Big Mac x AppleJack

It was one of those sweet dawns that smelled of dry straw and wet earth, when big mac slipped off the porch of the family home, the morning breeze brushing his skin and his throat dry from so much silence.

He hadn’t had a single day off in ages—the land didn’t plow itself, and the harvests didn’t wait—but that Tuesday, with the sun still crawling between the hills, he made a decision without saying a word: today, he wouldn’t work.

Today would be his.

He walked paths he knew like old scars.

He nodded quietly at Cheerilee passing by with her basket, sat a while to chat with Caramel about last night’s rain, even helped load some boxes onto Mr. Davenport’s cart with nothing more than a simple “Eeyup.”

The morning passed like a lazy dream, the sky clear as an unbroken promise, and Big Mac let himself drift without haste, without destination.

He had something to eat at Sugarcube Corner. Pinkie insisted with a smile so big he couldn’t say no. He tried a cherry pie that tasted like a children’s party and drank a bit of cider later, when the sun had begun melting into orange at the world’s edge.

The town murmured its life from every corner, and he, larger than most, quieter than all, felt for once not like the stallion who always had work waiting, but like a drifting body, weightless and untethered.

But it was when night fell that the charm changed color.

The moon was barely rising, the square already emptied of laughter and footsteps, and Big Mac, not knowing why, kept walking. He passed streets he’d never stopped to notice before.

First came cobbled alleys with old lanterns, then nameless curves, houses that no longer looked like Ponyville, but something quieter, damper, more… charged.

He didn’t stop. Something in his hooves pushed him forward, like the ground was whispering a secret he could only understand if he kept moving.

And then he saw it.

A dim, warm red light bleeding out from a door at the end of a narrow street—a door of ancient wood, its frame like held breath. No sign hung like the other shops, only one word written in looping script on frosted glass: Brothel.

He read it without thinking, and his body stopped.

It was a word never spoken aloud. A word that floated like smoke in barroom tales, arriving wrapped in giggles or embarrassment. Big Mac knew it, of course he did. Every hot-blooded stallion who’d made it through adolescence knew it.

But to see it written, there, in the middle of Ponyville, like nothing, like it had always been there… it stirred something in him he couldn’t name. Something between fear and curiosity. Between fire and silence.

He approached.

The door wasn’t locked, only ajar. Behind it, the light wasn’t red like a lantern. It was red like flesh. Red like freshly kissed lips. Red like the tip of an erection hiding beneath a belly. Red like temptation.

Inside, the air smelled of incense and dried sweat, of old flowers, sweet perfume, and used straw. There was no noise, just distant music, like the whisper of a saxophone jerking itself off in a corner.

Big Mac didn’t know what to do with his hooves.

He didn’t know if he should turn back. But he couldn’t move backward either. A soft voice stopped him without words. It was the atmosphere. The heat. The perfume that seemed to embrace him from the inside.

A mare appeared in the hallway. Tall, slender, her black mane falling like shadow over one eye. She didn’t smile, didn’t look surprised to see him. As if she already knew he was coming. As if she’d been waiting.

“First time, sugar?” she asked in a husky voice, like dragging honey down a spine.

Big Mac didn’t answer. He just nodded. It was all he could do when he couldn’t trust his voice.

She smiled with one corner of her mouth. And without another word, she turned.

He followed her.

The hallway was narrow. The walls sweated. On each side were doors—some closed, some slightly ajar. From one came muffled laughter. From another, a low moan. From another still, a rhythmic knocking, like someone hammering the heart of a moan.

And yet everything felt distant, like the walls were made of velvet and hush.

She opened one of the doors and let him in first. Inside, the room was small but warm. A large, low bed with red and black sheets like warmed wine. A lamp glowing at the edge of the nightstand. A mirror that reflected only silhouettes.

The door closed behind him with a whisper that sounded like neither wood nor air—it sounded like a promise. Big Mac stood alone in that room still trembling with the echo of her presence.

The smell lingered—musky, cloying, like dry sex, cheap perfume, and reheated fluids. The walls seemed to have absorbed years of gasps, tongues dragging across thighs, tails lifted in lust.

The bed invited him. Not for comfort—it was low, firm, almost rough—but for the way the sheets were barely disheveled, like each wrinkle was a moan still echoing in the dark.

He walked toward it without thinking too hard, his breath heavy in a rhythm that had nothing calm left in it.

He sat.

He felt a lump beneath his thigh, something harder than the fabric. He lifted the pillow with mechanical slowness, and there, as if fate had left him a letter, he found a catalog.

It was thick. The paper smelled of fresh ink, and when he opened it, the first page offered no names or introductions. There was no need. The images were clear. Too clear.

Ponies. Females. One after another.

Each page was a gallery of vulvas spread like hungry mouths, lower lips pulled open with hooves, tails lifted revealing throbbing tailholes, bodies arched with cum on their skin, across their backs, dripping from their muzzles.

Some were shown being mounted by clients, others sucking cocks with enthusiasm or defiance. Some were tied up, others offered toys. There were written descriptions in small type beside each name—services offered, fetishes accepted, crossed limits and specific prices.

Big Mac’s cock throbbed beneath him, thick, already hard just from glimpsing the sweet hell of that book. His hooves tensed. His eyes couldn’t stop moving. Every page was worse than the last. Wetter. Filthier. More shamelessly obscene.

And then he saw her.

Applejack.

His world cracked.

Not at first, not with the shape of the face or the color of the coat—that blurred into a flash of denial. But when he focused, when he looked again, he couldn’t deny it.

It was her.

Applejack, his sister. Hat tilted just like always. But she wasn’t smiling on a farm. She wasn’t stomping apples or hauling barrels.

She was posing with her tail raised.

In the first image, she sat on a chair with her hind legs spread. Her vulva was swollen, wet, dripping. She smiled with half-lidded eyes while sucking on one hoof with a teasing gesture.

In another, she was on all fours atop a bed much like the one behind him, her head turned, tongue out, while a client—whose face was hidden—used both hooves to part her pussy lips, showing everything. Her pink, wet clit. Her puckered, exposed tailhole.

The third photo stole his breath.

She was kneeling, mouth open, receiving a thick cock directly on her tongue. Her eyes were narrowed, cheeks streaked with cum, and the caption beside it simply read: Loves to swallow. Will repeat if pressed a little.

Big Mac froze.

His cock was throbbing so hard it hurt. And still, his chest tightened with a brutal confusion, a trembling that went beyond taboo. She was his sister. His sister. And there she was, showing herself, selling herself, sucking, swallowing, letting herself be filled like any other pony.

He turned the page with trembling hooves.

More photos.

She held a cock in each front hoof.

She sat on one while another slapped her muzzle.

She had her pussy lips pulled apart with a cord, her legs tied, her asshole visible and dilated.

In one, she was being taken from behind, the expression on her face not pain.

It was pure, surrendered pleasure. A crooked smile as another stallion’s belly slapped her from behind, his cock buried to the hilt.

<<It can’t be… it can’t be…>>

But it was.

There was no room for doubt. That mane. That shape of her hips. Even the mole on her flank. It was Applejack. It was his sister. And there she was, among the rest, like a natural part of the catalog, like she had nothing to hide.

He read the text beside her profile, heart pounding in his ears:

Stage name: Applejuice.

Favorite fetishes: double penetration, heavy facials, vaginal fisting, fruit play.

Limits: none, if the price is right.

Base session price: 90 bits.

Big Mac dropped the catalog onto the bed like it burned him. His breath came in harsh gasps, his skin sweating beneath his coat, and his cock was so hard each throb hurt like punishment. But he wasn’t looking at the catalog now. He saw it all inside his head. Her. His sister.

With her tongue coated in cum.

With her legs spread and her pussy shining.

His cock throbbed fiercely… but… he had to be sure. If he wanted to enjoy a moment of the twisted fortune in front of him, he had to be certain.

Big Mac pushed the door open slowly, poked his muzzle into the dim hallway, and squinted.

No one.

No mares passing, no client groaning behind a door, no footsteps to give him away. Only that saxophone, still dragging itself through the corners of the brothel like a limp, wet tongue.

He shut the door firmly. He couldn’t leave it open. Not after what he’d seen. Not after what he felt.

He returned to the bed, where the catalog lay like a rotten, sweet apple, its pages still damp from his rushed flipping.

He sat on the edge.

His cock, stiff, throbbed beneath him like a spring ready to snap. Each pulse shook him from the inside. There was no way to turn it off. No way to ignore it.

He tried. He swore he did. He flipped through other mares quickly: a unicorn painted black, a pegasus licking the base of a massive cock, an earth pony with piercings on her pussy and nipples, biting a whip with a scowl. Some beautiful, some strange, some downright grotesque in their lustful contortions… but none. None of them.

None like her.

None like Applejack.

Her image was tattooed behind his eyes. That crooked smile. That hat dangling from one ear while a streak of cum slid down her chin. That look—half defiance, half surrender… as if she knew whoever fucked her wasn’t just entering her body, but sinking deep into her soul.

Big Mac closed his eyes.

His hoof descended slowly down his abdomen, the tips brushing his taut fur, until his knuckles grazed the edge of his sheath.

His cock slid out at once—dense, red, swollen, with the retractable barbs already peeking from the rim. Each one like a trembling secret, as if even his anatomy understood this wasn’t just a regular jerk. It was a confession. It was a crime.

He leaned his back against the wall, hind legs spread, breath gone ragged. His shaft burned like a coal under a storm, the glans gleaming with precum, each pulse clashing against his own shame.

He tried to look at another page. Another body. Another face.

But no.

He turned back to Applejack’s page.

And he didn’t stop himself anymore.

He closed his eyes. Let the image become flesh inside his head.

She entered the room—not with shame, not with guilt—but with desire. With that same firm stride she used when hauling barrels, except now each step made her tail rise a little higher.

She smiled at him.

Not like a sister. Like a whore.

Like a needy, heat-slicked mare who knew he was alone, cock stiff, and that no one else in the world could give him what she could.

Big Mac began stroking slowly, his hoof wrapping the base of his shaft, squeezing just enough to feel the burn rise. His other hoof cupped his balls, heavy and warm, hanging between his thighs like a promise of pressure that begged to be released.

And in his mind, Applejack knelt.

Slow.

Never looking away.

Her muzzle opened, tongue out, and she licked from base to tip, each stroke like savoring forbidden sugar. Her drool dripped, her mane fell across her cheeks, and then she opened wider. She took him.

Big Mac gasped. His cock trembled. The barbs flared. His hoof moved faster.

He imagined her sucking him down—hard, hungry.

She gripped his thighs. Bobbed up and down. Gagged without fear, because she liked it. Because she wanted it. Because he needed to feel her like this—his. His obedient sister, submissive and teasing all at once.

<<Fuck… AJ… just like that…>>

In his fantasy, Applejack moaned with her mouth full. Looked up at him with tear-glazed eyes, saliva dangling from her chin, tail swaying behind her like she was begging to be mounted once she was done swallowing. Every time she went down, her lips sealed tight around his cock like a hot vacuum, and when she pulled back, a trail of spit drooled down onto her tits.

Big Mac was trembling now, hoof pumping at a steady, ruthless rhythm. His hips thrust into the air like he could fuck the vision.

He imagined her mounting him.

She climbed onto his cock, aligned it with her slick, open pussy, and sank down without help, without warning. Moaning. Riding him like he was just another field to plow, like each thrust was a harvest reaped through raw pleasure. Her tail flicked across his chest, her belly slapped against him, her tits glistened with sweat.

He grabbed her hips. Fucked up into her harder. She begged for it. Pleaded.

“Mac… more… deeper… give it all to me…”

Big Mac’s body shook. He was close. So close.

He pictured her cumming on him. Screaming his name. Soaking his belly. And then, still straddling him, looking down again—with cum on her lips and slick dripping down her thigh.

He roared.

His cum erupted violently. The first spurt shook his whole frame, splashing across his chest. The second was thicker, hotter. The third made him grit his teeth. It poured over his belly, onto his thigh, between his legs. His hoof stroked a little longer, slow, guiding the last twitching pulse out.

He lay panting.

The cum dripped—thick, white—onto the red sheet.

His head lolled back slightly.

The pounding in his skull still echoed like cursed drums, his chest heaved in broken rhythm, and his cock remained hard, glistening, coated in his own precum.

The release he’d just spent barely eased the tension, like it wasn’t enough, like his body knew it wouldn’t be enough just to imagine her. Applejack. Applejuice. His sister. His little secret slut.

Big Mac kept stroking, slower now, his hoof curling around the head, rubbing the barbs with the edge of his frog like he could scrape the fantasy out with each pass. The sheet beneath him was stained, and the air in the room reeked of male—of fresh sex, of thick sweat that doesn’t fade with time. The catalog lay open beside him, Applejuice’s page flecked with cooling droplets.

And that was when he heard the footsteps.

A barely-there creak on the hallway floorboards.

He froze.

His cock throbbed. His hooves tensed. His heart slammed against his ribs like he was seconds from being caught mid-crime. He swallowed hard, turned his head slowly—and saw her.

The same mare from before.

She entered like she already knew exactly what she’d find, her movement so calm it seemed to glide. Across her back she carried a silver tray, and on it, a steaming cup of tea—its color somewhere between amber and sin.

She said nothing at first.

She walked to the nightstand beside the bed and, with feline grace, let the tray slide gently onto the table. The clink of porcelain and metal was a whisper.

Then, she looked up.

Her eyes met the scene: Big Mac, still rock-hard, gleaming, pulsing like a living vein; the catalog open to Applejack’s page, his sister naked with her tongue out and a cock smeared across her face; the musk in the air; the thick drops of cum dotting the paper.

She smiled.

Not surprised.

Not judging.

Playful.

Like it was exactly what she expected to find.

“Well then…” she said, her voice dragging like silk over burned skin, “you’re certainly in the mood.”

Big Mac tried to move. To cover himself. To say something. His mouth opened.

But nothing came out.

She stepped a little closer, and her voice dropped with a smile soaked in suggestion.

“I’ll bring her right in.”

Big Mac’s head snapped up.

What?

He wanted to speak. To stop her. Say no, or maybe wait, or at least it’s not what it looks like. But his muzzle barely parted before she turned with a graceful swing of her hips, letting her tail sway like it brushed him without touching, and walked to the door.

She didn’t pause.

Didn’t ask permission.

And before he could gather the nerve to speak a single word, she was gone.

The door closed behind her with the same whisper it had opened with.

What trembled in Big Mac’s body now slid down his spine like a warm current that couldn’t decide between pleasure and fear. He breathed hard like he’d galloped across half the town.

His cock was still stiff, pulsing, heavy, streaked with drying cum clinging to the fur of his belly. The air was thick with his scent.

His scent tangled with the aged perfume of the brothel, the sweat dripping from his flanks, the bitter-sweet of the tea still steaming on the silver tray—untouched.

And the catalog remained open.

Applejack’s face stared back at him from the splattered page—that crooked smile, that dripping mouth, that arched, open, offered body. Every time he looked down, it was like licking a wound with a hot tongue.

<<I have to leave. I can’t stay here.>>

But he didn’t move.

Was it fear of seeing her? Of her seeing him? Of his sister walking into the room with the full knowledge of the catalog burning behind her eyes?

Or was it something darker?

The idea of seeing her… like that… real, naked, smelling of other stallions, but looking only at him?

He didn’t know which part made him tremble more.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Took a deep breath. Rose from the bed, his cock bouncing with the motion, still loaded, still unsatisfied. He stepped toward the door. Just one step.

And the room spoke.

A song began, soft, like a whisper that came from nowhere. A slow, hot rhythm, saxophone notes tangled with deep drums.

Sexy.

Too sexy.

As if the room itself was waiting for him to strip again, to lie down, to moan. As if the entire place knew what was going to happen before he did.

Big Mac flinched. Stepped back.

And then… footsteps.

Slow. Unmistakable. Heavy, but with a feminine cadence, as if every contact against the floor dragged a purpose behind it. They echoed from the hallway, approaching. And with them… a voice.

A voice he’d known all his life. But now it sounded different.

Lower. Heavier. More… provocative.

“Well…?”

“Someone here callin’ for me with all that need… or just makin’ it all up in his head?”

Big Mac froze.

It couldn’t be.

It couldn’t…

A shadow appeared under the door. Orange hooves. The tilted hat. A silhouette formed in seconds. The knob turned. The door opened with the same slow rhythm as stripping off a lie.

And there she was.

Applejack.

His sister.

But not the Applejack who milked cows in the morning. Not the one driving cattle or hauling apples. No.

This one had her hat slanted, her mane loose, her eyes half-lidded, heavy, like she’d just finished fucking half the town.

She stepped inside.

Closed the door behind her.

And said nothing else.

They stood facing each other, a few paces apart. The room, with its red light and gentle music, thickened into a womb of heat that enclosed them, stole the air, and replaced it with pressed desire.

Applejack looked around the room.

She saw the open catalog.

She saw the pool of cum on the bed.

And she looked at her brother.

With his cock still hard.

Big Mac’s blood howled in his ears. He tried to speak. But his throat clenched like a knot of burned rope.

Applejack didn’t speak either.

She just looked at him.

The air clung to their skin like cold sweat, and the music’s slow rhythm didn’t feel like the room’s anymore, but theirs. Their shallow breaths. Their gazes. Big Mac’s still-erect cock, and Applejack’s eyes tracing up and down without shame, glinting with something far from innocent.

Then she spoke.

Her voice broke the silence with a mix of discomfort and resolve—rough like an old rope, but firm like a thunder clenched between her teeth.

“…What’re you doin’ here?”

Big Mac swallowed. The question was absurd, but necessary. They both knew the answer, but pretending not to was the only way to avoid bursting into flame on the spot.

He answered low, deep, as rough as his thoughts.

“Was gonna ask you the same thing…”

Applejack raised a brow, almost amused. But behind the gesture was tension—not guilt, not refusal—but the kind of tension that coils when all you want is to scream or moan, and can’t.

“What I do in my free time ain’t your concern, big guy,” she said, stepping forward, her hooves barely thudding against the wood.

Big Mac took a deep breath. His chest rose, fell, and finally replied with the same phrase, like a mirror daring to throw her reflection back:

“What I do in my free time ain’t your business either.”

Silence.

A second.

Two.

They stared at each other, blush rising like hot wine up their cheeks, their necks, their ears. They couldn’t hide it. The air betrayed them. The scent. The tension. The damned erection that wouldn’t go down. The cum still smeared across the sheets like a signature that couldn’t be erased.

Big Mac closed his eyes.

His muscles tensed, jaw clenched. He wanted to disappear. Or run. Or make it all a nightmare. He sighed—long, deep—as if that could purge his soul, as if when he opened his eyes… she’d be gone.

But when he opened them, Applejack was already on him.

No warning. No more words.

She was just there—so close he could smell her skin: a mix of field sweat and cheap perfume, a scent of a tired but wanting body.

Her front hooves pushed gently against his chest, and he backed up until the back of his legs touched the bed.

He let himself fall—not out of weakness, but out of shock. That damned knot in his gut said something had just broken—something that would never fit back the same.

She looked down at him.

And her voice changed.

Now it was low. Shaken. A whisper sliding along the edge of a repressed moan.

“Don’t say anything…”

Her eyes were shining. Not with tears. Not with fear. With something else.

“…This is my second job.”

Big Mac opened his mouth, confused, but she hushed him with a light touch on his muzzle.

“I don’t get paid if I don’t give the client what they want…”

Her voice cracked at the end, like a rope straining under too much weight.

“Besides…”

Applejack tilted her head slightly, chin angling toward a corner of the room.

Big Mac followed her gaze. It took him a second to focus in the shadows. There, in a flowerpot beside the dresser, between the dusty leaves of a fake plant—

A tiny red light.

A camera.

“They’ve got everything recorded,” Applejack murmured, her voice now mixed with something that wasn’t fear or shame… just routine. Resignation, maybe. Dirty professionalism.

“I have to prove there was sex. If not… I don’t get paid.”

The words hit him in the chest like a hammer wrapped in velvet. Big Mac swallowed, his eyes locking with hers again. A storm of feelings tangled in his gut like knotted rope—rage, desire, panic, and a filthy hunger he didn’t know how to name.

Applejack slid her body downward with slow, grimy grace, like she’d done it a thousand times before, like the fact he was her brother didn’t change a thing. Her muzzle drifted down his torso, her breath warming his fur, until she reached his cock.

She said nothing else.

She stuck out her tongue.

And licked.

The tip. Barely.

Just a touch. A wet stroke that tore a choked gasp from Big Mac, made his belly twitch, his whole body jolt.

The contact was brief, but the echo throbbed through his ribs.

“C-couldn’t we just fake it…?” he murmured, voice shaking, a thread of hope tangled in his shame.

Applejack looked up.

Her eyes burned like coals.

She lifted her head, her tongue still glistening with the precum she’d tasted.

“You sure you just wanna fake it…?”

The question wasn’t innocent.

It wasn’t an escape.

It was a test.

A blade.

A tightrope strung between blood and desire.

Big Mac tried to answer.

He really did.

He opened his mouth, but the only thing that came out was a stifled moan—because Applejack had already gone back down, not waiting for permission.

Her lips parted around the tip.

This time it wasn’t a lick.

This time it was a kiss.

A hot, full-mouthed kiss.

She took him.

Just the head. But so slow, so deliberately obscene, each millimeter felt eternal. The heat of her mouth sealed around the glans like a desecrated altar, and her tongue swirled like it worshipped him, like that cock was the only thing she’d swallow tonight.

Big Mac clenched his eyes shut.

Not from fear.

From pleasure.

From the brutal, fucked-up ecstasy of feeling his sister—his sister—sucking his cock while a camera recorded them, while the air burned with taboo, while the whole world seemed suspended between two gasps.

Applejack gave a soft suck, pulled back with a wet pop.

“Doesn’t look like your body wants to fake anything, big guy…” she murmured with a crooked smile, before taking him in again.

Big Mac’s cock still throbbed in the air—thick, heavy, streaked with remnants of his last climax—but it hardened again under his sister’s tongue.

At first, he tried to push her away—a reflex born more from shame than will—raising a hoof with a tight murmur, his muzzle twisted in brute panic, panting like a trapped animal.

“Aj… stop—”

But Applejack didn’t move an inch.

The camera in the flowerpot blinked its red light.

The music kept dripping from the ceiling.

And Applejack tightened her mouth around her brother’s cock—swallowing the tip while locking eyes from below, those green eyes burning with twisted tenderness, almost maternal. Her hoof braced against Big Mac’s thigh, holding him right where he was.

“You never let yourself be seen like this… not at work, not at home. Never so soft. So needy…”

Her tongue curled around the glans—relentless, wet—lapping up the precum already dripping, dragging over each barb while her muzzle breathed heavy against his base.

The sound was filthy, slick, saliva hanging in strings, lips stretched wide to take more—more—jaw pried open until the whole cock bulged against her throat in visible ridges.

She swallowed half of it in a single thrust and came back up, slurping until a wet snap echoed through the room—shlk, fwap—again, again, faster every time.

Big Mac panted, muscles twitching. His hips jerked forward on their own, driving into his sister’s snout without resistance. He wanted to speak—ask, protest, deny—but only managed a ragged moan, eyes rolling toward the ceiling.

“Do you really want this…?” he whispered, nearly sobbing with pleasure.

Applejack only pulled back enough to keep the head in her mouth, eyes locked on his. There was tenderness, yes—but twisted, raw, the tenderness of someone who no longer fears being seen, someone who knows desire like kin: close, dangerous.

“What I want doesn’t matter right now… here, I’m Applejuice. And you’re the client. So shut up and let me take care of you, big guy…”

She swallowed him again, savagely this time. No hesitation, no pause. Her snout worked up and down, fast, neck bent, tongue pressing every vein, every barb. Drool soaked into Big Mac’s fur, dripping down to his balls, pooling on the cot with obscene squelches.

The stallion gave in. He gave in because there was nothing left to resist with—the smell of his sister, the wet heat of her mouth, the camera watching, the promise of something so disgustingly transactional it crushed him. He collapsed back, muscles limp, breathing uneven. His legs spread to give her room, his tail twitching.

Applejack didn’t pause for a second. When she felt the first tremor of pleasure in Big Mac’s hips, she didn’t pull back to let him finish—she didn’t speed up either.

No—she went deeper. Pushed her head down until the fat shaft buried itself completely, the tip bumping her palate, the skin stretching her jaw wider than she’d ever offered any other client. Her breath steamed at the base of his cock, spit sliding down the shaft, thick and hot.

Her tongue moved in furious circles, sweeping over the barbs, fluttering along the tight meat with flicks that made the tip pulse every time she rose.

She shifted pace, changed technique like she was studying him, determined to draw out every last noise from his chest. Sometimes she dragged her mouth up slow, leaving only the tip in to toy with it—flicking her tongue along the crown until his hindlegs dug into the mattress.

Other times, she rammed it all the way in at once, throat opening, snout thudding against his belly with a dull smack—then she held it there, swallowing thickly, squeezing tight.

Every time she rose and left the cock trembling and wet in the air, she licked it bottom to top—tongue sweeping the foreskin and bristles, massaging the head with the tip like she wanted to milk him, savoring the slick pre that spilled in heavy strands.

Applejack’s eyes never left Big Mac’s. Daring him. Calling him. Let go. Fall apart. Moan for me.

Then she shifted again. Angled her head so the camera had the perfect shot—one ear brushing his belly—and took him sideways, tongue flattened against the underside, one hoof cupping his base and kneading his balls: tight, hot, heavy.

She sucked with hunger, with devotion, like she wanted to memorize him, wrench out every last response. Big Mac was a mess of breath and sweat, muscles tight, hooves clenching the sheets.

He wanted to beg—warn her he wouldn’t last—but Applejack swallowed him whole again with a groan, silencing him. Her eyes met his—tender, hungry, and shining with that private glow only blood knows.

When she felt a stronger twitch, she shifted once more: just lips now, tight, bobbing fast, filling the room with wet, rhythmic chck chck chck. His cock was slick with spit, every thrust made his balls slap wetly against her snout, and the pressure mounted with every move.

Applejack released the tip only long enough to give one final lick, from root to crown, then kissed it like she was kissing her own guilt. Her voice came out low and rough, sweet and hoarse:

“Come on, Mac… let it go. I wanna feel all of you…”

She didn’t give him a moment’s mercy. As his cock throbbed, swollen, shiny, pulsing with every new rush of spit, Applejack kept her snout pumping with savage rhythm, eyes never breaking contact.

And now—now as she deepthroated him with abandon—she started to sway her hips, flaunting her ass, tail raised, glossy cunt gleaming wet where he could see it from the bed.

But that wasn’t all. Between bobs, cock still halfway down her throat, Applejack began to whisper hoarsely, brokenly—words soaked in old, buried memory that only they could share.

“Remember when you were a colt… watching me bathe in the lake…?” Her tongue swirled around the tip, collecting the pre that leaked thick and steady now.

She didn’t give him a chance to answer. Dove back down, flooded him with heat again, then rose slow, tongue gliding along the shaft, leaving it glistening, twitching in the air.

“I always wondered if you touched yourself thinking of me when we were alone on the farm, while everyone else was asleep…” she murmured just before swallowing the head again, lips tightening around it, gasping wetly for the camera to catch every detail.

The scent of her pussy flooded the room—sweet, fresh, that unmistakable smell of a hot pony freshly spread. Every time she shifted her hips, her wetness became more visible, a sticky gleam running down her thigh, her tail lashing the air like a slow whip—inviting, taunting, claiming.

“I knew you were watching me while I milked. Did you think I couldn’t see your shadow behind the barn?”

Applejack growled, filled with hunger, and the suction grew fiercer—fast, rhythmic motions. She stared up at him, cheeks bulging, lips sealing tight to milk out every last drop of pre, her tongue grinding against the barbs now fully erect.

Big Mac couldn’t hold back.

The sight of his sister, Applejack, swaying her flanks, her soaked, open pussy dripping with need, her tail waving like a flag to erase any doubt—she wanted everything—pushed him over the edge.

Her words—those private, filthy confessions between sloppy sucks, laced with memories of silent nights and shared shadows—boiled through his skull like hot wine, like animal fever.

Without thinking, he lifted his front hooves, strong and trembling, placing them at the base of Applejack’s ears. He felt her shiver under his touch—not fear, but surrender.

She barely looked up, eyes half-lidded, not surprised in the slightest. Just that soaked, old complicity only siblings who shared childhood secrets—and now something far filthier—could understand.

He guided her. He pushed.

Applejack let herself be taken, no resistance. Her throat loosened with a deep moan, vibrating around her brother’s thick, throbbing cock.

The head passed her lips, barbs brushing her palate, every inch driven deeper by Big Mac’s hooves. Air hissed through her teeth when the tip punched the back of her throat.

Big Mac moaned, eyes rolling back, pressing down just enough to keep her from escaping—not an inch allowed.

Every downward stroke made Applejack’s mouth stretch wide, tongue pushing from below, throat muscles contracting, squeezing around the shaft with that molten pony heat that had long since lost any right to say no.

She gurgled, drool pouring down the shaft, soaking his balls, dripping onto the mattress in wet, squelching sheets. The sound was grotesque, sloppy—each of Big Mac’s thrusts a brutal shlk, the camera blinking in the flowerpot, catching every swallowed inch, every muffled moan.

When Big Mac felt the orgasm rising, he pressed harder, plunging his whole cock in, forcing his sister to swallow him down to the root until her nose was buried in his fur, her muzzle drenched, throat pulsing, her eyes lost in tears and twisted pleasure.

Only then, with his sister completely conquered, his entire cock lodged in her throat, Big Mac growled low and raw, his voice filling the room:

“That’s it, AJ… swallow it all…”

And then, without warning, his cum erupted.

A thick, scalding gush blasted straight into her throat, filling Applejack with the force of a jolt, forcing her to swallow as her body trembled under her brother’s weight.

It wasn’t one burst—it came in waves, each heavier, hotter, until her tears mixed with spit and cum spilled from her snout in milky threads, dribbling between her lips and down her tense neck.

Big Mac panted, cock pulsing with every new shot, burying his sister even harder, growling filthy, insatiable.

“That’s it… yeah, take it all, AJ… swallow it, I wanna hear it…” His voice was a rasping snarl, more growl than words, hoarse with lust and power.

Applejack swallowed what she could, tongue spasming, throat working out of instinct, out of fear, out of hunger. The taste was thick, bitter and sweet, flooding her to the brim. When she couldn’t keep it in anymore, the cum overflowed, running down her chin, spattering her back, sticking her mane to her neck.

But Big Mac didn’t let go.

He stayed buried, cock still hard, breath ragged like a busted bellows, sweat dripping from his chest onto Applejack’s head.

She had no reprieve; barely pulling her snout away, panting, foamy with spit and semen, when he grabbed her again—shoving her back down, hooves marking the rhythm, gripping her mane like a handle to shove his cock back down her throat.

Applejack took it—no escape, and none wanted. She went back to licking, sucking with frenzy, muzzle smeared in filth, tongue working desperately along his throbbing, sticky shaft.

Each time the head brushed her throat, she let out a stifled moan, a mute plea—but never stopped.

She started to drool, nasty, letting the mix of cum and spit spill freely down the shaft, coating it in a shiny, milky film. Her moans grew lower, guttural, a raw “hgrlk, glrk” of total surrender.

Big Mac kept pumping, every thrust soaking the mattress further, the camera humming, recording every second his sister slobbered and licked up her own humiliation, spitting out excess cum onto his red-furred belly, smearing it with her tongue before swallowing again.

Now and then, Applejack would pull back just enough to let the gooey mess dribble onto the bed—white puddles forming, sticky strands stretching between her lips and his cockhead—before sealing her mouth around it again and sucking it back in with a wet, filthy slurp.

The room stank of sex—of the filth between two bodies tangled tight, of sweat and heat and a sin that had gone too far to ever take back.

Big Mac came again, his cock throbbing full inside, unloading a second orgasm straight into his sister’s mouth, forcing her to swallow, to writhe from the sheer pleasure as cum spilled from her nose and trickled in sticky ropes down her chest.

He held her there, making sure she didn’t escape, growling with satisfaction while Applejack licked her muzzle clean, dragging her tongue along the shaft, drinking every drop, spitting out the overflow and swallowing again.

There was no tenderness—only hunger. A cycle of suction, swallow, and spit. Wet, filthy noises filled the room as Applejack’s body trembled with exhaustion and bliss. Her jaw ached, but her tongue never stopped.

She moved her snout in slow circles, gathering every thread, dragging her tongue over his balls, licking until his skin was once again soaked, marked with spit, sweat, and semen.

Big Mac stared down at her, eyes glazed, nostrils flared, legs shaking with pure dominance. He pushed again—slow this time—his cock slipping in and out of Applejack’s mouth, still filthy, still surrendered. She never stopped licking, spitting, or sucking. Every drop was a trophy. Every strand of cum a reminder of who owned that mouth, that body, that night.

The camera caught it all: thick drool falling in ropes, her soaked muzzle, the shine in Applejack’s eyes as she looked up—pleading—tongue peeking past her teeth, the sound of her throat gulping and choking, the bed soaked through and the inescapable stink of two bodies that couldn’t say stop.

And even still, Big Mac didn’t slow. He gave her no pause, no mercy—only more cock, more heat, more cum.

Applejack didn’t need orders. That salty, thick taste clinging to her tongue was more than enough. She stayed right there, cheeks puffed, mouth full of hot semen, sucking every bit like it was the only thing keeping her alive.

She let the liquid swirl in her muzzle, rolled it from side to side, groaning low and rough, her pleasure vibrating through every fiber of her throat. Every gulp echoed—a wet glup that filled the room, her neck pulsing as the cum burned its way down into her belly.

She didn’t hide how much she loved it. On the contrary—Applejack arched her back, hips rolling into the mattress, her whole body flushed and slick with need.

She slid a hoof between her thighs, barely brushing her swollen, throbbing pussy, feeling her own slick fluids running down her hindlegs, soaking the bed, staining the sheets with that sweet, sour, fresh scent.

Her juices flowed in fat streams, making sticky squelches every time her stomach clenched from pleasure.

Big Mac, who had until then only watched, felt curiosity turn to hunger—and hunger to something bolder, darker.

His eyes were glued to the sight: his sister, muzzle drenched, drinking down his cum like a happy little whore, moaning shamelessly while the bed was soaked with the mess pouring nonstop from her cunt.

He couldn’t resist.

He grabbed Applejack by the mane, lifted her slightly, and with a single thrust rammed his cock back down her throat, driving until he felt the tight, wet resistance of her esophagus.

Applejack gagged, but made no protest. She shut her eyes and swallowed again, tongue pressing hard against the barbs, lips stretched to the limit, accepting every inch of flesh, every thrust that left her marked inside and out.

Pleasure shot through her like lightning: the cock filled her, choked her, and made her hotter than ever. The taste still fresh, the smell sticky, the sensation of being used like nothing more than a vessel for her brother’s lust.

Big Mac didn’t stop. While he stuffed her throat, silencing her with every pulse, he reached down with one big hoof—rough, strong—and slipped it between her hind legs, pressing firmly against her slippery, swollen pussy.

The moment he touched that wet skin, Applejack jolted, her hips grinding into it, juices spilling with a thick splsh onto the already ruined sheets, splattering across her thighs, mixing with the sweat.

He didn’t hesitate—shoved his hoof between her lips, rubbing in firm circles, smearing her clit with no delicacy, letting the heat coat him, soaking his fetlock in syrupy waves of slick.

Every rub was a shock of pleasure. Applejack writhed, throat buzzing around his cock, her moans reduced to muffled hums that vibrated through his pulsing shaft.

Her eyes rolled back, her mind fogged in a haze of shame and raw animal joy. She knew the camera was still recording, capturing the sound of her soaked pussy, the flood of fluids, the soaked bed—and it made her all the more shameless.

Big Mac pressed harder, hoof grinding her clit, spreading her open with harsh strokes, collecting her juices in thick, sticky threads that dripped between his toes.

The smell of sex filled the room—dense, sharp, utterly immoral. Now and then, he’d pull his cock back just enough to let her gasp for air, only to shove it right back down, cutting off any cry or protest, using her mouth like it was nothing more than a hole—a tool.

The pony moved her hips, arching, grinding for more friction, the pleasure rising like molten fire. Her moans mixed with the creak of the bed and the wet squelch of fluids with every slap of hoof on soaked flesh.

Each time Big Mac pressed right over her clit, Applejack spasmed, her juices splashing louder, her thighs trembling with raw need.

Her tongue never stopped moving, caressing his cock, savoring the cum, swallowing every fresh drop that leaked out, while drool spilled in long strands down her neck and chest.

The scene was grotesque and beautiful in its rawness: a pony overwhelmed with pleasure, soaked inside and out, silenced by her brother’s cock and masturbated mercilessly by a thick, rough hoof that sought no tenderness—only the satisfaction of hunger and curiosity.

Fluids ran from her cunt in small rivers, staining the sheets and Big Mac’s hoof, while Applejack moaned and swallowed, her gaze locked onto him—wet, pleading, lost in the mix of humiliation and ecstasy.

But Applejack wasn’t about to be outdone. In revenge, she sucked harder, drew on him like she wanted to drain out his very soul. Her tongue moved like a furious goddess—fast and precise, circling the tip, plunging down to her throat and back up with every thrust.

She let more saliva spill, drool overflowing in waves, using it to slick up the entire cock—every inch gleamed under her tongue, shiny and slippery, as if her mouth had been born for this alone.

The effect was immediate—Big Mac felt heat coil in his guts, the pleasure so intense he could barely keep himself upright.

Every time Applejack dropped her head, her tongue curled around the tip, squeezed the ridge just right, and then slid down like a perfect, obedient sleeve, bathing him in spit and heat, turning each movement into a threat of orgasm.

The stallion started thrusting harder, faster, the mattress squealing under them, the walls shaking from the pounding, and his hoof never stopped rubbing her pussy, tearing ragged moans from her lips that buzzed straight through his cock.

The first orgasm hit him so suddenly he barely managed a grunt. Cum burst in heavy gouts, flooding Applejack’s mouth with another load—thick, hot, blinding.

She didn’t stop—she swallowed greedily, throat squeezing, lips sealed tight, sucking until there was nothing left. Then she slid her tongue up again, licking the remnants, kissing the base, planting soft bites and red marks on the skin still trembling beneath her muzzle.

Big Mac, still panting, had barely begun to recover when Applejack doubled her pace. She sucked harder, faster, her tongue exploring every ridge, every vein, licking the tip with ferocious grace and then plunging all the way down in a frenzy of spit and suction and heat. The stallion groaned, muscles taut, his control slipping like sweat down his flanks.

The pony unleashed her full tongue, dragging it up the shaft from base to tip, swirling the crown, licking down to his balls, covering everything in warm, sticky spit. She used her drool like lube, like a promise, like punishment.

Big Mac could feel the pressure rising again, the need to cum returning so fast it stole his breath.

He kept ramming into her mouth, faster, deeper, every thrust hammering her throat, his hoof grinding over her soaked cunt, Applejack writhing beneath him, leaking onto the bed, hips bucking wildly.

And Applejack drank it all down—every spurt, every drop—letting the cum slide through her throat, her drool coating his cock entirely, sucking and licking with that goddess tongue, that perfect control that drove Big Mac insane.

When the second orgasm came, it was even more brutal—his cock pulsed, and cum exploded in thick waves. Applejack swallowed and sucked at once, using her saliva to slide effortlessly, milking him dry, leaving him trembling, emptied, claimed by his own sister.

She pulled back just slightly, letting Big Mac’s cock slip from her lips with a slow, wet slurp, her muzzle dripping, lips shiny with spit and cum, a glowing strand of white still hanging from her chin.

The air in the room was thick, hard to breathe—saturated with their musk and shared vice.

Big Mac’s chest heaved, breath hitting in blunt, hollow bursts. He finally let go of her pussy, his hoof sliding off her sticky skin as Applejack leaned back, licking her lips with deliberate insolence.

For a moment, they just stared.

Big Mac’s gaze was unfocused, lost, cheeks flushed beneath his red coat, his cock still twitching—half-hard, gleaming with spit, trembling as if it ached from missing Applejack’s muzzle.

She gave him a crooked, sly smile—that look she wore when she knew the world spun right at the tip of her tongue.

She leaned in slowly, her mane brushing against Big Mac’s muzzle, their bodies separated only by the trembling bed and the heat radiating between them.

There were no words—just the sound of two breaths blending, drool dripping onto the sheets, and the promise of something darker still left unspoken.

Applejack lifted her head and, without a word, found her brother’s mouth, stealing a kiss deep and filthy, one that didn’t ask permission and wouldn’t offer apology.

She opened wide—and as Big Mac’s tongue trembled meeting hers, Applejack pushed some of the semen she had saved, letting it roll into the kiss, mixing that warm, thick cream with the taste of her brother’s own breath.

The kiss was shameless, playful, and cruel all at once; their tongues tangled, sliding across the semen, tasting it together, sharing the salty, sour, hot flavor like it was a bond tying them tighter than blood.

Applejack let out a soft moan, a low, mocking mmm, as drool and cum dripped from the corners of their mouths, soaking into their fur, joining their muzzles in a thick, sticky blend.

Big Mac stayed frozen, eyes wide in shock, breath caught in his chest—but he didn’t pull away. On the contrary, his pulse quickened, blood roaring in his ears, his cock stiffening again with humiliating speed, each heartbeat pumping it back to life—hard, red, messy, and starving.

Applejack broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to let a string of semen and spit stretch between their lips. She smiled, insolent and sharp, eyes blazing dangerously. She licked the corner of his mouth, scooping the last drop, and spoke so close her voice grazed him like a stroke:

“You like that, huh, big guy? You do, don’t you?”

Big Mac tried to shake his head, barely managing a motion, shame burning on his cheeks beneath the red fur—but his cock betrayed him. It throbbed between his thighs, swelling again, so hard it looked ready to split the skin.

He tried to pull away, but Applejack grabbed his mane, yanked him closer, grinding her body against his, her soaked pussy brushing the base of his cock, sliding through the sticky mess already staining both their coats.

“Come on, tell me the truth…” she murmured, licking his muzzle slow and taunting, her tongue gliding over his nose, lips, scooping up every trace of cum like nothing else in the world mattered but that taste. “You like feeling me here, don’t you? Knowing you filled my mouth… knowing I can fill you now too…”

Big Mac opened his mouth to protest, to deny, but Applejack kissed him again, stealing his breath, forcing him to swallow the last of the semen mixed with her spit, tongue invading him until he trembled—helpless, unable to hide the hunger.

His cock rose between them again—hard, slick, pulsing with every sway of Applejack’s hips—marking the rhythm of a need as old and forbidden as their blood.

She pulled back just slightly, biting his lower lip, the smile even crueller, her eyes shining like blades under the red light. “Don’t lie, Big Mac. Look at you… ready to use me again, you’re not even trying to hide it.”

The pony slid a hoof along her brother’s revived cock, stroking it slowly, admiring the weight, the stiffness, the pulsing skin. She lowered her head and licked the shaft, kissing the base where she’d already left marks, warming it again with her breath.

Every touch was a mockery, a promise, a reminder that shame held no power here—not on this bed, not between these two bodies.

Big Mac could only pant, his body burning, mind split between fear and devotion, between the urge to deny it all and the impossibility of resisting.

He let her work, muscles taut, spine arched, breath falling to ashes, his cock twitching every time Applejack’s tongue brushed the tip—leaving drool and kisses, marking territory with filthy reverence.

“Say it, big guy…” Applejack whispered, rising to meet his gaze, her voice dripping with honey and venom. “Say it or I’ll spend the whole night doing this… stuffing your mouth… soaking your bed… with everything you gave me.”

The stallion swallowed hard, shame and pleasure battling in his glassy eyes—but he no longer had the strength to deny anything.

Big Mac looked away, his chest still heaving, the blush raging beneath his fur, shame and desire melted into one unstoppable thing. He swallowed again, hooves trembling slightly against the soaked sheets, his breath in tatters from keeping the truth jammed in his throat. Applejack stayed on him, eyes blazing, that mischievous spark that seemed to light the room, her lips still wet, shining with what they’d shared. Big Mac couldn’t lie—not even to himself.

“…Yeah,” he murmured, voice hoarse, thick with everything he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud. “I like it. A lot…”

He shut his eyes, as if it could smother the blaze, smother the weight of taboo—but the confession hung heavy in the air, as real as the heat of Applejack’s skin pressing into his own.

She heard it, and her face changed in an instant—that wicked glint in her eyes, the crooked grin, the satisfaction of a pony who knew exactly what kind of power she’d just awakened in her own brother.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Applejack whispered, and without waiting, she bit his neck—right at the base where Big Mac’s pulse throbbed under the skin, where he was most sensitive, most vulnerable. The bite wasn’t gentle; it was hungry, possessive—a mark that burned with pleasure and pain.

The stallion groaned, the sound tearing from his chest, deep and shaking. His hooves clutched the sheets, his cock pulsing with furious life, reacting to the pain with complete surrender.

Applejack left the mark, licking the skin clean, then chuckled softly, triumphant, and slid off him with the grace of a pony raised on races and games. She glanced back over her shoulder with that stormy smile—a grin full of danger and delight—and without breaking eye contact, turned slowly, showing off her whole body. Tail lifted, back arched. She planted her front hooves firm into the mattress, raised her ass, and got on all fours, tail flicked aside, exposing her wet, swollen cunt—glistening with desire, her lips parted and twitching with every beat.

“You like this too, don’t you, big guy?” she teased, rolling her hips just a little, her voice rough with amusement, her ass swaying like a dare. “Look at me, Big Mac… I’m all yours—but now you owe me. You filled my mouth—now it’s your turn.”

She backed up hard, grinding her ass even closer until Big Mac’s body was pinned between the mattress and the wall.

Applejack gave him no choice—she shoved her ass against his face, her soaked pussy rubbing over his muzzle, the heat and scent of her flooding his nose, slippery skin smearing across his lips, forcing him to feel it, to breathe it, to taste it with no escape.

Big Mac was left with his face buried in his sister’s rear, eyes wide with shock, breath caught in his throat, cock throbbing hard beneath his belly.

Her scent drowned him—that sweet, sour perfume, raw pony musk, skin hot and salty, juices dripping from her lips and soaking into his muzzle.

Applejack giggled, rolling her hips to mash her pussy harder into Big Mac’s mouth, stuffing his nose between her lips, soaking his face in her need.

“Lick me, big boy,” Applejack ordered, her voice low, soft, but laced with that cutting authority that didn’t tolerate excuses. “Do your little sister a favor… shove your tongue in deep, I wanna feel your teeth and your sucking. Do it right, or I won’t let you fill me again.”

The command vibrated in Big Mac’s chest, echoing down his spine like a whip of pleasure.

He couldn’t say no.

He didn’t want to.

He stuck out his tongue, slow at first, licking the juice that trickled down Applejack’s slit, the tip barely brushing her folds, tasting that salty, intoxicating flavor.

Applejack moaned over her shoulder, lowering her haunches even more, grinding in slow circles, guiding her brother’s muzzle, forcing him to bury his face in her pussy.

Big Mac licked deeper, tongue parting the swollen lips, savoring her nectar, breathing in the heat, the lust, the filthy perfume of her skin.

The colt gave in to it completely, licking long and slow at first, then faster, hungrier, devouring every drop, gently biting the folds, sucking her clit until Applejack’s moans turned rough and guttural.

She panted, legs trembling, tail slapping Big Mac’s face, drenching him in juices, shoving him deeper into her filth.

She didn’t stop talking, moaning and laughing breathlessly. “Just like that… yeah, right there, don’t stop… harder, Big Mac, I wanna feel all of it…”

Applejack gripped her brother’s face to her pussy, her movements growing frantic, her ass grinding into his nose, his mouth, making him pant, suck, lick without pause.

Every time she moaned, Big Mac’s body trembled with pride and submission, his cock leaking pre onto the sheets, his tongue soaked in the forbidden taste of his sister.

She arched her back further, her pussy throbbing against his mouth, skin so sensitive every lick sparked like lightning. She pushed her ass back, pinning Big Mac to the wall, making sure he couldn’t pull away a single inch.

“Don’t you dare stop, big boy… not till I cum, got that? Give me all your love, with that mouth. Be a good brother and do it right…”

Big Mac didn’t hesitate a second more—total surrender was the only thing left. He opened wide, tongue rough and broad, and started licking Applejack’s pussy with a slow, savage hunger, dragging the tip from the base of her lips up to her clit, over and over in a rhythm that soon became ritual, worshipful.

He felt her heat pulsing on his muzzle, the sweet-salty taste soaking his tongue, sticking to his palate, drool dripping down his chin, soaking the sheets beneath his hooves.

The scent of Applejack’s asshole filled the air, thick and hot, a sour animal perfume that made him pant harder, nostrils flaring with every deep breath.

Big Mac didn’t pull away—he pushed in deeper, nose hunting for the tailhole, the humid warmth that pulsed just above her slit.

He buried his face, the skin of his nose brushing that tight, dark ring, the smell searing into his soul. He snorted hard, letting his hot breath bathe her entrance, while his tongue slid up and down, drenching her folds with spit, drool mixing with the juice that flowed more and more.

Applejack groaned, hoarse, her tail lifted high over her back, hips rocking, pressing his face harder against her rear.

Soaked in sweat and saliva, Big Mac focused on her clit, lips wrapping around it, sucking hard, tongue fluttering in tight circles, each lick a bolt of fire that made her writhe.

His cock throbbed, hard and aching beneath him, but his attention was pure devotion: every flick of tongue, every suck, was a tribute to her skin, a worship to the pleasure that made her legs shake.

Without stopping, the colt pushed his nose deeper into her asshole, inhaling the scent with open lungs, drunk on that forbidden perfume, her hot skin brushing his muzzle, drool stringing down to soak Applejack’s haunches.

He licked harder, tongue never pausing, sliding between her lips, up to her clit, circling it, catching it, sucking it until her whole body trembled, her moans breaking into desperate cries.

Applejack panted, legs spread wide, back arched in pure bliss, her cries echoing off the walls, filling the room with filth and frenzy.

Her ass rocked, her tailhole throbbed right on her brother’s nose, and every deep breath Big Mac took filled him with that sharp, musky scent that made him wilder, more consumed. He didn’t stop. Not for a moment.

He kept licking, sucking, drooling, making her skin tremble under his tongue, pleasure building in waves until Applejack’s body seized, a sharp cry ripping from her throat as her pussy clenched and shuddered, juices gushing harder, coating Big Mac’s tongue with the taste of surrender.

But he didn’t stop—he kept licking, up and down, breathing in the smell of her ass, soaking her rump with saliva, devouring every twitch, every drop, like he could feed on her climax and stay there forever, lost in the taste and the scent, a slave to her skin and that night.

His hooves dug into the soaked mattress, eyes clenched shut as he sank into Applejack’s ass and pussy, his tongue drenched in the juices gushing from his sister with every grind of her hips, every shudder of pleasure.

There was no world beyond that red, sticky cleft, the air thick like syrup, the bed transformed into an altar, the taste of Applejack smeared across his palate. He kept licking, drinking eagerly, feeling her fluids slide down his throat—hot, thick—the forbidden nectar of a pony fully surrendered.

Big Mac’s cock throbbed with a furious pulse, the tip slick with pre, dripping onto the mattress with every thrust of his snout into his sister’s rear. He couldn’t think. He didn’t want to. He only wanted more of that taste, more of that hoarse moan Applejack let out whenever his tongue brushed her clit just right, or when the tip slipped between her lips and soaked her entrance, drinking down every last thread of juice she spilled.

Applejack never shut up. Her voice came out rough, broken, sometimes nearly a scream, sometimes just a whisper, but every word was a whip that lashed Big Mac’s soul, making him groan into her pussy, tongue moving faster, deeper.

“Ahhh… Mac… don’t stop… just like that… keep licking me all over… oh, yes… there, right there…”

Her ass moved in slow circles, grinding against her brother’s snout, tail swept aside, her whole body gleaming with sweat and slick.

Every time Big Mac’s tongue fluttered over her clit, Applejack arched her back, hooves clawing at the mattress, thick gushes of juice streaming between her lips and soaking his face.

He drank it all, swallowing, savoring the heat, feeling each gulp melt something inside him—turning him soft, pliant, like her pleasure was dissolving him into something sweet and obedient.

“Mmm… yes, yes, yes… more, more, don’t stop, Mac… ohh, you’re driving me crazy… your tongue, your muzzle, all of you… you’re so good, big boy…”

Big Mac panted between licks, his breath turning Applejack’s skin into a furnace, his cock bouncing under his belly, his whole body trembling in a slow, tender ecstasy that wrapped around him like a heated cloud.

Each time he swallowed her nectar, he felt an odd peace, a rustic paradise where nothing existed except her pleasure, her taste, her body trembling because of him. There was no shame—only joy.

Applejack pressed down harder, lowering her haunches until she nearly smothered his face in her pussy, grinding her rear, guiding Big Mac’s tongue with slow, demanding movements.

The stallion gave in completely, licking with a reverence close to worship, sucking her clit, drinking until his entire face was soaked, his mane plastered to his skin with sweat and spit.

“Mac… don’t stop, don’t you dare! I want you to clean me up, you hear? Leave me sparkling…”

Applejack let out a short, raspy laugh, her moans tangled in it, her voice wrecked by sheer bliss.

He groaned into her pussy, the vibrations tearing another cry from her throat.

“Ahh… yes… like that, Mac… your tongue—ahhh—your tongue is a blessing… never stop, never…”

Big Mac drowned his snout in her juices, drool pouring off his chin, his cock hard beyond belief, each throb a burst of hot blood racing up his spine and striking the base of his skull like a heatstroke.

He felt soft inside, paradise stripping away every tension except the one in his tongue, still moving, still pushing in, circling, flicking, capturing both clit and asshole in strokes heavy with worship, tasting the feral scent Applejack gifted him with every thrust of her hips.

She dropped a hoof down and spread herself wider, her rump trembling, another thick gush of juice streaming out, nearly pouring. The stallion drank it, throat burning, stomach filled with that singular flavor.

“That’s it, big boy… drink it all… that’s right, just how I like it… I wanna see you swallowing, I wanna hear you gulp down my juice, my love…”

Big Mac groaned between licks, face dripping, eyes closed, lost in pleasure without guilt, without question. The mattress creaked under their weight, the bed stained, the walls echoing with Applejack’s moans.

Each swallow made his tongue tremble, his body relax more, his cock jumping with desperate pulses, yearning to plunge into her but content—grateful—to simply serve, to drink, to hear his sister moaning and begging for more.

Her taste only grew stronger with every cry, her pussy pulsing against his mouth, her juices thickening into hot cream. The stallion drank, slurped, sucked until he could no longer tell his own spit from her fluids, pleasure becoming a sticky soup that coated his snout, his nose, his tongue.

“Ah! Yes… yes… right there, right there, don’t stop, oh Mac, you’re perfect… just like that, just like that…”

Applejack began to roll her hips with a wilder rhythm, breath ragged, hooves tearing at the mattress, not even realizing each thrust smashed her ass against Big Mac’s face, flattening his muzzle and mashing her pussy and ass against him with sweet brutality, no restraint, no mercy.

Her juices ran down her thighs, her tail snapping side to side, sweat streaming over her flank as she cried out, wide open, voice shredded by the pleasure tearing through her core.

“Ah… Mac… more… deeper… deeper, please… get your tongue in me… I wanna feel you inside, big boy…”

Applejack’s voice was both a plea and a command, wrapped in gasps, tangled with broken laughter. Every word seemed to pull her further out of herself, stripping away modesty and shame, leaving nothing but raw instinct, pure need.

She shoved back with fury, smashing Big Mac’s snout between her cheeks, her slick pussy lips parting and closing with every thrust, marking her brother’s face like territory claimed.

Big Mac felt the air grow thick and boiling. Every move from Applejack stole his breath and soaked him in her juices, his muzzle trapped with no escape between her rump and the wall, her pussy pulsing in his mouth, her skin trembling under each fresh wave of pleasure.

He didn’t resist. Not for a second. He opened his mouth wider, stretched his tongue out even farther, firm, burying it between the wet folds, searching for her entrance, pushing in with ravenous hunger.

Applejack screamed, voice muffled and vibrant, her body arching as her brother’s tongue explored every corner inside her, licking deep, collecting every drop of the juice that poured from her without control.

Her movements turned chaotic, wild; she slammed her rump down onto Big Mac’s face, bouncing, grinding, rotating her hips, coating him in slick, her puckered asshole brushing the stallion’s wet nose, the scent flooding the room—sticky and dense.

“Ahhh! Yes… yes… right there… harder… deeper… don’t you dare stop, Mac… ahhh…”

That desperate cry was music to Big Mac’s ears. He pushed his tongue even deeper, prying Applejack’s folds open, swirling, stroking, until the mare let out a guttural scream, her legs trembling from sheer pleasure.

Her ass bounced on his face harder, rougher, her juices gushing in hot waves over his tongue and muzzle, soaking everything, baptizing him in sticky euphoria.

Applejack lost all control, slamming her rear down onto her brother’s face without mercy, her clit throbbing inside Big Mac’s mouth, her voice nothing but a blend of moans and cries.

“Just like that! Don’t stop… ahh, big boy, you’re mine… yes, mine, all mine… lick me more, deeper… never stop…”

Big Mac, suffocating on pleasure and slick, had no thoughts left but obedience. He plunged his tongue to the very core, swallowed each fresh gush, sucked her clit, kissed her pussy and asshole, letting her flavor invade and consume him completely.

Every breath was Applejack’s juice. Every heartbeat echoed her moans. She rocked without rhythm or restraint, her rump grinding into his face, burying him in her flesh, thinking of nothing but the raw, glorious, animal pleasure coursing through her body.

Big Mac couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this hard. His face burned, the blush running from ears to chest, shame and lust twisted together in every pant, every bead of sweat trickling down his spine. And still, his tongue never slowed.

He moved his head with her, licking and sucking, drinking the taste of Applejack like it was the only water left on the farm, his muzzle buried in her throbbing pussy, the muscles in his neck taut as he swallowed the juice pouring out in thick, sweet pulses, his own heart pounding like a runaway cart.

Applejack couldn’t speak anymore, only moan—her voice shredded by ecstasy, hooves clenched around the sheets and mattress, her rump pushing back hard, pussy squeezing tight around his tongue. Her body trembled, tail hairs bristling, clit pulsing against his face.

He could feel it building, the rhythm changing—not just pleasure now, but desperation. Applejack was on the edge, the slick turning to spray, a hot stream flooding his mouth, and Big Mac let nothing escape, swallowing, pressing his lips around her sex, circling with his tongue until her body snapped tight and a high, wild scream filled the room with pure, unfiltered bliss.

“Ahhhh, Mac…! K-Keep going… yes… yes… like that… just like that!”

The gush of Applejack’s orgasm bathed his tongue, and Big Mac drank it all, chest heaving, his cock pulsing beneath him, eyes half-closed from the heat and the shame.

The air was saturated with her scent, her flavor stuck to his tongue, her cry still shaking in his ears. Finally, Applejack slumped forward, her body sliding ahead, leaving a trail of gleaming fluid between her thighs and across Big Mac’s soaked muzzle.

She turned, panting, mane disheveled, her face flushed and her eyes shining like she was still caught in the haze of a filthy dream. She stared at him, trembling, and then her voice broke, raw and breathless, humiliated and proud all at once:

“Please, Mac… mount me… please… I can’t take it anymore. I want your cock… I want it all inside me, now, brother. Give me everything you’ve got… everything I am. Make me yours, Mac, right here… right now…”

Big Mac trembled, back taut, legs shaking beneath him. Every inch of his body screamed that he should stop, that if the family ever found out—if anyone in Ponyville even suspected—there’d be no turning back, no forgiveness for this.

But Applejack’s voice still echoed in his skull, the tremble of her plea tangled with the taste and scent that covered him inside and out. His cock throbbed harder than ever, so thick and heavy it hurt, skin stretched tight, each pulse burning deep at the base of his belly.

And then he thought: Fuck it. Let the world explode, let the farm burn, let shame rot six feet under. He wanted Applejack—wanted her there, trembling, open, dripping, wanted her moaning and bent beneath him. No more doubts, no more brakes, no more fear.

Without a word, he climbed over her in one smooth motion, hooves gripping Applejack’s haunches, chest brushing the slick sweat of her back.

She moaned, face buried in the blanket, rump raised high, tail flung as far aside as it could go, presenting that glistening, juice-drenched pussy, her asshole twitching in the shadow of his belly.

Big Mac panted, vision blurred from the flood of want, barely able to keep his balance as he aligned his thick, pulsing tip with his sister’s entrance.

“Ready?” he whispered, though his voice was barely a desperate growl, teeth clenched tight.

Applejack could only moan, body arched, her pussy throbbing, begging to be filled.

“Please… put it in… all of it, all of it… don’t stop… give me everything, Mac… give me everything…”

Big Mac didn’t wait a second longer. He pushed the head in, feeling her pussy part around him, the heat of Applejack swallowing his tip, skin stretched tight, slick running down his shaft.

He kept pushing, slow at first, but steady—no pause—feeling resistance give way, her inner walls clamping around him, the heat drawing him in, her body trembling under his weight.

Inch by inch, his cock slid deeper, thick, hard, throbbing, until the stallion was buried to the hilt, his belly pressed against her ass, Applejack shaking, her moans echoing off the walls.

“Ahh… yes… yes, just like that… Mac, it’s so big… so hot… don’t stop! Please, move, move…”

Big Mac started thrusting, pumping into her, feeling the heat and pressure clutch at him, squeeze him, Applejack’s pussy convulsing around his cock with every stroke.

He lowered his head, bit into her mane, gripped her hips tight with his forehooves, every thrust deeper, harder, the rhythm building like something primal that had waited far too long.

The scent of sweat, cum, spit, and slick filled the air. The bed shook under their weight, the blanket soaked straight through.

Each time he thrust, Applejack moaned—cried out—her voice split between whispers and screams, begging for more, pleading for every inch, every push. And Big Mac, lost in the filth, the hunger, the twisted love for his own sister, could only groan and keep going, his vision nearly black with heat, with bliss.

He could barely hold himself up, his legs trembling, chest muscles straining as he claimed Applejack’s body, pinning her down against the mattress like he feared she might vanish beneath him if he loosened his grip for even a second.

The room reeked of them: sweat soaked into the bed, Applejack’s sweet-salty fluids painting the air, the raw animal stink of shared lust in every breath. The heat was choking, the air so heavy it felt like the farm itself had been swallowed by the fever of a never-ending summer.

Applejack panted, mane plastered to her neck, her back arched, rump raised high and tail flung aside to bare herself completely. Her pussy, still throbbing from the orgasm she’d just ridden out, gleamed under the light, lips swollen and open, juices dripping steadily onto the mattress.

Big Mac stared down at her, his eyes glazed with hunger and worship, cock swollen, thick and burning, ready to reclaim the space his tongue had bathed minutes before.

With one firm hoof, he pinned her by the hip, pressing her harder into the mattress, making sure she couldn’t move an inch. He felt her whole body tremble when his tip pressed into her entrance, the slick heat enveloping him on contact, her flesh parting under the pressure.

She bit her lip, trying to muffle her moan—but when Big Mac pressed harder, started feeding in inch after inch, the resistance gave out in a burst of gasps and breathless cries.

“Ahhh… Mac… more… yes, more…”

Her voice was a trembling thread, a moan wrapped around a plea, cracking and vibrating with every breath.

Big Mac pressed harder, his hoof digging into her hip, claiming her back with each motion, every muscle beneath her coat flexing under his grip.

He thrust slowly—unyielding, but not rough—savoring the sensation of his cock being devoured by Applejack’s body, her lips parting wide, hot wetness clinging to every inch of him, squeezing in a fierce, living grip. With every inch that disappeared inside her, she shook harder, back arching, moans spiraling into madness, her voice climbing in pitch.

“Oh… oh Celestia… it’s… it’s going all the way in… all of it… Mac, don’t stop, don’t stop…”

Applejack rocked her hips wildly, slamming back against him, desperate to take him deeper, all the way. Every time Big Mac drove in, their bodies smacked with a wet slap, her juices running down to his thighs, soaking into the mattress beneath them.

Big Mac wasn’t thinking anymore. He could only feel: the fever in his skin, the pounding in his cock, the insane tightness of his sister’s pussy around him, locking him in. His breath was a ragged, feral growl, each thrust deeper, firmer, faster.

He leaned over her, his back brushing against Applejack’s, both of their manes stuck together with sweat, his muzzle breathing heat against the back of her neck. He wrapped a foreleg around her, pulling her tighter, pressing her harder into the bed until the pony moaned, her legs shaking beneath her.

“Yes… yes, just like that… ahhh… give me everything… all of it, Mac… more… more…”

Applejack’s voice broke into a howl every time Big Mac’s cock drove in deeper, filling her like no one else ever could. The bed creaked under their weight, wood groaning in rhythm with their bodies, the sheets drenched in sweat, spit, cum, and slick.

The sound of flesh slapping filled the room—“schlk, schlk, schlk”—relentless, obscene, every thrust a pounding against sin and sense.

Big Mac closed his eyes, jaw clenched tight, pleasure burning through every nerve. His hips found the rhythm—slow but devastating—each stroke deeper, more deliberate, until he could feel Applejack’s belly press against his glans with every thrust. She writhed beneath him, hooves clawing the sheets, her tail whipping with pure delight.

“Aaah… yes… yes… don’t stop, don’t stop… harder… deeper, brother, more!”

Applejack screamed, her voice wild and fractured, her body no longer hers, surrendered completely to the rise and fall of Big Mac’s hips. Her pussy gripped him hard, milking him, the wet heat wrapped around him, every twitch inside her firing straight into Big Mac’s skull, making him moan with her.

He drove harder, deeper, his hoof digging harder into her hip, his muzzle biting her mane, holding her like a beast in rut. The thrusts picked up pace, wild and unrestrained, their breath merged into one endless pant.

The room shuddered with the force of them, Applejack’s cries shattering the night, drowning out every thought but this—this forbidden pleasure, this twisted love that burned with every inch of buried cock.

“Yes, yes, yes! Just like that, Mac… more, please, don’t stop, don’t let me go… fill your sister, make me yours…”

The heat in the room was suffocating now, like the very air had turned to steam from the sum of every moan, every drop of sweat, every breath soaked in lust. Big Mac felt desire ripping through his nerves, brain drowning in every sound from Applejack’s lips, every plea, every ragged moan, every howl when his cock pushed deeper.

He couldn’t think of anything else—just those sounds. Just the way his sister unraveled beneath him, how the bed rocked with their bodies, the springs creaking like they might snap at any second.

His heart pounded so loud he felt the blood pounding in his temples, each pulse swelling his cock thicker, a delicious pain mingling with the power, the hunger, the fever of a night without brakes.

Applejack was screaming, voice cracked, mane soaked in sweat, her body moving beneath him in no rhythm but that of want. Every inch he sank into her made her tremble harder, and Big Mac felt how her pussy squeezed him, pulled him deeper, invited him to lose himself in lust and taboo.

The stallion tightened his grip on Applejack’s flanks, hooves digging into her ass, holding her fast, planting her so firmly that not even an inch could escape—no matter how she moved, no matter if she wanted to.

He pinned her down hard to the mattress, her face pressed to the pillow, rump raised high, pussy wide open, swallowing every inch of thick, red, throbbing cock he gave her.

In that moment, Big Mac let go of every shred of control. Only instinct remained—raw, unfiltered—and he gave himself over to the heat rising from gut to throat. Everything became noise and flesh, scent and slick.

He took Applejack like a treasure, a toy made for pleasure. He rammed into her, the whole length slamming to the hilt, flattening her belly to the bed, forcing her to arch, to scream, to let loose a cry that wasn’t pain but something worse—bliss.

“AAAHHH… Mac… yes, more… more… harder!”

Applejack shook beneath him, hooves tearing at the sheets, sweat trailing down her neck, mouth wide in a scream of pure want.

Every time he drove in, he felt her open, mold to him, the heat gripping him tight, her juices running down his shaft, his balls sticky and wet, the whole room soaked in the scent of her.

Big Mac no longer heard her with his mind—he heard her in his skin, in his blood, in his soul. His hips moved on their own, his whole body surrendered to the rhythm, each thrust deeper, more savage, more desperate.

There was no tenderness—only need. He gripped Applejack by the haunches, locking down his hold, and started slamming into her, using her body as the outlet for every ounce of lust that had burned in him since forever, like he was finally pouring out everything he’d buried.

“Yes… yes… yes… just like that… like that…”

Applejack’s voice was shattered music, a hymn of lust that drove him wilder. The mattress squealed beneath them, the bed inching across the floor with each impact, her legs quivering under the force of her brother.

Big Mac had her completely—her back arched, her muzzle buried in the pillow to muffle the screams, but nothing could hide the sound of bodies colliding, wet flesh slapping, the obscene rhythm of a cock driving in and out, deeper with every stroke like he wanted to lose himself inside his sister and never stop pushing.

Big Mac groaned, voice hoarse, rough, animal. Only one sound escaped him, one guttural syllable, every thrust a heartbeat, every inch he gained inside Applejack a strike against everything forbidden.

“Aj… Aj… Aj… mmm—ahhh…”

His tongue hung from his mouth, sweat mingled with drool, eyes half-lidded from the fever of pleasure, vision blurring, stars dancing at the edges.

He tightened his grip, cock plunging all the way, feeling her resistance breaking again, her climax creeping closer. Applejack trembled, her pussy muscles gripping, milking his cock with each pulse. He slammed harder, rhythm dissolving into pure pounding, pulling every ounce of pleasure from her and giving it back in every violent thrust.

Applejack sobbed from the sheer bliss, her voice broken:

“Give it to me… all of it… Mac… don’t let go, don’t stop… harder… more… I want to feel all of you, all of it inside… please…”

Big Mac growled from deep in his chest. He pushed all the way in, flattening her ass with his hips, holding her like an object, like the world ended in that bed. Her juices spilled down his shaft, the mattress a ruined mess of stains, the room quaking with the noise of their bodies and her unrestrained cries.

By then, Applejack was trembling uncontrollably, her body surrendered beneath her brother’s weight, legs still spread, ass lifted, the bed soaked with sweat, slick, and the burning need still alive inside her.

She’d been a brothel mare for many moons—she loved the work, loved the freedom and danger, loved the taste and feel of thick cocks stretching her out, teasing the limits of her desire until she shook.

But none had ever been like Big Mac’s: so thick, so hard, so beastly. She felt his flesh pulsing inside her, pressing places she hadn’t even known could be filled, every thrust driving in so deep words no longer meant anything.

She couldn’t hide the pleasure—didn’t want to. She moaned openly, mouth hanging over the pillow, tongue out, mane stuck to her face and back.

Every time Big Mac drove into her, her body arched, clit pounding, pussy gushing in waves, her inner walls clenching around him with primal force, like her body itself was desperate to wring every last drop of seed from her brother.

The thought twisted her mind—shame and lust churning in one overwhelming wave, stronger than any client, stronger than any lover.

And as she felt her brother take her with that wild new brutality, the smell of sex thick in the air, the squelching bed beneath her, Applejack let herself go, beyond the role, beyond any act.

She wanted Big Mac like this: brutal, unleashed, turned beast by her body.

“Mac…” she whimpered, voice shaking, drowned in pleasure and fragile shame. “Mac… please… don’t stop… don’t be gentle… treat me like any other mare, like those filthy little fillies who come here just to be filled… f-fuck me… fuck me like a beast, brother…”

Her confession came out broken, filthy, eyes clenched shut, face buried in the pillow, body quaking beneath Big Mac’s weight and throbbing cock.

She’d never dared ask like this—so plainly, so desperately—but now she couldn’t stop. She needed him to know, to feel it, to understand that his sister was his: surrendered, spread, broken, and begging.

Big Mac heard her—and something inside him caught fire again. His cock pulsed even harder, swelling inside her, the heat surging up his chest. He dropped his head and bit her mane, gripping her flank tighter, hooves digging into her hips to hold her like a toy.

He couldn’t hold back anymore—the scent, the heat, the wetness, the shattered moans of his sister—it all blurred his mind. There was no soft love now. No tenderness. Only hunger.

Applejack felt him swell, felt each thrust slam deeper, harder, the tip hammering into the depths of her belly, the flared head scraping her walls, pulling a whole new cry of pleasure from her throat.

She wanted it. She wanted him to fuck her like she was nothing—just some whore in heat, just another filthy pony come to be bred—wanted the taboo to be part of the pleasure, not the punishment.

“Yes, yes, yes… like that, Mac… harder… don’t stop, don’t ever stop… fill me, make me yours…”

Her pussy clamped down hard on Big Mac’s cock, sucking, milking, begging for cum, begging for more. Applejack felt fire in her gut, pleasure crushing her chest, another climax swelling in waves that bordered on unbearable. Every thrust made the bed quake, slick gushed down her thighs, the fullness stretching her to the edge—and all she could do was moan, plead:

“Mac… more… please… give me all of it… every inch of your cock… give me your cum… fill me up, don’t leave me empty… make me feel like I only exist for this… for you…”

The confession was pure filth and pure love, tangled in the desperate pounding of her body. Applejack’s insides clenched tighter, her flesh trying to milk her brother, to steal his soul, to wring out every last drop. Her pussy throbbed, clit smacking against her belly, his cock filling and stretching her beyond her limits, and she screamed, whimpering and begging for more.

Big Mac, lost in his own heat, roared, hips pounding wildly, sweat pouring off him, his breath broken and ragged.

He held Applejack so tight she could feel the dents of his hooves digging into her hips, fucking her without mercy, each thrust a declaration, every inch a shouted claim, until there were no words left—just the sound of bodies slamming together, wet flesh, stifled moans, and the hunger that turned them into beasts.

Applejack felt split open, torn in two by pleasure, Big Mac’s cock throbbing inside her, the heat blooming into a burn, the sense that nothing else existed outside this bed, outside this secret. The mare opened her mouth, eyes rolled back, tears streaking her cheeks from sheer bliss. She had never felt anything like this. She had never been such a slut—and never been so happy.

As for Big Mac, the fever climbed up his spine, his mind a red haze, sweat slicking his neck, and any sense of shame slipping off like it had never belonged.

He wanted more. More submission. More control. More of that pony pinned under his belly, writhing and broken just for him. Applejack moaned, overwhelmed, but to him it was music—addiction in its purest form. He raised one thick, firm hoof and planted it on her head, pressing her face down into the filthy mattress. His hoof was law.

Applejack moaned under the weight, silenced by force, her mane spilled like dirty gold across the sheets, her snout mashed down, breath snagging in strangled whimpers. It was exactly what she wanted: to be unable to move, to be unable to run, to be nothing more than a hot object waiting to be claimed and used until she broke.

Big Mac growled—low, guttural, a sound that rolled up from deep inside his chest—and slammed into her with every ounce of his power.

His cock drove in all the way with one savage thrust, balls slapping wet and heavy against Applejack’s ass, skin on skin, the fleshy crash of one body claiming another. Every thrust was punishment, a brutal dance of sweet violence, each slam a reminder of who was in charge, of who this pony belonged to now.

He adored Applejack’s ass—that round, taut backside, shaped by a life of hard work, now trembling and open for him, given up, stained with pleasure and shame.

He couldn’t help himself. He let go of her head just long enough to bring down a smack, loud and hard, right across her back. The crack of the slap echoed, followed by Applejack’s choked moan, her skin turning pink beneath the blow, trembling with raw humiliation and bliss.

Another slap—harder—the heat rising in waves. Big Mac drooled, spit falling in thick ropes from the corner of his mouth, splashing onto Applejack’s face, matting her mane to her cheek, soaking her coat like a nameless, filthy tribute.

She didn’t protest. She surrendered to the hoof on her head, to the silence forced on her, to the shame of feeling her own brother’s spit dripping over her while he fucked her hard, mercilessly, his entire body given over to the rhythm of taking her.

The stallion didn’t stop. Each thrust was deeper, more savage. He leaned over her, breath hot on her neck, and growled in her ear, voice hoarse and raw, scorching and cruel:

“You’re mine, Applejack. Only mine. Say it, even if you can’t scream it. Say it with your body, with your ass… Take it all. Swallow every inch. Endure every thrust because I’m not gonna stop.”

And he drove into her again, harder, the bed shaking, his balls crashing against her firm ass over and over, the wet sound filling the room with filth, with porn, with the most obscene and honest truth.

There were no words—only panting, only the smell of sex and spit, only the pounding crash of desire turned brutality.

Applejack was gone, buried in the mattress, mane soaked in saliva and tears, pussy gushing, clenching around his cock like she was trying to rip his seed and soul from him in one pulse. Every slap made her tremble harder, every drop of spit humiliated and crowned her, every thrust broke and rebuilt her.

Big Mac became pure instinct, merciless, without compassion or tenderness. That thick hoof stayed grinding her head into the drenched bedding, her snout pressed down, breath caught in broken moans, every gasp stolen under his rule.

The heat of the room was a prison; the smell, a choking fog of sweat, sex, and saliva that clung to the air, saturating every inch of that grimy whorehouse where nothing else mattered anymore.

Big Mac’s cock throbbed harder, hotter, ramming into his sister’s dripping, gaping cunt with a savage, inhuman rhythm, his body driving deeper, harder, every inch burying itself until his balls slammed with a wet slap against Applejack’s ass, the sound crashing off the walls with every brutal stroke.

He moaned—a cavernous, brutal groan—mouth open, drool sliding off his snout in thick strings, splattering onto his sister’s tangled mane, and she… she was nothing now but a flesh toy under his weight.

Applejack trembled with every thrust, the muscles of her cunt squeezing his cock like it wanted to milk him dry, to drain every last drop. Her moans weren’t words anymore, just broken screams and muffled pleas into the sheets, humiliation and pleasure tangled so tightly she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

The mattress creaked, Applejack’s hooves scraping the fabric, her tail twitching in a constant spasm, every nerve set on fire by the stallion slamming into her.

Big Mac gripped her harder, forelegs planted against his sister’s hips and neck, muscles taut, his thrusts relentless, cock driving deep with every plunge, the barbs grazing her insides, drawing out more fluids, more tremors, more cries of pure surrender.

Drool kept falling onto Applejack’s face, sticking to her mane, her cheek, sliding down to the corner of her mouth, mixing with the tears of savage pleasure splitting her open.

Squelch… thump… slap… squelch…

The mattress screamed with every blow, wooden legs thudding against the floor in a feverish rhythm that made dust tremble from the beams. The sheets, once tight and clean, were now a soaked knot beneath their sweating bodies, clinging like wet paper to Big Macintosh’s muscular frame.

He didn’t moan—he growled, like a beast dragged from the barn, panting through clenched teeth with a crooked grin as he looked over his shoulder at the wreck he’d made of his little sister.

Applejack whimpered, drowned in saliva and shame, face buried in a pillow she bit down on to keep from screaming, hind legs spread and shaking, hips raised by her brother’s arms, his fists digging into her flanks like claws.

“Stubborn little thing, AJ…” he growled through panting breath, voice rough like split wood. “Always running that mouth… always got that hard head…”

And with a harsh chuckle, he shoved back in.

THWACK!

The thrust lifted her nearly off the mattress, her nipples scraping the sheets as her back arched in a whiplash of aching pleasure. Her hooves clawed at the bed, grasping for something she’d never catch.

Big Mac never loosened his grip. Kneeling behind her, knees wide and thick as tree trunks, his body looked like a mountain in motion.

Sweat rolled down his back, dripping along the ridge of his spine to fall between Applejack’s asscheeks, mixing with the juices pouring from her battered cunt. He dropped a hoof, massive like a shovel, and smacked her ass hard enough to echo like a whipcrack.

“Nngghh!” Applejack sobbed, her hips jolting. “Bi-Big Mac… mmmh… please…”

“Please what?” he snarled, leaning down until his hot breath struck her nape. “Please stop? Or please give you more?”

She clenched her teeth, knuckles white against the pillow. She refused to beg. But her body answered for her: the way she moved, the way she pushed back, hunting for more cock, more heat, more punishment.

Big Mac chuckled low. With one hoof still gripping her hip, he used the other to yank her sweat-drenched braid, forcing her head up. His free hoof slid down between her thighs, calloused fingers rubbing her swollen clit with a dry, ruthless rhythm.

“Look at you dripping, little sis,” he rasped, eyes bloodshot. “So tough in the daylight… so obedient in my bed…”

The rubbing was fast, merciless. She screamed, a hot jet spilling from between her shaking legs. Her whole body jolted. Her knees buckled—but he gave her no pause.

“Aah… aahhh… M-Mac… Mac, you’re making m—!”

He didn’t let her finish. He buried himself to the hilt again and again, making the bed quake like a freight train rolling through.

THUMP! THUMP! SPLASH!

His balls smacked wetly against her ass each time he pounded into her, spraying fluids everywhere. He dropped his chest and bit her neck hard, marking her. She squirmed—but didn’t pull away.

Big Mac licked her face in mockery. She only moaned in return, tongue hanging out, panting with eyes half-open, lashes stuck together with hot tears. Pleasure had eaten her mind alive.

He felt so fucking hard. Like every ounce of weight in his body had sunk into that monstrous cock battering her without mercy, again and again, punching her belly upward, shoving her very soul out of place.

Big Mac changed his angle, leaned further down, fully mounting her now, chest slick against her back. He grabbed her wrists and stretched them out over her head, pinning her to the mattress.

“There… now I’ve got you. Look how easy it is to put you in your place.”

Applejack moaned like a wild mare, and Big Mac drove into her with renewed fury, muscles rippling under skin with each brutal slam. The rhythm was inhuman now—vicious, cavernous—his hips hammering against her with a frenzied CLAP CLAP CLAP.

She cried from pleasure, from rage, from shame, from more pleasure.

A string of drool hung from her mouth. Inside her, it was all wet snaps, flesh against flesh, flesh inside flesh. The bed didn’t just creak anymore—it screamed.

“Aj… you’re all mine… every inch…” Big Mac groaned, voice hoarse, his pace turning punishing, hips roaring with every blow, cock throbbing, the pleasure rising and spilling through his gut like an overflowing fire.

Applejack could barely move, face smashed beneath his hoof, rump raised, cunt spread and stuffed, her asshole twitching under every stroke, skin stinging from endless spanks, her brother’s spit dripping like hot rain onto her face.

Pleasure tore her apart—it bit down on her spine, climbed up her legs, and filled her skull with white clouds. And there, in the eye of that storm, she felt the pressure building in her belly, Big Mac’s cock throbbing, his balls tightening—she knew what was coming, and she needed it.

Between gasps and tears, she raised her voice, her plea ripped straight from her soul, all shame already burned away:

“Please… Mac… please, do it… cum inside… give it to me… fill me up… I want to feel it… please… Mac… Mac… CUM!”

The words came out broken, desperate, every syllable a whinny of raw, naked need. Applejack’s body clenched harder around her brother’s cock, sucking, pleading, begging like a lost and ruined mare, the pleasure twisting up her spine, tears spilling from sheer filthy bliss.

Big Mac lost control completely, vision narrowed to a red blur, muscles taut, one hoof pressing harder on her head, the other gripping her hip like a vice, his thrusts brutal, his body roaring with need. Every moan, every plea was another spark in the blaze—and he couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Here… it comes… AJ… all of it… all yours…”

With a beast’s roar, he slammed his cock all the way in, his balls slapping wetly against Applejack’s ass, their slick skin soaked in juices, her cunt squeezing down like it would never let him go.

Inside her, his glans had already breached the tightest part, rubbing against searing inner walls, his shaft stretching her passage, dragging her fluids through her body to mingle with the spit and sweat coating them both.

Every thrust pulled a low, guttural moan from her, a feral, broken sound, her insides rippling around his cock, muscles spasming with every heartbeat, screaming to be filled—not just by flesh, but by the deepest poison.

And then Big Mac pushed even deeper, feeling the swollen tip of his cock press into her furthest depths, where the heat was blinding, a place no one had ever reached.

Applejack’s belly tensed beneath the pressure, her back arched, her haunches quivering as a sharp, high moan escaped her lips, part ecstasy, part shock.

Inside, the head of his cock rubbed that final gate, the sanctuary where bodies tremble from pure overload—and there he stopped, wedged in, pulsing with the urgency of someone who could no longer hold back the flood.

And then, it burst.

The first spurt of cum fired deep, hot and thick, the cream flooding her clenching passage, splashing against her insides, coating her from the back wall all the way to the entrance.

Her cunt twitched, sucking down every wave, soaking in the heat, the seed spreading like a forbidden spring, swelling her full and then spilling over.

She could feel it—each jet slamming into her, rolling through her, painting her with molten ribbons that mingled with her own slick, dripping down from her slit in pale strands that slid down her thighs and soaked the already ruined mattress.

Applejack moaned loud, eyes squeezed shut, her body clutching around him, feeling every pulse of semen reach corners inside her she never knew existed, the warmth blossoming in waves—sweet, painful, overwhelming—biting the pillow as her legs trembled, her soul shattered under the weight of that savage surrender.

The cum kept coming, filling her from the inside out, rising, spilling, marking every inch like a confession written in flesh.

Applejack couldn’t do anything but let go, body completely given up, legs wide and limp, face pressed to the mattress, muzzle soaked with tears and drool, back arched in the perfect angle of submission and bliss.

Her insides were a nest of heat and pressure, a tight, pulsing tunnel clenching Big Mac’s cock like a fist, like it had been made to wring every drop out of him, to trap his filthy secret forever.

She could feel it—the thick jets of seed still pouring from deep within her brother. Every throb of his cock fired off another blast, striking the deepest point, filling her, pushing, branding her flesh with a promise she couldn’t tell was love or damnation—but didn’t want to refuse.

It collected there, in that hollow he’d cracked open, clinging to her burning walls, coating every fold from the mouth of her womb to the swollen lips of her cunt, and slowly, inexorably, it began to overflow.

It spilled in sticky waves down the narrow canal, mingling with her own release as her body still trembled from the aftermath, leaking out in slow, viscous rivulets down her thighs, pooling into the mess between her legs, soaking the sheets, her skin, turning every shred of shame into dripping warmth.

Big Mac’s cock stayed buried inside her, firm, still releasing more. She felt every heartbeat, every twitch, the thick shaft rooted in her core, his barbs swollen and dragging against her tender walls, forcing the cum deeper, demanding her body accept more than she ever thought it could.

With every new spasm, another thick spurt of cum traveled through her, swirling with what already filled her, building a slow, delicious pressure that forced her to clench down, to moan with her mouth wide open and her eyes fogged over with tears and pleasure.

The semen coursed through her insides, coating them in layers, some drops slipping down to seep out of her stretched pussy, others creeping higher up her walls to cling there—sticky, eternal—like the trace of a fever that would never break.

She could feel it flooding her, marking her, turning her into something else—into a vessel, an altar, a hot, swollen well where all her brother’s love and filth could be poured without restraint.

Big Mac panted above her, his body still shaking, cock throbbing, balls emptying again and again, unhurried, as if his flesh wanted to leave every last ounce of sin inside Applejack—things he could never say with words.

And she… all she could do was breathe, slow and shallow, let the heat spill through her, feel the cum moving inside her—sliding up, sliding down, like a wet caress that would stay with her through the night… maybe forever.

Applejack let go completely, her body wide open, soaked, her mind drifting with the rhythm of each pulse and splash, her breath tangled with the thick scent of sex and seed, while her brother’s fluid kept claiming the deepest corners of her body.

Big Mac stayed there, towering above her for a few seconds more, his massive body covering Applejack’s back, cock still buried in the twitching heat of his sister. He could feel the fire trembling in his bones, pulse hammering in his skull, sweat drenching his chest.

Slowly, panting, he began to pull back, gently, until the head of his cock—slick with cum and slicker still with her juice—slid from her swollen cunt with a wet, meaty sound, followed by thick cream spilling out, dripping down Applejack’s thighs and onto the already ruined bed.

His cock remained hard, engorged, pulsing with lingering desire and spent power, the last strings of cum still oozing lazily from the tip.

Big Mac raised a hoof, brought it down between the curve of her ass, and while breathing ragged, began to stroke himself, sliding the red, swollen tip between the soaked crease of her backside.

The pleasure still shivered through him, his body aching to be drained dry. He rubbed the head against her slick cleft, his balls damp and stuck to his thighs, and with a few short jerks, he growled—and another hot, thick rope of cum spilled out, painting her golden ass with heavy strands that glistened in the dim light of the room.

Applejack gasped as the warmth splattered across her rump, hips twitching in soft aftershocks. She lowered her head, her chest still trembling, breath caught between laughter and moans as she felt her brother’s seed cool and slide down her legs.

Shame and pleasure melded in her skin, in her loosened muscles, in the little smile that escaped her lips—spent, and satisfied like never before.

Big Mac, still breathless, leaned in slowly, his muzzle lowering beside Applejack’s head. Their eyes met through the haze of tangled mane and shadow, and for a heartbeat, the world was just that room’s humid silence, the heavy scent of sex, and the distant creak of old wood.

Big Mac dipped his head and, without a word, kissed her.

The kiss was slow, wet, a mingling of their tastes—sweat, seed, the sharp flavor of what they’d done. Their tongues met, touched, explored, shared the warmth, the secret, the madness.

Applejack moaned, mouth open, welcoming her brother’s tongue, drinking him in like it was the only breath she needed. That kiss was a pact, a wordless confession of everything they had just done—and everything that could never be undone.

She smiled when their lips parted, cheeks flushed beneath golden fur, breath ragged, her rump still twitching, thick semen sliding in globs between her thighs. She raised her head, muzzle brushing Big Mac’s cheek, her eyes half-lidded, full of teasing affection.

“Tell me, big guy… was that your first time doing anything like this?”

Her voice came out soft, a growl of tenderness and pleasure, barely a whisper in the heat of the bed.

Big Mac froze, swallowed hard, the blush climbing from his ears to his neck, his gaze unfocused, his mouth still open from the kiss.

Shame crossed his face—but he couldn’t lie. Not after all they had shared—the skin, the sweat, the sin still clinging to the mattress, to the air, to every twitch in his body.

“Yes…” he murmured, voice hoarse, low, smaller than she’d ever heard him. “It’s the first time…”

Applejack let out a sweet, tired laugh, the sound humming in her throat like a summer song. She dragged her tongue across his muzzle, brushing his chin, whispering between kisses:

“Nobody would’ve guessed, big guy. No one could’ve done it better… no one’s ever made me feel like this.”

They kissed again, slower this time, Applejack’s tongue tangling with Big Mac’s, their bodies pressed together on the ruined bed, manes stuck with sweat, semen cooling on their skin, the promise of their secret pulsing between their lips. Every swirl of tongue was a confession, every breath a silent acceptance of what they were now, and what they’d just done.

Big Mac stroked Applejack’s back, his big, clumsy hooves suddenly gentle, whispering against her neck, caressing her marked flanks. Applejack nestled in closer, clinging to the warmth of his chest, his cock still grazing her skin, both of them trembling, both knowing everything had changed forever.

Hours passed, and Applejack remained glued to his chest, her forelegs wrapped around her brother’s wide side, her tail tangled between their hind legs, her ass still stained with the warm, leaking remnants of what he’d left inside her.

The air was thick, heavy with their mingled scent—that sharp, sweet perfume of well-spent sex—and the mattress had become an extension of their bodies: damp, soft, and saturated.

Their mouths found each other again, no words needed. Big Mac turned his head and caught Applejack’s tongue with his own, sucking it slowly, licking every edge, sharing the taste of everything they’d poured into one another.

Applejack let out a sigh, opening wider, sucking his tongue back with hungry playfulness, nibbling along the edge, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, to devour him, to drink the last drops of breath between them.

Each kiss left a strand of spit dangling between them, dripping down their chins, wetting their fur. Their muzzles were slick, stuck together with heat and need. They kissed like the air was cum, like nothing existed outside this—them—and in that slow dance of tongues, Applejack murmured against her brother’s lips, her words carrying a mischievous, bashful glint.

“You’ve got… an incredible cock, Mac… I didn’t know you could be such a beast… or that I’d love it this much…”

She let the confession float there, dragging her tongue across the roof of his mouth, eyes half-lidded from pleasure.

Big Mac smiled, feeling blood boil beneath his skin. He sucked her tongue hard, pulling a moan from her throat, and answered in that deep, rough voice of his, never pulling his muzzle from her mouth.

“And you… you’re the hottest mare on the farm… and in any whorehouse.”

Applejack laughed, short and breathy, hiding her face in the crook of his neck, the blush blooming through her fur. For a moment, she went quiet, and then the whisper escaped her—hoarse, humiliated, honest:

“I’m sorry, Mac… I didn’t want you to find me here… I didn’t want you to see me like this… working, being used…”

Big Mac held her tighter, licked her cheek, and after separating their muzzles just slightly, he dipped to kiss her nose, nipping the tip with a clumsy, tender bite that made Applejack laugh.

“You don’t have to apologize, AJ. Not to me…” he murmured, and then his gaze darkened, voice dropping into a low purr. “But I do want a deal.”

Applejack blinked, surprised, eyes still damp with desire and uncertainty.

Big Mac gripped her ass, his broad, rough hoof squeezing hard. Without warning, he smacked her again, loud and wet, the echo filling the room and making her shiver, a choked moan spilling from her throat as heat bloomed across her flank.

“I won’t tell a soul…” he growled, voice thick and deadly serious, “…as long as, back home, whenever I want, you let me fuck you. When I ask. When I feel like it. I want you, AJ… not just here. I want your body in my bed, in the barn, wherever I choose.”

Applejack’s eyes went wide, her mouth still slick, her blush spreading across her whole muzzle. She gasped, heart hammering in her chest, body igniting at the idea of that secret life, that taboo dragging her further past every line. She looked at Big Mac—her brother—and knew there was no going back. She didn’t want to go back.

She nodded, trembling, her voice a broken whisper of joy and fear:

“Y-yes… yes, Mac… I want that too. I want to be yours. Do anything you want to me… whenever you want…”

Big Mac ran his tongue up her cheek, a slow, wet kiss, his hooves roaming her back, playing with the heat and the tremble beneath her coat.

They kissed again, deeper, tongues entwined, mouths open, their spit mixing with semen and sweat in a slow, shameless ritual.

Applejack rolled onto her back, spreading her legs wide, offering herself again, letting desire seize them once more, letting kisses turn into caresses, and caresses into new promises.

***

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when Big Mac opened his eyes, body heavy and head floating in a sweet haze of exhaustion and euphoria.

Rays of light slipped through the cracks in the curtain, catching the golden dust motes and painting the room with that warm tone that comes just before the world starts to stir.

For a moment, everything was stillness and heat, the world paused in the sticky warmth of sheets still damp, the air saturated with the smell of spent sex, sweat, apples—and secrets.

Big Mac turned his head against the pillow, muscles sore, patches of fur sticky, a sweet ache nestled between his thighs.

At first, all he felt was confusion—the rough texture of the sheet, the sagging mattress, the lingering heat of the brothel still humming in the walls.

But the moment he blinked, it all came rushing back with razor clarity: the night of moans and cries, of slick bodies and joyous brutality, mouths full of spit, promises whispered in the dark.

He remembered taking Applejack one last time before falling asleep, both of them chasing pleasure beyond exhaustion, just to savor the closeness, to seal their secret under the blind gaze of the moon.

Now the bed beside him was empty. Applejack was gone—or maybe she’d just slipped away to handle morning chores, as if nothing had happened, as if the night hadn’t changed everything. But evidence remained, and plenty of it.

Lying on the pillow, just at eye level, was a folded piece of paper. Beside it, a small receipt—one of the brothel’s printed slips, stamped in red ink, the fee scribbled quickly in hasty hoofwriting.

Big Mac swallowed hard at the sight, a blush rising from his ears. Until now, he hadn’t thought about the cost, or the real world, or how he’d explain such an expense back home.

But as he picked up the slip with a trembling hoof, he saw something more. The note, written in Applejack’s unmistakable script, still carried her scent—green apple, sweat, and a trace of sin. He unfolded the paper and read:

“For my favorite stud—

This time, the fee’s on the house… and on your personal pony.

No one’s ever fucked you like that before. I earned it.

Keep the receipt as a trophy. Next time, just bring your hunger.

P.S. Check the back for your gift. So you won’t forget me. Not for a single day.”

Big Mac’s throat tightened as he flipped the note.

Taped to the corner, just barely holding, was a photograph—blurry, secretive, white sheets in the background, and dominating the frame: Applejack’s swollen, glistening pussy, open and shining, so close he could almost smell her.

The image was brazen and obscene, a private keepsake made just for him—an invitation and a confession, all in one perfect curve and that glint of juice on golden skin.

The stallion flushed all over again, pulse pounding in his temples, cock twitching under his belly despite the lingering exhaustion.

He tucked the letter and the photo away with shaking hooves, hiding them deep in his mane, knowing no one could ever see them—that trophy was far too filthy, too massive a secret for the outside world.

He sat up slowly, body still trembling from the night’s surrender, muscles sore, a crooked smile dancing across his muzzle.

He looked around the room one last time—the unmade bed, the stains on the sheets, curtains half drawn, the pungent, lingering fog of sex still floating thick in the air. The brothel was quiet; only distant, sleepy voices of other mares and a few clients slipping away like thieves in the dawn broke the silence.

Big Mac knew what he had to do.

He got up, shook off the dust and sweat, and with slow, heavy steps made his way to the door. Before leaving, he double-checked the note, the photo, and the receipt—tucked away safe.

He paused a moment, eyes resting on the mattress, the imprint of their bodies and their sin still visible, and let out a slow, long breath—as if exhaling could purge just a fraction of the fire burning in his chest.

He pushed the door open carefully, stepping into the hallway. He walked slowly, silently, passing the rooms where the echoes of other paid loves and kept secrets still slept.

Down the stairs, he avoided the gaze of the old receptionist, and stepped into the back courtyard, where the morning sun hit him square in the face, making him wince and squeeze his eyes shut.

Outside, the city was waking—completely unaware of what had happened behind those walls. Big Mac inhaled deep, filling his lungs with fresh air, and made his way down the side alley, careful not to cross paths with anyone he knew.

The secret burned between his legs, the taste of the night and of Applejack still tingling in his mouth and clinging to his skin.

He walked fast, head low, never looking back, leaving the brothel and everything that had happened sealed in the shadows of dawn.

When the dust of the road clung to his coat and the city’s murmur faded behind him, Big Mac looked at the letter one last time before hiding it away, his heart galloping, the promise of future meetings—and new nights of madness—throbbing like fever in his veins.

No one back home had to know. But he would never forget.

And so, under the sun, he returned to the farm—carrying with him the sweetest, filthiest, most brilliant secret of his life.

Still hard, galloping back to the mare he wanted to put it in all over again.