>Darcy had been babysitting Pogo since he was a little caballo
>They would bake things together to pass the time
>Any food fights with the leftover batter meant bathtime
>As Pogo grew up, the older satyr couldn't help but notice how well-developed he was downstairs, even before puberty
>Pogo did bathtime solo around twelve years, thankfully, so she could put those thoughts from her mind
>She needed to concentrate on her high school studies and go to Apple University or something
>They didn't bake together any more since she had to keep pace with her increasing pile of homework
>When she wasn't studying, she was helping out around Sweet Apple Acres
>Between all the chores and her own friends she could hardly even say hello to Pogo
>So she was thankful for the little moments he would steal to give her a freshly baked muffin or brownie or cake or her favorite apple pie
>But that stopped pretty quickly, and Pogo would keep to himself when she was over for sitting
>Ah well, he was a big boy now, she was hardly needed at this point, though his parents were rightfully nervous about him blowing up the house
>That would be something, especially as it's quiet tonight, almost too quiet
>Darcy puts her notes aside and takes a walk around the Pie household
>Not in the kitchen, nor the ball room (actually a dry indoor pool filled with balls)
>Darcy takes a deep breath and goes upstairs to see if Pogo is in his room
>There had been babysitting shenanigans and scares in the past, so she wasn't entirely unprepared
>But she was entirely unprepared to peer through the crack of Pogo's door and see him kneeling over his bed with some kind of weapon
>Fearing the worst, Darcy rushes in and realizes she was horribly wrong
>that's a penis.gif
>Jesucristo
>Pogo's got a death grip on his death stick, can barely get his waifish fingers around its circumference
>the fearboner of being caught jerking it to Apples Illustrated makes him finally stand at full mast, despite every wish to not be embarrassed in front of Darcy like this
>and yet her presence is what brings him to the edge, forcing him to grip tighter, looking fit to burst as her visage burns into his memory
>mouth agape, freckled cheeks flush with color, piercing emerald eyes usually crowned in thick lashes and calm demeanor now bright and eager with surprise and a hint of curiosity
>seeing her modestly developed chest panting and shivering under her thin summer apron makes the mass building up in his loins lurch
>well, like mother says, laughter is the best medicine
>Pogo turns and points himself at her
>"Frosting?"
>Darcy takes a second to register the word, but excuses herself from the room, quickly closing the door behind her
>she crumples to the floor to catch her breath, ignoring the desperate pounding and beating coming from inside
>inside the room, unbeknownst to the dusky satyr teen, was a full-length poster of that Sweet Apple Acres glamour shot she did
>Tied-off shirt, cutoff jeans, a sheen of apple juice and sunshin playing across her toned brown abdomen and silky red fur
>Hung up there on the inside of Pogo's door, normally an encouraging stimulant
>Now a mockery of the very real treasure he could never have
>And he was desperately frotting and clawing it to pieces, the very force of his thrusting and rubbing tearing through the paper as it moistened with his pre
>Unfair! He was so close and had to settle for the cold wooden door and glossy print
>For all Darcy cared he could bawl his eyes out in there and think about his shame
>But Pogo's sounds of struggle were from the force of his ruined orgasm, thick beads of pent-up seed finally rushing free of his third arm and punching through the printed belly in front of him
>The poster, kept pristine and untouched, tore off its tape mounts and fell to the floor in a soggy, semen-doused mess
>Darcy twirls the pencil in her fingers, eyes scanning but not picking up any words in her textbook
>She just concentrates on the sound of the long, fifteen-minute cold shower Pogo was taking
>She missed bathtime, missed noticing how he'd grown
>Realizing she had spent years with him watching him mature and even having a hoof in his becoming a fine young man
>People kept expecting him to come out as this stringy, scrawny thing but as an Apple she knew the look of a firm, solid build
>That was the rock farmer stock showing through
>It took her another few minutes to snap back to the silence ending his shower, realizing she hadn't actually seen his shoulder muscles recently
>But she definitely imagined what was under those shirts he wore
>Just curious, that's all
>She didn't have to imagine what was in his pants
>Just curious, keep telling yourself that
>He'd make a girl cry with that
>The pencil splinters in her fist
>Pogo had come out of the kitchen, rosy hair still coming off in loose, wet tousles that gently scraped and framed the angling jawline of a no-longer-boy-not-quite-stallion
>A chocolate croissant, a silent peace offering, still warm and buttery
>Doughy and pliant in her fingers, she was holding it delicately to her lips before she knew what was happening
>Pogo watched intently as Darcy brought his treat to her mouth
>the deep ruby of her lips gently parted like she was merely inhaling him, the quiet nip of her teeth teasing at the edge of his breaded goodness
>he stood askew to keep from thumping the table with a recurring extremity
>but she didn't notice, with his creamy sweetness filling her mouth
>she closed her eyes as the sugary sauce poured between her teeth
>the finer notes of flavor seeped over her tongue, from the slight earthiness of hazelnut to the countering pungence of salt
>Half a sigh, a quarter moan, and two eights of a squeal left her throat as she tasted him
>Tasted Pogo
>This wasn't a pre-mixed batch of his mother's sugar obsessions
>It was all him, all original, all new, growing into his own
>And Pogo still had plenty of growing to do, she knew
>She drank him in and swallowed it all, licking her fingers, letting her lips ponder the taste and texture of the crumbs left on her thumb
>He wished he could have another picture of her right now, this sensuous and careful beauty
>Still images couldn't compare to the real thing
>The real thing also wasn't as likely to rip in half when confronted with the full weight and volume of his ardor
>At least he liked to think so
>Though right now he thought he might just snap in two from how tightly she could bearhug someone with those deceptively wiry arms
>Close enough to feel the demure swell of her bosom and to hear her voice through her ribs
>In the dizzying warmth and relaxing heat he couldnt' help but surrender, especially as blood was leaving his cranium for the other head
>But he wouldn't be able to enjoy it, merely fainting into Darcy's arms
>She spent the rest of the night lying on the couch with the colt snoring on top of her, clinging needily while his unrepentant stallionhood seated itself in her thighs
>Dare not move for fear of hurting him
>It's so firm, yet pliant, meaty and yielding
>No, best not to think of it -- of him like that
>She could just eat him up
>But not yet