Chapters The heat was getting to him.
It was a scorching Saturday in May, the first day of sunshine after a week of spring showers. The air at Sweet Apple Acres was tangibly thick with humidity, the kind that made a quarter-hour of work feel like a full hour in the sauna. Macintosh Apple had just finished his morning chores, and sat at the table outside the farmhouse porch with a meal of pork and potato stew and cracked brown bread. His calloused fingers wiped the sheen of sweat on his forehead into his straw-coloured hair, and he undid an extra button on his red plaid shirt. There were sodden patches on his back and under his armpits. It was a well-deserved break, he felt.
“Hey, Mister Apple.”
Big Mac hadn’t noticed the teenaged girl approaching, but didn’t startle. She walked around him, carrying a tall milkshake in each hand. After setting them on the table, she adjusted a strap on her yellow sundress, blew a stray curl of her lush lilac bob from her face, and beamed at the farmer.
He returned the smile. “Howdy, Sweetie Belle.”
“Can I join you?”
He gestured to the empty bench at the other side of the table. Sweetie Belle took a seat.
“Been working all morning, huh?” she asked.
“Eeyup.”
She nudged one of the drinks towards Big Mac. It was home-made vanilla milkshake in a tall soda glass, topped with a generous cone of squirty cream and a maraschino cherry, with a candy-cane coloured thickshake straw jutting out the side. She said, “I figured you’d be thirsty, especially with the weather and everything, so I brought you a milkshake.”
It looked mighty inviting, Big Mac thought. He’d just realised how thirsty he was.
“Well, thank you kindly.”
The moment he grabbed the glass, Sweetie Belle’s hands shot forward, wrapping around both his hand and the glass. Her hands were petite, half the size of his, and her palms and fingers were soft against his rough, tanned skin.
“Wait.” He stayed still, his eyebrows raised. She didn’t remove her hands, but closed her eyes and scrunched up her face in concentration. A mint glow emanated from her palm against the glass, and Big Mac felt a sudden cold against his hand. She relinquished her grip a second later, lilac-painted fingernails grazing the back of his hand as she pulled away.
Sweetie Belle took in a deep breath, blinking rapidly as if there were something in her eyes. “Hahh, that always gives me brainfreeze...”
Big Mac glanced down. The milkshake was now ice-cold. On the glass, droplets of condensation glinted like diamonds in the sunlight. There was a small patch of frost where Sweetie Belle’s palm had been.
“Pretty cool, huh?” Sweetie Belle flashed a corny smile at her corny joke, a cute dimple forming on her cheeks. She’d grown just the same as the other two Crusaders, but her chubby-cheeked baby face had stuck.
The farmer’s face split into a rare grin. He didn’t have much patience for magi trickery, but still, that had been a nifty trick.
“Eeyup.”
Big Mac took a sip of the milkshake. It was sublime; there was just enough sweetness to balance the vanilla, the frozen slush cut through the heat like an ice axe, and was a perfect counterpart to the strong, brothy stew. Realising that Sweetie Belle had no food, he proffered the bread rolls and butter.
“There’s stew in the kitchen if you’d like,” he mentioned, but she shook her head.
“I had brunch with sis before I came,” she said, “I’d love a roll though.”
She took one, cracking open the thick crust and tearing the soft bread within. Taking the knife, she slathered the rich butter on each half, then took a bite. She mumbled a tiny sound of satisfaction as she chewed. A splodge of butter smeared across the corner of her mouth, which she dabbed away with a finger. After washing it down with a sip of milkshake, she took another bite, and Big Mac returned to his meal.
It took him a minute to realise that Sweetie Belle was touching him. Under the table, she was resting one of her ankles over his shin. He could feel the heel of her sneaker through the fabric of his raggedy cargo pants. He twitched his outstretched leg, thinking she had mistaken it for part of the table, but she didn’t move away. Instead, she shifted ever so slightly, getting comfortable against him.
Big Mac looked at her, unsure. She simply smiled at him before returning to her milkshake. He was going to say something, but decided against it the moment he opened his mouth. Instead, he switched to small talk.
“So, uh. How come y’ain’t horsin’ around with Apple Bloom and Scootaloo?”
Sweetie shrugged. “They’re hyped up about the boxing match on teevee tonight, arguing over who’s going to win. It turned into an argument, then they started wrestling and then it turned into some jiu-do practice thing. Not really my thing, so I figured I’d give them some space and say hi. I hardly ever see you in town.”
“Farm keeps me busy.” Her leg was still resting on him. It was strange, how something so light weighed so heavily on his mind.
“Celestia, I can imagine,” she said, “Apple Bloom tells me about it. Cows die if you don’t milk them, weeds can take over your whole farm in a week, birds will eat your crops, so you’ve gotta run around stopping everything from going wrong, and then you still need to head to market and turn a profit. I mean, my sis works crazy hard, but at least nothing tries to eat her dresses.”
A wry grin crept across Big Mac’s face. “Sounds ‘bout right. It’s a good livin’ though.” He dipped a crust into his stew, and took a bite. “Food’s good, too.”
She giggled. “Yeah, the food is pretty great.”
They continued to eat. Sweetie tore into a second roll as Mac dunked his into his stew. It was a few minutes before Sweetie broke the silence.
“You do have some free time though, right? What do you do for fun when you’re not working?”
He looked thoughtful. “Well, most times me an’ mah sisters an’ gran, we’ll find something to do. All sorts, y’know. Family stuff.” He lifted his glass to drink from it, but paused. “Ah like movies,” he added. “When AJ an’ Bloom are busy, an’ gran’s asleep or talkin’ to the trees again, ah put a film on.”
“Oh, cool. Seen anything good lately?”
“Saw a few last month, all duds,” he said. “Last good one ah seen was In Bridles. ”
“You’ve seen In Bridles? I love that film!”
“Really?” He raised his eyebrows, “Ain’t that movie kinda...”
She shot him a look. “What, a film about two hitmen on holiday isn’t girly enough or cutesy enough for me?”
“Ah was gonna say depressin’. Didn’t figure you were the type for tragedies, is all.”
Her expression softened. “Yeah, it’s dark I guess, but it’s funny and bittersweet and the soundtrack is incredible. They did everything right.”
“Eeyup. Craftsmanship. Nobody in the film is a good person, but ya feel for them anyhow.”
“And when the hitman and the drug dealing, thieving stagehand start to fall for each other, and they both think that the other person is nice and normal and they don’t deserve them...” She paused for a moment, grasping for a way to finish the sentence. “I like that bit,” she concluded.
“Good film.”
“Yeah.” She nodded, and a comfortable silence passed between them. “Well, next time I have a movie night, I’ll pass you an invite.”
“Much appreciated.” Big Mac mopped up the last dregs of stew with the last of his crust, then ate it. He froze mid-mouthful.
Sweetie Belle’s sneaker had hooked under the hem of his pants, and now the smooth skin of her ankle stroked up against his rough, hairy skin. The toe of her sneaker dug lightly into his calf as she pushed her foot forward. A second before Big Mac realised what she was doing, she stopped and withdrew her foot entirely. For a moment, he thought he might have imagined it entirely.
Then he looked at Sweetie Belle.
She was staring directly at him, her lips wrapped around the milkshake straw. A slurp gurgled from the bottom of the glass as she drained the last of her milkshake. Without taking her eyes off him, her lips left the straw.
Her soft, pink lips parted ever so slightly, just enough to let out a dribble of thick, white milkshake. The liquid glistened in the sun as it crawled over her bottom lip and down to her chin. She swallowed the mouthful, the droplet of milkshake quivering on her chin as her throat moved.
Using her pinky-finger, she wiped up the milk on her chin and let her tiny tongue flit out to clean it off. Then, not once breaking eye contact with Big Mac, she took the entire finger in her mouth and sucked it, her cheeks hollowing out as she slowly dragged the digit past her lips, before finally relinquishing her lilac-painted fingernail with a *pop*.
With that, she collected her glass and stood up. He caught a whiff of her perfume, the kind of cloying, spicy scent that only a teenager would wear. “Well, I’m going to see if Bloom and Scoots are still kung-fu fighting,” she said. “Nice talking with you Big Mac, and thanks for the food.”
He gave a startled cough, and replied, “Uh, sure, uh. Thanks for the milkshake, and the company.”
Sweetie Belle smiled at him. “It’s no problem. I saw you from the kitchen window; you looked a little thirsty,“ she said, brushing her petite fingers over the green half-apple on his upper arm. “And a little lonely.”
And then she was gone.
A breeze swept over Sweet Apple Acres. Macintosh Apple welcomed it. The heat was getting to him.
“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.
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.
