The bed creaked as Applejack stood atop it. She cursed the sound under her breath, but realized in doing so that the creak was no more admission of anything she was doing than the act itself. She might be loud then, but she couldn’t tell. If she cared, she wouldn’t be doing it in the first place.

As she fastened the rope on the support-beam overhead, she thought about the first time.

She always thought about the first time.

Hot. It had been hot, she remembered. She remembered being hot too. She had been burning up all day, inside and out. When the season came on, it wasn’t polite to talk about, so she hadn’t, and didn’t, and wouldn’t. Big Mac could tell because he’d been around for it enough, but like a gentlepony, he said nothing. He didn’t imply Applejack was at the subject of her hormones too much to get any work done; he just gave her a nod and headed off to his own part of the farm, leaving Applejack to do the same on the other side.

The sweat had poured in gallons that day.

She had just finished her lunch, she remembered. There was a likely looking tree she had been eyeing for the past hour as she approached it, working her way methodically from one apple-payload to the next. Filling buckets and loading them into the cart. She had seen that tree and immediately wanted to give it a good kick.

The season should have been her first indication that listening to her instincts might be a bad idea.

Every kick that day had sent a little jolt through her. She told herself she would ignore it, but that was a lie. Every time the shiver ran from her nethers through the rest of her body as her legs flew backwards, she closed her eyes and breathed hard and thought about how good it would feel to get home and wring out a day’s frustration with her teeth around her pillow.

When her legs connected with the tree she had waited for all day, it gave in a way that was unfamiliar. The cracking noise was unfamiliar too.

By the time she’d spun around, it was in slow motion. Maybe her reflexes were dulled by the other things occupying her mind. She’d tried to dart away, but there was no way she could have moved in time. She couldn’t, so she didn’t. The noise her leg made as the tree landed on it was very similar to the sound the tree had made when Applejack kicked it.

Her ribs were much quieter. Further diagnoses had revealed they were not broken, but she wouldn’t know that for another day.

She had barely made a sound, surprisingly. Just the hiss of breath through her teeth as the tree slowly pushed her downwards. The ground was soft for a moment before it was firm against her chest, the tree pushing on her like a brick wall into another brick wall.

She couldn’t breathe.

She almost couldn’t breathe. The pain in her leg and every other part of her gave her veins enough lightning to remain conscious, and that meant she could wiggle just a little forward. Just a little out of the tree’s crushing grasp, which freed enough of her lungs to suck in a tiny, precious mouthful of air. Air that she swallowed up through the stinging fire in her chest.

She couldn’t shut her eyes, because she knew then it would be over. She couldn’t stop breathing, no matter how bad it was, no matter how much it hurt, and Celestia did it hurt. It was the worst pain she’d ever felt.

It was mixed with the tingle. The sensation, throughout her whole body, of tiny fireworks running underneath her skin. Of the spot between her legs burning. Of the blood from her broken leg mixing with her juices that poured like a fountain underneath the tree.

She couldn’t call for help. She could barely open her mouth to breathe. She couldn’t move; her leg wouldn’t become usable for weeks, and her ribs creaked like an old ship in storm every time her chest rattled them. Every time she sucked in just enough oxygen to keep herself conscious, her body screamed and spasmed.

She couldn’t.

But her one hoof was pinned low under her stomach. Low enough to wiggle lower.

Fuck. She came everywhere. All over herself.

That was all she could do. There was no telling how long it would be before Big Mac found her. She couldn’t call to him. He did find her, eventually, and by that point she was so dehydrated from getting herslef off that she could barely peel her tongue from the roof of her mouth. When Big Macintosh pulled her out, he didn’t comment on how the whole lower half of her body was soaked. Maybe he imagined she’d wet herself when the tree came down. Maybe he knew, and was just being polite.

She always remembered that first time.

After she recovered, she tried to put it out of her mind. The lingerings of the season were gone, and it was time to return to work, once she’d convinced the doctor and her family that she was feeling better. It was the summer then, so hot at night. She’d snuck out one day to get away from the sauna that was her room. It brought her around back of the house, to the trees.

She’d looked over one, running her hoof against its bark like it reminded her of something.

She felt the tiniest tremble of a tingle.

But she couldn’t do it. The farm needed her. Her family needed her. And yes, it had been amazing, but not worth it. What if her leg hadn’t healed? The best she’d ever felt. She would have died happy.

As she stood under the tree, her eyes found a branch. A likely looking bogh.

She always had her rope on her. It wouldn’t give the crush, but maybe, around her neck...

She told herself it was stupid even as she wound it. Applejack, you idiot. What are you doing. You’re insane. If somepony finds you here, you’ll never live it down. Try it on to see how it feels and that’s it. Don’t pull it tighter. Well, if you’re gonna pull it tighter, make sure you did your knot right. Let it at least get around there proper. Tighter than that, at least, so you can feel it. Squat down a bit maybe, there that’s enough and your eyes aren’t working quite right anymore are they cause it’s like a hoof on your throat yours is between your legs isn’t you can’t stand up is that ‘cause of the breathing or the touching you’d better not stop either it’s not quite like then getting dark but the tree hit it just like that.

Applejack’s eyes had flown open when her hoof hit bark. A sharp, throbbing agony ran up her foreleg. She couldn’t break it, she knew, but her body was telling her too. She smashed her hoof against it a second time with the last gasp of breath she had, and came, spurted, soaked the ground, squatted like a filly relieving themselves in the woods, which was what she was doing, really. She almost passed out. Her hooves were shaking as she undid the rope, barely coherent enough to remove the intricate knot.

She fell against the tree for a while and just breathed: slow, calm breaths.

She remembered the first time then too.

The creaking might give her away. She told herself not to thrash, but that was an inevitability. Her brother would think she was tossing and turning in bed maybe. Applebloom might think that. Maybe what her brother thought would be more on point. If he knew, he had never said anything. Applejack didn’t think he knew. Maybe he was just being polite.

Applejack stuck her tongue out between her teeth as she fastened the last part of the knot and slid it over her head.

There were no trees here. Smashing her hooves against the wall would be suspicious, and damaging.

The small steel object glinted in the low lamplight as she slid it out from under her pillow. She quickly flipped the lamp off. It was better when it was dark. She didn’t want to open her eyes and see anything. The colour would sent red flashes through her vision, and she might lose what little control was left. Better to be in the dark.

Had to be careful. Farm work was rough, but marks in plain sight were ones somepony would notice. Joints, crevices, underneath, inside. Those were the places. The first time she went too deep and hit a nerve. Shallower now. But Celestia, did she want it deep.

Applejack pulled the rope tighter. Her throat seized as the loop caught around her windpipe. Uneasily, with her hooves, she placed the razor along the inside of her hind right leg, right next to her slit.

She pressed down and pulled her head forward in the same motion.

The way it went into her skin was too smooth. It made her want to push and smash and hammer it so far inside her leg would twitch of its own accord, unusable and spurting blood everywhere over her bed. She shook as the thought went through her head, but stayed steady. Had to be careful. Getting less air now. Almost none.

Applejack made a throaty choking sound as she felt both liquids pour down her legs.

She moved a hoof there. Forgot to put the razor down. Didn’t care.

It hurt. Fuck, it hurt, fuck it—already, fuck.

The razor blade made a light, airy sound as she tossed it onto her pillow. When her hoof returned to her cunt, her body screamed at her like her foreleg was on the burner. It hurt, sore and sliced and she could feel a tear there, blood and so much else, she rubbed. She choked against her restraint and rubbed harder. Close to blacking out now. If she fell, she would fall backwards. Right onto the blade.

It was just like that first time. Like it and nothing like it. She wanted it back so bad, why hadn’t they left her there. Let her go until she died, let that season be her last, let them come the day after and dependable hard-working Applejack would be a drenched corpse covered in her own juices for them to find. She’d be in season in death, let them pull the tree off her and have her organs spill out, free from the tree’s sustaining compression. Her hole on display, let her brother see it and take notice like he hadn’t, she was in season and he was polite, but there’d be no need, let her have the final throes of life as her heart stopped while she was being filled with her brother’s cock, with any stallion’s cock, they could all come and see her, fill her up the way she had emptied herself in want of one of them, the way she had spilled her pussy-juice and then her guts when she was let go, she was the forest floor, she was the dirt beneath it and lower than that, she wanted it so bad to be nothing that was why because she was nothing she was hurt like a tool whipping herself against branches slicing herself up like an apple peeled into pieces cutting herself no one would want her she didn’t herself fuck it was strong let her be quiet let him hear let him run inside let him coat the wall in himself like she had almost coated the ground of the field fuuuuuuuck

Applejack’s legs shook. The creak of her windpipe in her ears was the note. She came again, drenching her hoof already covered in red. Fuck.

She hung there for a few more seconds before pulling back. The gasp that came was louder than the creak of the bed had been. Applejack fell into the blankets, avoiding the sharp piece of metal on her pillow, letting it fall to the side. She buried her face in the pillow and dripped all over her sheets. She was spent.

In the room over, Big Mac turned to his side and wiped his hooves on the bed-sheets. It was like glue. Too sticky. He always forgot to bring something to clean up.

He couldn’t say anything, of course. It was only polite.