah family! Ah could never do that to Apple Bloom, fer Sun’s sake!” He shook his head, “We can’t do this. Ah’m sorry, but we just can’t.”

Sweetie Belle blinked. “I’m not Apple Bloom’s age,” she said, with a tiny hint of indignation, “I’m nearly two years older than her.”

Now it was Mac’s turn to look confused. “...what?”

“Bloom’s birthday is in July, right? Mine’s in September. Plus my parents started me in school a year late. I’m twenty months older than her.”

You couldn’t run a farm without a working knowledge of mathematics. There were too many things like crop schedules, fertiliser yields and market prices to be both successful and innumerate. Macintosh Apple’s knowledge stopped at very basic calculus. He could do addition just fine.

“That means yer...”

She beamed at him, her face the very picture of innocence. “Perfectly legal.”

Big Mac was still, crouching in front of the girl on his motorbike. His mind felt oddly blank, as if his whole brain had turned to cotton.

Sweetie Belle drifted her feet up to his face.

In a sinfully childlike voice, she said, “My feet are all achey from walking to the farm. Can you kiss them better, Mister Macintosh? That would be really nice, and you can lick them too, if you want...”

Haltingly, cautiously, he took her left ankle in his hand, amazed at the softness or her skin. He inched forward, and planted a gentle kiss on the ball of her foot.

“Wait,” she said. He paused, and looked up. “Save my toes for last?” She wiggled them in front of his eyes, the lilac nail varnish making them glint in the light like shiny candies. He grinned and nodded, before kissing the same spot a second time.

He ran his tongue along the arch of her foot, tasting nothing but a hint of salt and the ghost of whatever skin cream she had used. Her other foot rubbed up against his face, feeling cool against his flushed cheeks, scratching on his prickly stubble. She cooed at the two sensations, his warm, wet tongue and his scratchy facial hair.

A minute later she swapped feet. He held and licked the right, lapping up the tiny glimmer of sweat, and she rubbed the left against his cheek. After teasing his tongue down her foot, he opened his mouth wide and dragged his teeth over her heel. She twitched from the ticklishness of it, but whimpered with pleasure as he held the bite.

He relinquished the spot before kissing it gently, and then licked his way up to the arch. Opening his mouth, he pressed his lips to the skin, his tongue out as if it was an ice-cream cone, and then sealed his mouth around the arch. Then he started to suck as hard as he could, as if giving a lovebite. Her eyes went wide and her hands slammed down onto the bike seat to balance herself as she let out a slow, broken groan.

“B-big Macintosh,” she panted, “are you still hard?”

“Uh-huh,” he mumbled, his mouth still full of her foot.

“Can — huh — can you show me?”

Reaching down with his free hand, he unzipped his pants and pulled it out. It ached with his want.

“Oh, wow...”

He grinned and took her big toe in his mouth, forcing her to stifle a whimper. In return, she pressed the ball of her free foot against his cheekbone, relishing the itchy, prickly feeling of his stubble.

“Can you do something for me, Big Mac?”

He nodded, still running his tongue along the underside of her toe.

“Could you masturbate for me?” she whispered, “I wanna see you stroke that huge cock of yours, right in front of me...”

He wrapped his left hand around his shaft, feeling his own heat leach into his fingers and palm, and started to stroke up and down. Sweetie Belle stared at it, her eyes transfixed as his foreskin rolled up and down the head in a steady rhythm. A bead of crystal-clear fluid formed at the tip of his shaft. She felt her cheeks heat up, and licked her lips without realising it.

Big Mac took her three middle toes in his mouth, his tongue running between them, and she could hold back no longer. She undid the button and zipper on her shorts and slid her hand down her panties. Big Mac could see her neatly-trimmed bush poking from the top of her white-cotton panties. She gasped loudly as she slipped a finger inside herself, practically melting on the spot.

The tang of their sweat and arousal cut through the heady smell of gasoline and motor oil. Their eyes were lidded and their cheeks flushed; they had cast all restraint away and cared only for giving and receiving lewd pleasure. Every time Sweetie Belle exhaled it came out as a wanton whimper, and Macintosh sucked great breaths through his nostrils as he slobbered over her perfect feet. They shone with a thin sheen of his saliva.

Winona barked somewhere far off. Both lovers’ ears pricked up, a trill of anxiety playing through their stomachs. The barn door wasn’t locked; it was barely shut. They’d never hear someone walking in. Applejack or Apple Bloom or Scootaloo or Princess Celestia herself could open the door, and see Big Mac with four toes in his mouth and his hand wrapped tight around his shaft as Sweetie Belle squeezed her breast with one hand and pleasured herself with the other. The fear made the pleasure more stark, and their movements became fast and frantic.

When Sweetie Belle caught a hint of his smell, of hay and apple peel, sweat and motor oil, her eyes glazed over. Her fingers quickened, digging in two knuckles deep inside her and thrusting to the rhythm of Big Mac’s stroking, grinding her palm into her clit for every muffled slap of his hand against the base of his shaft. The tingling in her nipples mixed with the slow, pulsing pleasure from her pussy and the wonderful twin sensations of having her feet licked and kissed and sucked and rubbed.

Her eyes never left his cock. The head was completely slick with precum and his hand was a blur along his length. She could barely imagine the thought of fitting that thing inside her, and the mere thought of it filled her with equal parts fear, arousal and base excitement. She’d have to beg him to go slowly, and not just pin her legs wide and fuck her like she deserved for being a tricky, teasing little minx.

Big Mac was lost in the depravity, slobbering on her feet like a dog as he stroked himself. His breaths came in jerky, hungry pulls. He sucked and licked her toes, twisting his tongue between them, trying to take as many as he could in his mouth at once. His hair was plastered to his forehead from sweat, stinging into his eyes, but he neither cared nor noticed.

Sweetie Belle’s chest rose and fell as her little noises became a steady, unbroken moan. Her eyes rolled back and she bit her lip as her orgasm struck, rolling through her entire body like thunder, curling her toes inside Big Mac’s lips and making her push her fingers even deeper inside her.

“Hahhhhh — ffffuuuMaaac...”

“Damn! Fuck!” shouted Big Mac. His orgasm was sudden, his body seizing as he sprayed his seed. Ropes of thick, white jizz sprayed onto the tarp underneath him, some reaching the motorbike. It went on longer than any orgasm he could remember having, and when it ended he saw stars and had to think to breathe. The last few spurts coated his hand and shaft.

There was no sound but ragged panting.

The two lovers looked at each other. Their eyes were lidded and their cheeks rosy, and they stared at each other as if looking for confirmation, to make sure they had really, truly just done the things they just did.

“That was—” Sweetie Belle took a moment to swallow, and brush a sweaty tress of hair from her eyes. She still had a hand down her unzipped shorts, “—was pretty good. Really good.”

“Eeyup.”

“We, uh, shouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Nope.”

“Not that it’s uh, wrong or illegal or anything, I just, uh, my sis would throw a fit and so would yours...”

“Eeyup.”

They went silent. A moment later, Big Mac let out something suspiciously like a giggle. Sweetie Belle did the same, and they struggled to stifle laughter.

Sweetie Belle removed her hand from her panties with an almost imperceptible *schlick*. Her fingers glistened with her own juices. Big Mac stared, almost hypnotized at the sight.

She proffered her fingers to Big Mac, moving them a few inches from his face. It wasn’t a command, no dominatrix presenting her boot for some worm to lick clean. It was an invitation, to partake in her most intimate of gifts.

The same strong, musky, womanly scent he’d smelled before hit his nostrils. Nothing could be sweeter. He edged forward and kissed the knuckles. His tongue flit out, tasting the salty, slick liquid, and then he enveloped her two fingers in his mouth, sucking them deeply. He snaked his tongue between the two fingers, licking away the juices between them. After bobbing his head back and forth to make sure they were utterly clean, he relinquished them with a *pop*.

She was biting her lip again. Big Mac grinned.

His grin turned to a look of shock as two sets of toes touched his half-hard penis. After his orgasm, even her delicate ministrations were almost enough to make him collapse. He gave a start, and then looked down and saw that she was tucking his cock back into his pants with her feet. It took a few tries thanks to his size and her inexperience, and her toes ended up with a coating of his pearly jizz, but his penis ended up back inside his briefs.

She tucked her legs back to her body, her eyebrows furrowed as she looked at her messy, sticky feet. Then she grinned deviously at Big Mac.

“Watch this.”

Taking her left ankle in hand, she lifted her foot up to her face. She wiggled her toes, the thick, shiny semen clinging in little strands between them. The sight was downright hypnotic.

“I’m flexible.”

Then she lowered her mouth and wrapped her lips around her cum-covered big toe. Moaning salaciously, she cleaned every drop of his seed from that toe, before moving onto the next, sucking each one clean and letting them pop from her mouth. Her tiny pink tongue flit out, lapping up the cum from between her toes, and then on the ball of her foot.

When her left foot was clean, she brought her right one up. This time, she pressed the ball of her foot to her mouth and kissed it, smearing jizz over her lips and chin. Then she repeated her little performance: suck one toe after another, lick between, get everything nice and clean.

Lowering her feet, she looked at Big Mac, sticking her tongue out. “Bleh, bleachy.”

Macintosh Apple cracked into a grin, shared by Sweetie. He let out a tiny chuckle, and she gave a bigger giggle, and he gave a bigger chuckle and then they were laughing, snorting uncontrollably at nothing in particular.

Letting out a long, happy sigh, she said, “That was really good, Mac. Just — just awesome.”

“Eeyup. Yer a real sweetie, Sweetie.”

She slipped back into the flip-flops and slid off the motorbike seat to stand on the tarp. She was about a head taller than his kneeling form, so she bent at the waist, her mouth an inch from his ear.

“Rarity’s going to Manehattan this weekend,” she whispered, “I’ll be all alone in the boutique on Sunday. You should drop in...”

With that, she kissed his forehead, her soft lips ever-so-warm against his skin. Big Mac closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a tiny, relaxed sigh. When he opened them, she was beaming at him, her face the picture of angelic innocence. Then she turned, and walked out of the barn.

Big Mac watched her go. He let his eyes linger this time.

He stayed in place for over a minute, just staring at the door she’d walked from. He turned back to his motorcycle, shook his head and smiled. The new light was in place; all he had to do now was put the battery back in and turn it on.

After setting it up, he turned the key in the ignition. The dash lights flicked on. The rear light flicked on. The front light was dark. He frowned, turning it off and taking the battery back out, and remembered he hadn’t finished twisting the bulb in completely.

He’d been downright distracted.