Incest- Thirsty (Applejack) by Anonymous


                                            >It's been a long while since you've seen your children

                                            >All you really know is that they've been being looked after by their great-gram

                                            >Wasn't your first choice

                                            >But you were far too young when you had your first

                                            >You really should have stopped at your second

                                            >And then years later you slipped up and had a third

                                            >That was the final straw, really

                                            >You and Scrumpy both tried your hardest

                                            >But you were too young to properly look after your kids

                                            >Life was hard

                                            >And things started being said that ought never have been said

                                            >You heard she was married now

                                            >Living in the big city

                                            >Changed her name to Marmalade or something

                                            >And while it had been a long time

                                            >You never could quite forget your kids the way she had

                                            >Having missed so much of their lives already

                                            >You didn't want to miss any more

                                            >So one day you sent a letter out to the farm

                                            >Asking granny if maybe they had a spare room you could stay in

                                            >Practically begging to help out around the place if it meant you could spend time with your family

                                            >And to your surprise

                                            >They said you'd be welcome


                                            >So with a couple of bags packed with the bare necessities you took the train out to their small town

                                            >Followed a few simple directions to find the farm

                                            >And there it was

                                            >A picture of idyllic rural beauty

                                            >The house, the barn, the fields of crops and the famous apple trees

                                            >Sweet Apple Acres

                                            >And as if stepping out of your memory, leaning against the gate was your teenage love

                                            >Long blonde hair

                                            >Thighs to die for

                                            >Tanned skin speckled with freckles

                                            >And a rough-and-tumble country-girl demeanour

                                            >She smiles as you approach, and your stomach does somersaults

                                            >But as you draw closer you recognise your mistake

                                            >Her skin looks just a touch darker

                                            >Her hair just that little bit more blonde

                                            >And of course, most obviously, eyes that are green and not blue

                                            >"Hi there, sugar!" comes the call

                                            >"We've been expectin' a visitor to roll up our drive any moment,"

                                            >"I'm guessin' you're the sweetheart that wrote Granny askin' to help out around here?"

                                            >"Real nice a' ya'll, given how growin' season's just endin' and we always bite off more'n' we can chew getting every crop in on time."

                                            >"You must be beat carryin' your bags all this way. C'mon, give 'em here and i'll show you where you'll be stayin'."

                                            >She doesn't quite give you the chance to get a word in

                                            >Simply hops the fence, strides straight for you and grabs your bags, oozing confidence in every motion

                                            >And while your eyes tell you this has to be a girl in her late teens, she seems to have the world right where she wants it

                                            >That self assurance makes her seem like she must be early twenties at least

                                            >This can't be your daughter

                                            >Can it?

                                            >Those glances you steal at her firm, denim-clad buttocks as she leads you up to the farmhouse can't be that horribly wrong

                                            >... can they?

                                            >Your gaze lingers on those ample hips as they sway up the path to the front door

                                            >Perhaps just a slight bit too long

                                            >Because when she turns back to you, she has the suggestion of a coy grin playing about the corners of her mouth

                                            >Not to mention the knowing look in her eye

                                            >It could just be your imagination

                                            >Maybe you snapped your gaze up in time

                                            >"Don't speak much, do ya'?"

                                            >Desperate to break the ice, you chuckle like a nervous teenager

                                            "Might be I would if you let me get a word in edgeways, darlin'"

                                            >For a moment, she looks at you with a blank look in her eyes

                                            >And then her mouth explodes into an infectious smile, a musical laugh of her own

                                            >"Ain't I just been the most overbearin' hostess?"

                                            >"Dragged you all the way up the garden path without even lettin' you answer all the questions i've been firin' your way!"

                                            >"So, have I got it wrong? Don't tell me, you're just a lost tourist whose bags i've made off with?"

                                            >For a moment you're tempted to play along

                                            >Make up some reason why you were wandering a country lane looking for your hotel

                                            >But you decide against it

                                            "No, you've got the right of it. I wrote to granny asking if I could help out this harvest, and she said the house had room for me."

                                            >Your guide is still all smiles at that, opening the door into a cozy kitchen and leading you to a set of narrow stairs

                                            >"Shoot, Sweet Apple Acres always has room for a hand that wants to work, sugarcube."

                                            >She talks away as you ascend to a corridor with a number of doors along it

                                            >As far as you can make out, this floor has six rooms

                                            >Your irrepressible guide knocks on the one closest to the top of the stairs

                                            >"This here is the bathroom. The rule is knock before entering, easiest thing in the world to remember."

                                            >"That over there-"

                                            >She points to the door furthest from the stairs

                                            >"-is the guest room where you'll be staying."

                                            >"Every other door is somebody else's room, so just be considerate."

                                            >"Now, unless your journey was really exhausting we already have work for you to be doing."

                                            >"So whaddaya' say, pops, need an afternoon nap to recover, or are you raring to go?"

                                            >At 'pops,' your stomach gives another, slightly more unpleasant lurch

                                            >You realise that you've been suppressing your suspicion that this might be your daughter

                                            >You worry that she might already know

                                            >Might have caught you out

                                            >Might hate you

                                            >But at the same time, if she's not...

                                            >Well, getting to know your kids is the real reason you're out there

                                            >Better men than you have been tempted by less

                                            >So you ought to try and make a good impression, just on that chance

                                            >You're still in your early thirties for chrissakes

                                            >And not in bad shape at that

                                            >Can't let her think you're ancient

                                            "Just give me a second to set my bags down, and i'll be ready to go."

                                            >She beams

                                            >"Knew we'd snagged a hard worker," she says, handing you your bags. "I'll be waiting down by the door in the kitchen."

                                            >You smile, nodding your thanks as you move to squeeze past her on the stairs

                                            >When suddenly she's right against you

                                            >You can feel her breasts, barely constrained by her button-up blouse pressing against your chest

                                            >Your back is right up against the bannister

                                            >Her hair tickles your nose and her warm breath reaches your ear as she leans in to whisper

                                            >"Take your time and hit the shower first, eh sweetheart? I don't mind, but if you're distracted all afternoon we won't get half the work done."

                                            >And with that, she slips downstairs, and you can breathe again

                                            >Holy fuck


                                            >You need that shower

                                            >You cross the landing in a few short steps

                                            >Crack open the guest room door

                                            >See a simple double bed, a couple of low tables, a stout desk, wardrobe and a set of shelves with some tasteful knick-knacks on

                                            >It's pretty tasteful, actually

                                            >Comfy

                                            >But you have something else on your mind

                                            >Quickly rifling through your bags, you snatch up your towel and nip back across to the bathroom

                                            >Hanging up your rag, you slip out of your shirt and pants

                                            >You catch a quick look at yourself in the little face-mirror

                                            >Broad shoulders

                                            >A respectable amount of definition

                                            >And green eyes burning in a square-jawed face

                                            >Your thoughts immediately go to the country beauty that met you

                                            >Those fine, tanned legs

                                            >That powerful frame

                                            >And those full, firm C-cups she pressed right against you to whisper confidentially in your ear

                                            >As you jump in the shower and the water starts to run, you imagine what they must be like to squeeze

                                            >How they must taste

                                            >What their nips must look like

                                            >And your mind racing for inspiration, you think back to another country girl

                                            >It's been almost two decades

                                            >But you still remember how hard she rode you on your parents' bed

                                            >They were away for the weekend and you had the place to yourself

                                            >You still remember how hormonal teenage lust drove you to pump her fit, flat belly full of your seed

                                            >Is it the shampoo, or can you still smell her?

                                            >She smelled of apples

                                            >And when you kissed you could taste the cider she'd lifted from her family's stores

                                            >You can see her right in front of you

                                            >Her mouth lolling open

                                            >Her gasps and moans filling the room

                                            >Her lively green eyes meeting yours as she comes in for another kiss against the bannister

                                            >And you're done


                                            >You take a moment to clean off

                                            >Switch off the water

                                            >And as you dry off, you fancy you hear a stair creak

                                            >These old houses always sort of gave you the creeps

                                            >You throw your clothes back on, and slip out of the bathroom

                                            >Heading down the creaking stairs, you see your guide at the kitchen table

                                            >Still waiting

                                            >Is it your imagination, or does she look a little flustered?

                                            >Probably your imagination

                                            >It's running pretty wild today

                                            "Didn't keep you waiting too long, did I?"

                                            >Her lips purse, and for the briefest moment looks about as if expecting to see someone peeping in through a window

                                            >And before you really even have time to analyse this shift in tone, she's back to her cheerful self

                                            >"Not at all, buckaroo. Ready to head out? Still not too late to reconsider if you're too feeble for it."

                                            >She teases you with a grin, and you return it with a smirk of your own

                                            "So long as you carry me to wherever we'll be working, sweetheart, i'll be fine."

                                            >She snorts

                                            >"Not a chance, darlin'. You got legs, time to use 'em."

                                            >With that, she leads you out of the house and towards the apple orchards

                                            >You banter back and forth as she points out landmarks to help you find your way during your stay

                                            >And at one point, she even mimes carrying you

                                            >Though you're pretty sure that was just her excuse to cop a feel

                                            >And after maybe twenty minutes walk, you come to a grove of trees with a cart already half-full of apple bushels

                                            >You aren't wondering who filled it long

                                            >Because when your partner calls; "Hey Mac! I brought the hand out!" a tall young man lumbers into view

                                            >There's no mistaking him

                                            >With his broad shoulders

                                            >His square jaw

                                            >Those green eyes

                                            >And even his name

                                            >That's your son

                                            >He drops his cargo of apples down in the cart

                                            >Looks you up and down with a shocking intensity

                                            >Stares right into your face

                                            >And turns away, back to his work


                                            >The sweet country girl elbows you in the ribs, jostling you amicably

                                            >"Don't mind Mac," she says

                                            >"He doesn't take to anybody right away."

                                            >"Let me show you how we bring in the crop."

                                            >She walks you up to a tree with low-hanging fruit

                                            >"Now, just ta' demonstrate, a'fore we take any apples from a tree we got to check they're ripe."

                                            >Standing behind you and pressing her chest against your back, she guides your hand to one of the lowest sitting apples

                                            >"To test, you've got to cup the fruit gently," she murmurs, posing your hand beneath the apple

                                            >"Lift it just a touch," she breathes, and you know there's no way she doesn't know what she's doing, "And just give it the slightest lil' twist."

                                            >"It should come pretty easily," she says huskily, "But if it's not ready we gotta' keep from using so much force that we damage the poor things."

                                            >And sure enough, having been led through those simple movements, you now have an apple in your hands

                                            >She pulls away, and is instantly businesslike

                                            >"Just pull down as many as you can for now, if any are bruised store 'em away from the others. We can eat those, but they don't store."


                                            >It's long hours of hard work in the hot early-autumn afternoon

                                            >Little Mac isn't so little any more

                                            >And even though he seems to be giving you the cold shoulder, you can't help but be proud

                                            >He's an obvious hard worker, and looks fitter and healthier than pretty much anyone else you've ever seen

                                            >And no amount of sullen silence can take that feeling from you


                                            >Just as the evening starts to draw in, darkening the sky, the three of you finish filling the cart

                                            >You're about to ask how it moves when Big Mac heads to the front to grab one of two jutting handles

                                            >Your sweet country lass moves up to the other, and you follow behind curiously

                                            >She turns to you

                                            >"Now, seeing as how it's your first day, sugarcube, why don't you ride up there with the ap-"

                                            >Big Mac interrupted her by placing one of his large hands on her shoulder

                                            >He shakes his head emphatically, nods at her, and jerks his thumb back to the applecart

                                            >He looks straight at you, points, and then indicates the other handle

                                            >She gives him a look of real bafflement for a moment, as if this kind of action is uncharacteristic

                                            >Almost as if he almost never exerts his will like this

                                            >But after a moment, she shrugs

                                            >"Well, if you say so."

                                            >"Mac says he thinks you two big strong men oughta' give me a ride back to the barn, and who am I to complain?"

                                            >She gives you a half apologetic and half provocative look

                                            >"So long as you're up for it?"

                                            >With such a challenge issued, you can't back down

                                            "'course i'm up for it."

                                            >You take up your half of the cart, and set off towards the barn

                                            >Mac handles the cart like it's nothing, barely breaking a sweat

                                            >While you, not being used to this kind of farm work, have to live with your muscles screaming at you every step of the way

                                            >It takes every single ounce of your will not to make a sound as you push yourself to keep up with your son

                                            >And when you reach the homestead and stow the cart, he looks straight at you one more time before retreating into the house

                                            >As soon as he's gone, you allow yourself to collapse onto the straw-covered barn floor, chest heaving as you pant to recover your breath

                                            >Your pretty cargo hops out of the cart and is at your side in seconds

                                            >"Lord sakes, pops, if you were this beat you oughta' just said you weren't up to it,"

                                            >It hurts to laugh, but you do anyway

                                            "Couldn't let him embarrass me,"

                                            "Besides, we had to deliver the princess to her castle."

                                            >You chuckle painfully, and she looks down at you as if she can't quite believe you would dare to be that corny

                                            >And then bends down to give you a quick kiss on the lips

                                            >It's short, but sweet - even if her long hair does tumble down into your face

                                            >"There you are then, brave knight. One lady's favour."

                                            >"But get up off the floor for chrissake. It's filthy"

                                            >Having had a few moments, your breath is well and truly back

                                            >You're still reeling a touch from the kiss

                                            >Even if it was only given in jest, she seems to be signalling her interest pretty hard

                                            >God, you really hope she's just another helper like yourself

                                            >Could it be your boy was hoping she and Mac could be a thing, and that's why he's been giving you the third degree?

                                            >No

                                            >Your flirting can't have been that obvious, surely

                                            >But if not that, did he recognise you?

                                            >He was far and away the oldest when you had to give them all up

                                            >He'd have the best, clearest and most current picture of you in his head

                                            >The girls' memories would be patchier

                                            >Whatever the case, you'd have to clear the air with him at some point

                                            >"Y'alright down there, pardner?"

                                            >Your companion nudges you in the side with one of her big boots

                                            >Not quite a kick, but not quite... not

                                            >"Look like you're wrestlin' with the meanin' of life or somethin'."

                                            >"I weren't kiddin' about the floor being twenty shades of awful."

                                            "Yeah, sorry, was being a bit of a drama queen, wasn't I?"

                                            >She grins as you stagger to your feet, mostly recovered from your ordeal

                                            >"Drama king, maybe, but I know worse examples. Just wanted to remind you you've got a nice bed upstairs, don't have to rest in the stables like some head of cattle."

                                            >"Get some rest, sugar, you've earned it, but keep an ear out for the dinner bell. Shouldn't be long."

                                            >She borderline-pushes you over towards the house, sending you on your way with a slap on the rump

                                            >At this point, you're too tired to argue

                                            >You clamber up the stairs and hear water going in the bathroom

                                            >It's probably Mac making the best of it after a long day's work

                                            >Fine by you

                                            >You could do with a lie down more than a shower, right this minute

                                            >Opening your room's door, you go to collapse on the bed

                                            >-only to find that somebody's already in it

                                            >Three persons, to be exact

                                            >A gang of girls in their early teens are going through your things

                                            >And for a moment you're not sure exactly how to respond

                                            >More than just a moment, actually

                                            "What's this about? Why are you guys going through my stuff?"

                                            >They all look at you like deer in the headlights

                                            >And for almost ten whole seconds, none of them have an answer

                                            >Not the tanned one with a bright purple dye-job

                                            >Not the pale one with the platinum-blonde mop

                                            >Or the middle-ground with bright red hair and a bow

                                            >The dye-disaster is the first to speak up

                                            >"Well, mister, we were just checking to see you weren't bringing anything dangerous into the house."

                                            >The pale one rushes to collaborate, voice twanging adorably

                                            >"Yeah! You can't be too careful, you know? What if your bag had been tampered with?"

                                            >You're not quite sure, but you reckon there's some irony there

                                            >But the bow-clad ringleader speaks up eventually

                                            >"'sides, it's a project for school. We awl gawtta find an unexpected talent, and baggage handling is as unexpected as we could think'a!"

                                            >You groan

                                            >It's really not worth fighting them over

                                            >And you're a guest here

                                            "Look, whatever, just... leave my stuff alone, hey? Respect of people's privacy is a two-way street, and i'm not about to barge into any of your rooms."

                                            >The three sort of just look relieved that you're not shouting

                                            >With a muted look amongst themselves for consensus, they dash for the door

                                            >Possibly worried that you might consider them for more significant reprimands if they stick around

                                            >"Sorry, mister!"

                                            >"Sorry mister."

                                            >"Sorry, mister."

                                            >Just like that, they're gone

                                            >And you're free to crash onto your rumpled bedding