Futa Applejack x Applebloom [Accidental Breeding Edition]

Applejack stomped through the barn again, tail lashing hard enough to whistle. Heat rolled through her belly in slow, thick waves, same as it had every spring since she hit marehood proper. Estrus never asked permission. It just showed up, heavy and insistent, turning honest work into a fight against her own skin.

Sweet Celestia, Ah’m burnin’ up, she thought, jaw clenched tight. Can’t hardly buck a tree without that ache twistin’ me sideways.

She'd popped the last pill two days back. The bottle lay empty on the workbench, mocking her. Without 'em, the throb between her hind legs refused to quiet. Her sheath felt too full, the thick length inside it restless, sliding half-free every time she bent to lift a bale or kick an apple tree. Focus splintered, and buckets slipped. She swore under her breath more than once when a hammer glanced off a nail and bit her hoof instead.

Ah ain’t never let it get this bad before. Gotta hold it together, Applejack. Farm don’t run itself.

Then Apple Bloom happened.

Apple Bloom burst through the house at supper, wide-eyed, dust clinging to her coat. "AJ! Ah didn't mean to—Scootaloo thought it might help Sweetie's cramps, an'—"

Applejack’s ears pinned flat. There sat the bottle, plain as day. “You took the rest,” she said, voice low, dangerous calm. “All of ‘em. Passed ‘em ‘round like peppermints at a party.”

My pills. The ones Ah needed. Little filly don’t even know what she’s messin’ with.

Apple Bloom bolted, the sting of Applejack’s words sending fear twisting through her chest. The door banged as hooves thundered toward the barn, anger trailing behind.

By the time Applejack caught up, the night had settled thick outside. Lantern light swayed across hay bales and tack hooks. She called Applebloom's name out once, then twice. Nothing. There was only the moan of old wood and her own heartbeats thudding too loud inside her head.

Where in tarnation… Ah swear, when Ah find her, she’s grounded till she’s gray.

The heat spiked sharper now. No pills left to blunt it. Her cock dropped fully, heavy and flushed, swaying at every step. Slick already gathered at the flared tip; she could smell herself, musky and sweet, filling the barn air. Every breath dragged it further into her lungs.

Can’t think. Can’t hardly walk straight. Just need… need it to stop hurtin’ so much.

She needed relief. Bad.

The breeding mount sat in the far corner, the same one Big Mac used back when they hired draft stallions for labor. Simple thing: padded bench angled just so, compartment underneath sealed tight, and soft faux tail attached for realism. Draft stallions swore by it when it helped them get through labor without distraction. Practical. Clean.

Applejack circled it once, then twice. Her nostrils flared. The phantom odor of a receptive mare clung to the padding, faint but enough to make her shaft twitch and slap her belly.

Ah shouldn’t. Ah know Ah shouldn’t. But sweet buckin’ hay, nothin’ else is gonna quiet this fire tonight.

But the ache had teeth now.

She reared, planted forehooves on the padded sides, and lined up. One slow push. The entrance yielded, warm and slick; somepony must've oiled it recently. She groaned low, teeth gritted, as the first few inches sank in. Tight, so perfectly tight; better than she remembered.

Oh sweet mercy… that’s it. That’s the thing Ah’ve been needin’ all day.

Another thrust, deeper. The mount gripped her, velvet heat squeezing down the length. She rocked forward, hips snapping, each plunge pulling a rough grunt from her chest.

Feels so good. Too good. Like it’s pullin’ me in, milkin’ me proper. Ain’t never felt one flutter like this before…

The flare caught, popped past the rim, and locked her in place. Instinct took the reins.

She fucked hard then. Steady. Relentless. The bench moaned under her weight as her balls drew up tight, slapping wetly against the underside. Pressure built fast, coiling low in her gut.

Just a little more… c’mon, Applejack, let it go. Ain’t nopony here to see. Just gotta empty out and Ah’ll be right again.

She thought only of the slick grip milking her, the way it fluttered when she bottomed out, the flood she was about to loose.

One last brutal shove. She came with a choked neigh, pulsing, flooding the compartment in thick ropes. Spurt after spurt. Overflow started almost immediately; white spilled past the seal, dripping down the mount's legs in slow, sticky trails. She kept grinding through it, riding the aftershocks until her legs shook.

There we go… oh, that’s better. Legs feel like jelly, but the fire’s banked. Finally.

Finally spent, she freed herself with a wet suck. Cum strung between her tip and the mount's entrance, shining in the lantern glow. She drew back, breathing hard, shame creeping in behind the haze.

What in the hay did Ah just do? In the barn like some ruttin’ animal. Ain’t right. Ain’t right at all.

Yet even she can't deny that the urge turned quiet afterwards.

She turned away, snatched a rag from the workbench, and wiped herself down roughly. Left the lantern burning low as she headed for the house, legs still unsteady, and mind already trying to bury what she'd just done.

Apple Bloom’s still out there somewhere. Gotta find her tomorrow. Talk sense into her. Can’t let her run off like that again.

Behind her, in the dark under the mount, a small shape shifted.

Apple Bloom stayed curled tight in the padded compartment long after the hoofsteps faded. Her coat stuck to her sides. Heat kept simmering between her own hind legs; no estrus, just the raw new throb of being stretched open and filled. Thick warmth leaked steadily out of her, soaking the padding beneath, seeping past the edges to drip onto the barn floor in soft plops.

She waited until she heard nothing but the barn and her own breathing.

Then, trembling, she crawled out.

Cum poured from her in a slow gush as soon as her haunches cleared the opening. It slicked her thighs, matted her tail, and puddled under her hooves. She stood there a moment, small and shivering, staring at the mess she'd become.

The barn door stood ajar as moonlight gleamed across the floorboards.

She took one shaky step, then another.

She didn't look back.

===

Apple Bloom’s heart slammed against her ribs the second she saw Applejack’s muzzle change: eyes narrowing, jaw stiffening, and that slow head shake that meant trouble worse than any scolding. The empty pill bottle lay between them on the kitchen table like a written sentence.

Ah’m in so much trouble. Ah didn’t mean for it to go this far, ah just wanted to help mah friends.

Scootaloo had whined about her wings aching, Sweetie Belle kept fidgeting every time she sat down, and Apple Bloom—stupid, helpful Apple Bloom—thought the little white tablets might fix everything the way they fixed AJ’s tempers every spring.

They ain’t supposed to be a big deal. AJ takes ‘em all the time. Why’s she lookin’ at me like Ah broke somethin’ important?

She didn’t wait for the yell. Her legs moved before her brain caught up. The chair scraped loudly, the door banged open, and the cool dusk air hit her muzzle like a slap.

Hooves pounded dirt. She tore past the first row of trees, branches whipping her flanks. Applejack’s voice cracked behind her: sharp, furious, and carrying easily over the orchard.

“Apple Bloom! You get back here right now!”

She didn’t. Couldn’t. Panic tasted like copper.

She’s gonna tan mah hide. Ah can’t face her yet, gotta hide, just till she cools off.

The barn towered ahead, big double doors standing half-open the way Big Mac left them after evening chores. Safety. Dark. Places to hide.

She ducked inside, breath labored. Hay dust drifted in the lantern glow, still burning low on its hook. Shadows extended wide across the floorboards. Her eyes darted: tack room too open, hayloft too high to reach quickly, then she spotted it. The old breeding mount in the corner, the padded bench angled low, and the compartment underneath still sealed tight from last season.

That’ll work. Nopony ever checks in there. Ah’ll just stay put till she gives up.

No time to think if it was gross or smart. She dove.

Her small body squeezed through the narrow access panel ponies used for cleaning. Hay chaff scratched her belly. She curled tightly, knees to chest, tail tucked hard against her rump. The compartment gave off the smell of old oil, faint stallion-scent, and the thick padding that lined every surface. Darkness swallowed her whole.

Outside, hooves thudded closer. Applejack’s breathing came heavy now, edged with something rougher than plain anger.

“Where’d you go, sugarcube?” Softer, almost pleading, then a quiet growl. “Don’t make me hunt you down.”

Apple Bloom pressed a hoof over her mouth. She kept still as her own heartbeats thumped so loud she swore her sister could hear them through the wood.

Please don’t find me. Please, AJ, just go back to the house…

Minutes crawled as Applejack circled the barn. She could track the hoof-falls, the occasional snort, and the creak of a stall door being nudged open then shut. Closer. Closer.

Then the steps slowed. Stopped right beside the mount.

Apple Bloom’s ears flicked. Something shifted in the air: thicker, warmer. A low, shaky exhale from above. The bench groaned once as weight settled onto it.

She froze.

She’s right there. She’s gonna open it. She knows—

A soft, wet sound. Cloth? No—hoof on hide, maybe. Then a deeper groan, rough around the edges. Applejack’s voice was quiet, talking to herself.

“Just… need to take the edge off. Won’t take long.”

The mount rocked gently, slow at first, then steadier. Apple Bloom felt the vibration travel through the padding, up her spine. Something blunt and hot nudged the entrance behind her, right where her tail met her haunches. She sucked in a tiny gasp, eyes flying wide in the dark.

What’s she doin’? She’s… she’s usin’ the mount? Now?

Something blunt and hot nudged the entrance behind her, right where her tail met her haunches. She sucked in a tiny gasp, eyes flying wide in the dark.

No. No way. That ain’t, ah’m in here—

But the pressure came again, firmer. The flared head caught, slipped, caught again. Apple Bloom’s whole body clenched on instinct. Too late to move. Too late to squeak. The compartment held her pinned, small frame trapped exactly where the mount was designed to hold stallion cum.

Ah can’t yell. If Ah yell, she’ll know. She’ll be so mad. Ah can’t let her know Ah’m in here—

Applejack thrust.

The stretch burned clean through her: sudden, huge, and splitting her open in one long slide. Apple Bloom’s mouth opened on a silent cry. Tears burned hot at the corners of her eyes. Her tiny passage fluttered uselessly around the thick length, burying itself deeper with every roll of those powerful hips.

It hurts, it hurts so much, make it stop—

She could feel everything. The flare popping past her rim, the heavy vein pulsing against her walls, the way Applejack’s balls tapped softly against the mount on each inward stroke. Heat poured into her, slick and relentless. The padding underneath grew damper with every thrust, while her own body answered even while her thoughts screamed wrong wrong wrong.

This ain’t supposed to happen. Ah’m too little. Why’s it feel… why’s it startin’ to feel… no, no, don’t think that—

Applejack didn’t speak anymore. Only grunts, low and animal, building faster. The mount shook harder as Applebloom’s forelegs scrabbled uselessly at the padded wall in front of her muzzle. Her hindquarters lifted a fraction on each withdrawal, dropped again on the plunge. She bit her own fetlock to keep quiet.

Ah just gotta wait. She’ll finish and go. She don’t know it’s me. Please finish quick…

Then the rhythm broke.

Applejack shoved deep, one brutal, grinding push, and stayed. A choked neigh tore out of her. Heat exploded inside Apple Bloom, thick pulse after thick pulse. It flooded her, too much, too fast. Pressure built behind her navel. She felt her belly round slightly under the onslaught, then the overflow started; hot streams leaking past the seal of their bodies, soaking the padding, dripping down her inner thighs in slow, sticky rivulets.

So full, ah can’t hold it all. Ah’m leakin’ everywhere—

Applejack ground through the last shudders, hips twitching, then finally stilled.

Long seconds passed. A wet suck as the shaft withdrew. More cum spilled out in a gush, pooling under Apple Bloom’s haunches. She heard Applejack’s hooves hit the floorboards, a tired sigh, and the rough swipe of a rag. Hoofsteps retreated, then the barn door snapped shut.

Silence.

Apple Bloom stayed curled, trembling. Her insides ached: raw, full, and strangely heavy. Every tiny shift sent fresh trickles sliding out of her. The compartment reeked of salt and musk and her sister.

She’s gone. She’s really gone. Ah… Ah let that happen. Didn’t stop it. What’s wrong with me?

She waited until the lantern flame guttered low.

Then, slowly, carefully, she pushed backward.

The access panel gave way. Cool air kissed her soaked hindquarters as she crawled free on shaking legs.

Cum poured from her in a thick rope the moment gravity took hold, splashing onto the floorboards between her hooves. It matted her tail, slicked her cutie mark, and dripped steadily down the insides of her thighs. She stood there swaying, small and sticky and stunned, staring at the puddle spreading beneath her.

Ah’m a mess. Ah can’t go back like this. What if she sees? What if anypony sees?

Moonlight slid through the crack in the barn door.

She took one step, then another. Her legs wobbled but held.

She didn’t look back at the mount.

Didn’t dare.

===

Apple Bloom slipped around the side of the barn where the rain barrel stood, half-full from last week’s shower. Moonlight caught the brass spigot as her legs still shook. Every step pulled fresh slickness down the insides of her thighs, cool now, sticky in a way that made her stomach twist.

She nosed the hose free from its coil. The rubber felt cold and heavy against her muzzle. Water had pooled in the loops; when she dragged it out, a thin stream dribbled onto the dirt, darkening it.

Gotta get clean. Can’t go back to the house smellin’ like—like this.

She turned the spigot with her teeth. Water hissed out in a hard jet at first, then steadied into a thick, cold rope. She aimed it low, between her hind legs.

The first blast hit her cutie mark and made her gasp. Icy, sharp enough to sting. She spread her stance wider, trembling, and angled the stream higher.

Water slammed against her swollen entrance. The shock forced a tiny, choked sound out of her throat. Cum rushed out in milky ribbons, swirling down her legs, mixing with the runoff and soaking into the ground at her hooves.

It’s comin’ out so fast. Like it don’t wanna stay inside me anymore.

She tilted the hose closer. The pressure pushed past her lips, cold and insistent, flooding the raw channel Applejack had stretched open. Her belly clenched hard. More spilled, thicker globs this time, clinging before the water tore them loose. She could feel the weight leaving her, the strange heavy fullness easing bit by bit.

But every pulse of the stream dragged something else along with it.

Memories of the dark compartment, the way the padding had muffled her own breathing, and the heat of her sister’s body pressing in, filling her until she thought she’d split. The moment the flare locked behind her rim, everything turned inevitable.

She didn’t know. She still don’t know. If she ever finds out—

Her hoof slipped on wet grass as the hose jerked. Water sprayed wildly for a second, splashing her muzzle and chest. She sputtered, blinked hard, then forced it back between her legs.

Keep goin’. Gotta wash it all away. Every drop. Can’t leave any behind or—or she’ll smell it on me tomorrow mornin’ when we’re buckin’ apples together.

The cold started to numb the ache. Her passage fluttered weakly around the invading stream, trying to close, failing. Another thick rope of white slipped free, stretched long by the water before it broke and fell.

She stared at it, pooling between her front hooves.

That was inside me. That was hers. And now it’s just… dirt.

Her ears flattened. Something hot burned behind her eyes, not tears exactly, but close. She blinked it back.

Ah let it happen. Coulda squeaked. Coulda kicked. Coulda done anythin’ besides bit mah fetlock and stayed quiet.

The stream ran clearer now, less milky. Just water running pink-tinged from the scrapes on her inner thighs where the padding had rubbed her raw.

She kept the hose trained there anyway, longer than she needed to, letting the cold bite deeper. Let it hurt a little, punishment... maybe. Or proof she could still feel something besides the ghost of being filled.

Finally, the flow ran perfectly clear.

She shut the spigot with shaking teeth. The hose dropped, thudded softly against the barrel. Water dripped from her belly, her tail, and her hocks. She stood dripping in the moonlight, small and shivering, coat plastered flat.

The barn door still hung ajar behind her.

Inside, the breeding mount waited in shadow, silent now, its padding probably still warm.

Apple Bloom turned away from it.

Took one slow breath, then another.

Tomorrow Ah’ll tell her Ah’m sorry for the pills. Tomorrow Ah’ll act normal. Tomorrow Ah’ll pretend none of this happened.

She started toward the house, hooves leaving dark wet prints in the dirt.

The lie already tasted sour on her tongue.

===

Big Macintosh stepped out of the kitchen door just as the first real light crested the east orchard. Coffee still steamed in the tin mug he carried; he took one slow sip, let the bitter heat settle in his lungs, then started his usual loop: check the barn first, always, before the day got loud.

The double doors hung a hair wider than he’d left them last night. He nudged one open with a shoulder. Lantern had burned itself out sometime after moon-high; wick sat black and curled. Hay dust hung thick in the slanted sunbeams.

His eyes tracked the floorboards out of habit, then stopped.

A long, pale streak ran from the breeding mount’s legs across six feet of wood, thinned by time and gravity but unmistakable. Milky, dried at the edges now, flaking where morning air had pulled the moisture out. He stared at it for a long beat.

Then his gaze lifted to the mount itself. Padding looked mussed, more than wind or settling could account for. A few fresh-looking wet spots darkened the faux tail, too, darker.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled.

Somepony used it. Hard.

He circled the bench once. Hoofprints: two sets, one heavy and wide, one small and scattered; pressed into the dust nearby. The small ones led away toward the side door, then doubled back once, hesitated, and veered off again. The big ones simply stopped at the mount and started again, headed for the house.

Big Mac’s ears flicked once. He didn’t need to sniff to know whose musk still clung faintly to the air. Applejack’s scent carried everywhere on the farm anyway, but this was sharper. Fresher. Layered with something rawer.

He stepped closer. The compartment seal showed a thin crust where overflow had seeped and dried overnight. He nudged the access panel with a hoof. It gave easily; somepony hadn’t latched it properly when they crawled out.

Inside, the padding sat soaked and dark in a rough oval. Not just from use. Water had run through here too, carrying most of the mess away but leaving behind a slick film that caught the light wrong.

Big Mac straightened, then turned toward the side of the barn.

Outside, the hose lay in a loose coil beside the rain barrel, nozzle still dripping every few seconds into the dirt. A wide, shallow puddle had spread from there; cloudy at first, now mostly clear except for a faint milky ring at the very edge where the sun hadn’t reached yet. Grass blades bent under the weight of it. Hoofprints, small ones again, marched away from the puddle toward the main orchard path, growing steadier with each step.

He stood there a long minute, mug forgotten in his hoof until the coffee cooled against his frog.

Apple Bloom.

The name settled heavily in his chest. Not a question. Just fact.

He remembered her tearing out of the house at supper last night: eyes big, coat streaked, and voice cracking on excuses about pills and friends. Remembered Applejack’s low growl chasing after. Remembered the house going quiet too quickly afterward, nopony coming back inside till late.

And this morning, both of them had already been gone before he finished chores; off to the north field, Applejack calling orders, and Apple Bloom trailing a half-step behind with her head down.

Big Mac set the mug on the barrel rim. Steam curled lazily into the chill.

He didn’t move right away.

Part of him wanted to scrub the whole mess himself. Hose it down, rake the dirt, and pretend the streak on the floorboards was just spilled milk, whitewash, or anything else. Keep the barn quiet, the way it always had been.

Another part, the bigger part, felt something colder coil low in his gut.

She’s just a filly.

He thought about the way Applejack walked this morning: stiff in the hips, tail carried a little lower than usual, like she’d pulled a muscle or… something else. Thought about how Apple Bloom hadn’t looked up once when they passed the barn on their way out. She just kept her eyes on the dirt path.

Big Mac dragged a hoof through the watered-down puddle once, slow, watching the ripples spread and die.

He didn’t know the whole of it. Didn’t need to.

But he knew enough.

He picked up the hose. Wound it carefully around his hoof, slow turns, deliberate. Hung it back on the nail.

Then he walked inside, grabbed a stiff broom from the tack wall, and started sweeping the dried trail toward the side door. Each stroke is steady, mechanical. The flakes lifted, drifted, and settled again in smaller drifts.

He’d finish cleaning before they came back for lunch.

He’d keep his mouth shut.

And later, when the sun hangs low, he’ll talk to her.

Because something had shifted under the roof last night.

And quiet as he was, Big Macintosh never had much patience for things left half-buried.

===

Big Macintosh waited until the afternoon sun hung low and lazy over the south field. Applejack had taken the last load of baskets to the cider barn herself. She said she needed to check the presses anyway, which left Apple Bloom alone at the edge of the orchard, stacking empty crates with slow, careful movements. Her tail stayed tucked low, ears flicking at every little sound.

He approached from the shaded side of the row, hooves deliberately soft on the fallen leaves. Didn’t speak until he stood close enough that his shadow fell across her work.

“Apple Bloom.”

She startled hard enough that the crate in her teeth clattered to the ground. Wood cracked against wood. She spun, eyes wide, then dropped her gaze to the dirt the second she saw his muzzle.

Big Mac didn’t move. Just stood there, red coat catching the slanting light, letting the silence stretch until it pressed against her shoulders.

She swallowed once, then twice. Her voice came out small. “H-hey, Big Mac. Didn’t… didn’t hear ya comin’.”

He nodded once, slowly. “Saw the barn this mornin’.”

Her ears pinned flat. She took half a step back, hindquarters bumping the stack of crates. One wobbled but held.

Big Mac kept his tone even. Low. The way he always spoke when something mattered too much for shouting.

“Trail leadin’ from the mount. Hose still drippin’ outside. Water runnin’ cloudy when Ah got there.”

Apple Bloom’s breath hitched. She stared at a single blade of grass bent under her hoof like it held all the answers.

“Ah cleaned it up,” he went on. “Broom. Hose again after. Ain’t nopony else gonna see it now.”

She nodded jerkily. Still wouldn’t look up.

He waited another beat. Then softer, almost gentle, the way he talked to the foals when they scraped knees:

“Was it you in there?”

The question landed quietly. No accusation, just fact waiting for shape.

Apple Bloom’s legs trembled. She sank onto her haunches without meaning to, tail curling tight around her flanks like armor that didn’t fit right anymore.

“Ah—” Her voice cracked. She tried again. “Ah didn’t mean… Ah was hidin’. From AJ. ‘Cause of the pills. And then she… she came in and—”

Words dried up as she pressed her lips together hard.

Big Mac exhaled through his nose, long and slow.

“She didn’t know.”

It wasn’t a question.

Apple Bloom shook her head once, quickly. Tears finally spilled; hot, silent, and cutting clean tracks through the orchard dust on her cheeks.

“She didn’t know,” she whispered. “Ah stayed quiet. Ah coulda… Ah shoulda made a sound. Kicked or—or somethin’. But Ah just… froze. And then it was happenin’, and Ah couldn’t stop it without her findin’ out it was me and—sweet Celestia, Big Mac, what kinda sister does that make me?”

Her voice broke on the last word as her shoulders shook. She curled smaller, like she could disappear into the space between two crates.

Big Mac stepped closer, not crowding, just enough that she could feel his warmth against the cooling air. He lowered his head until his muzzle nearly brushed her ear.

“You’re a filly,” he said quietly. “Still small. Still learnin’. That don’t make what happened your fault.”

She sniffled. “But Ah let it—”

“You survived it.” His voice stayed steady. “That’s what matters right now.”

He paused, letting her breathe through another sob.

“AJ’s carryin’ her own weight today,” he continued. “Walkin’ stiff. Eyes anywhere but the barn. She ain’t said a word about last night, but Ah know her. She’s chewin’ on shame same as you.”

Apple Bloom looked up then, finally. Eyes red-rimmed, searching his muzzle for anger and finding only the same quiet patience he always carried.

“Does she… does she know?”

Big Mac considered the question, then shook his head once.

“Not yet. Might never put the pieces together if we don’t hoof ‘em to her.”

He straightened, then looked out over the rows of trees stretching gold in the late light.

“Ah ain’t tellin’,” he said simply. “Not my story to carry. But you gotta decide what you do with yours.”

Apple Bloom wiped her muzzle with a shaky foreleg, then left a smear of dirt and tears.

“Ah don’t know how to look at her,” she admitted. Voice barely above a whisper. “Every time she smiles or—or calls me sugarcube… Ah feel it all over again.”

Big Mac nodded, once.

“Time’ll dull the edges,” he said. “Won’t erase ‘em. But it’ll make breathin’ easier.”

He turned halfway, ready to walk back to the house, then stopped.

“One thing.”

She looked up again.

“You ever need to talk—really talk—Ah’m here. Porch. Barn. Wherever. No questions first. Just listenin’.”

Apple Bloom swallowed hard, then managed the tiniest nod.

Big Mac gave her one last long look, steady, warm in its own reserved way, then started down the row.

He didn’t look back.

Behind him, Apple Bloom stayed sitting in the dirt a long minute longer. She watched his broad back disappear between the trees and felt the knot in her chest loosen, just a fraction.

Not gone.

But looser.

She pushed to her hooves, then picked up the fallen crate with careful teeth.

Started stacking again.

Slower this time.

But moving.