The Ride

http://www.paintingmania.com/nude-girl-riding-horse-145_4729.html

10/10/2012

I took a deep breath.  Despite a cold front that slithered through a week before, the late Texas Summer Heat was still flowing over the fields of my farm.  It was in the upper eighties and still threatened to hit ninety unless a few more clouds appeared, which was doubtful on that very bright weekday afternoon.  But I didn’t mind in the least.  The scent of ryegrass and hay, of freshly turned earth, filled my nose and the sounds of cicadas still rang out, a chorus that still had weeks before silencing in hibernation.

            I was plodding along peacefully, gazing around from high atop my horse, Star.  She’s a mare and has been mine a long time and to be honest, is getting on in years.  She’s a quarter horse, dappled brown and white, but with an odd shaped, five pointed blotch on her forehead that I thought, as a little girl, looked like a falling star streaking earthward. 

            We were just taking a tour of the north fields, far enough away from the house to be out of sight and out enough in the boonies that unless a neighbor was also out for a ride, or a spy satellite was orbiting overhead, there was little chance that I would be observed.  Which is good, because I slithered down from Star’s back and let her munch on some green thing sticking up from the ground.

            I dropped my canvas bag to the ground behind me and began at my neck.  The button up shirt was a staple in my closet, and I liked wearing them around the house and farm.  It was blue, which is one of my favorite colors, and looked like the sky above me.  It was short sleeved and my arms darkened in a farmer’s tan from the shoulder down to my wrist.  The buttons slipped loose one by one, exposing a tee shirt underneath, a solid white, that conformed to the soft curves of my breasts.

            I put the button up shirt aside, folding it gently before laying it down upon my canvas bag.  Next came my tee shirt, and I relished pulling it up over my head, the long strands of my auburn hair folding and then falling free as I tugged the tee-shirt off.  The breeze was delicious against my bare skin and it didn’t take my long to reach behind my back unclasp the bra that was cupping my breasts.  A moment later it too fell free and I took a deep, unfettered breath.  My nipples hardened instantly, just as they usually do when first exposed, and I felt the gentle pressure of the nipple piercing at the tip of my right breast and the light tap of the charm sized padlock that dangled downward from it.

            Sunlight streamed down upon my skin and my hands moved to the buckle of my belt.  It wasn’t a typical massive steel cowboy belt buckle, but something more feminine, more subtle, but just as beautiful.  It came loose and I felt my jeans loose that tension.  The button beneath slipped through my fingers and then I began wiggling my hips, working the tight, protective denim downward.  I fought for balance when the jeans got to my knees, and I grimaced in self-depreciation as I mentally cursed myself for failing to remember my boots first.  I tugged my jeans back up mid-thigh, my bright yellow panties matching the brilliance of the sun as I swung my rump back and forth, shaking my feet one at a time and tugging my leather cowboy boots down and off.

            Gingerly, since God only knows what might have been on the ground, I put a stocking clad toe downward and then began the process of removing my jeans again.  Without my boots in the way, I wasn’t hard and I stepped onto the denim with something akin to a smile.  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.  Standing there, in the glory of nature itself, in just my panties, wearing nothing else, was pretty awesome.  I wasn’t embarrassed either.  No one was around to see me.  No one was there to hurt me, or humiliate me.  At least, not yet. 

            I slipped my thumb into my panties, along the waistband, and I pushed them down.  They were slightly damp with both perspiration and something more, something muskier and I knew that just the knowledge of what I was going to do in the middle of this field was enough to get me aroused.  Of course, the ben wa balls that were rolling lightly inside me might have been responsible too.  Who knows?  I stepped out of the panties, leaving them fallen and rolled on my jeans.  My thumb grazed my clit and I moaned loudly.  Star snorted, shaking her mane and looking up at me for just a moment.  Naked Breanne is not all that unusual for my horse, so after a second or two of horsey contemplation, she put her head back down to continue her snack.

            I snagged the small piece of string that protruded out from between the petals of my sex, tugging the first of the two small golf-ball sized spheres from out of my depths.  Another groan came unwillingly to my lips, since my sex clearly didn’t want to surrender the tiny sex toys.  But I am woman.  I am strong.  I am powerful, and two little plastic, bell filled, balls will never get the best of me.  They popped out in a one two punch and then were dangling from my hand as my sex clenched tightly on nothingness, protesting and squeezing and generally feeling quite disgusted with the whole situation.  

            I looked down in my best “Princess Bride” voice, said “I thinks doth protests too much.”  It was cheesy, I know.  But I knew what was coming, even if the small pink nether mouth didn’t.  I lifted the ben wa balls upward and gingerly stuck out my tongue.   The taste was familiar – my own sexual need, and I cleaned them delicately until not a trace of my own arousal was left.  Then they too joined my shirts in the canvas bag.  While I was down there, digging through the canvas, I realized that I might as well grab what was needed next.

            There were actually two items, yet they were combined in such away that a single movement pulled them both free of the depths of my bag.  The first item  you are no doubt familiar with.  Looking like a dark rocket ship, my Core Driller dildo is one of those rubber monstrosities that is twelve inches long and widens to an astonishing three and a half inches wide.  It has multiple stages, each with tiny bumps, and feels… well… there really isn’t anything it feels like.  It just is.  If you are familiar with dildos, then imagine one so thick and so long that when it’s completely inside you, it hurts.  It presses painfully up against your cervix if your sitting wrong.  It’s the kind of dildo that boys with small dicks wish they looked like.  Hell, I’ve known some STALLIONS who would have been jealous of my Core Driller dildo.

            I mean in size!  They’re jealous of the size!  Not where the stupid dildo GOES!  No. I’ve never fucked a horse.  Never will.  Get THAT thought out of your head.  Sheesh.

            But today, there was something else attached to my Core Driller dildo, something that I was certainly not comfortable with, and only had because I’d been ordered to bring it, to use it, to endure it.  It was oddly shaped, and made of the same flexible, black rubber, that my tack mat and bra tack inserts had been made off.  It was shaped like an arrow.  Not a real arrow, like what the native Americans used to shoot at the US Calvary or colonial settlers.  No, it looked more like one of the arrows you might find pointing to a restroom, or along a corridor.  The head was thicker, more blocky.  But in an odd way, certainly not less sharp.  That was due to the fact that the triangle head piece of the thick arrow shaped rubber, as well as the shaft, were pierced by about thirty silver headed tacks.

            Each tack was just long enough to completely pierce the rubber, leaving a tiny pin prick sliver on the opposite side.  I could stomp on it with my foot as hard as I could and probably only get one or two punctures.  Done lightly, none of the millimeter length points would break skin.  But it wasn’t about that, was it?  The shaft of the arrow shape was odd as well.  Behind the triangle shaped point, the shaft was four inches wide, all the way down to a massive hole cut directly into the rubber.  This hole was exactly three and a half inches wide, perfect for the base of my Core Driller dildo.  Then, the rest of the arrow shaft narrowed until it was only wide enough for two tacks side by side. 

            The Core Driller was already fitted into this new torture device and I spread my legs lewdly as I began rubbing the tip back and forth across my slit, making sure that my clit received some direct attention from the tip of my Core Driller.  Already in a state, I worked myself into a froth, my sex ripening even more from the direct stimulation.  Finally I began slipping the tip inward, pulling it upward, letting the thick rubber penetrate with increasingly heavy thrusts.  Moment by moment, the tapered head of the dildo deepened inside me until I was gasping in delight, one hand working my clit while the other helped move the dildo higher into my depths.

            With most of the dildo in, but with the tacks still an inch or two away from the soft petals of my sex, I bent over in a ridiculous position, pulling up the canvas bag and quickly draping the handles over the horn of Star’s saddle.  She didn’t care.  Then, in what must have been the most awkward mount ever, I put my stocking clad foot in the stirrup, grabbed hold of Star’s saddle with my right hand, while the left remained between my legs, and swung up and onto my horse’s back.

            Despite my attempt to stay standing in the saddle, it didn’t really work out.  I’m just not tall enough.  The rubber attachment hit the padded leather beneath me and as I straddled my horse’s saddle, the Core Driller moved a little deeper while I felt a sharp scratch against my thigh.  Wincing, I reached down and repositioned the rubber attachment.  Then, satisfied that everything was in place, I slowly let myself down.

            The first thing my body noticed was the additional two inches of thick rubber cock that speared upward into me.  I gasped and rolled my hips, trying to settle it.  But that was a mistake.  As I rolled, my weight pressed forward, driving the folds and wefts of my sex, the soft pink wet petals of my flower, directly downward onto the pinprick points of the attachment.  The triangular shape made sure that the spread labia, stretched wide by the Core Driller dildo, were subjected to just as much torment as the rest of my folds and the pointed top curled up to actually prick my clitoris.  It was diabolical. Evil even.

            My body reacted with expected distress and I rolled backward, away from the sharp pin pricks that scored my clit and sex.  Of course, all that did was drive a similar sensation along my perineum and then against the crack of my ass, literally driving the tiny steel thorns into the sensitive flesh around my bottom.  I rocked back forward and… well… you get the picture, right?

            It took maybe two or three minutes to adjust, finally settling in my saddle with a shudder of both misery and sexual appetite.  My sex was tingling with the mild discomfort of the pins and with a hard swallow I picked up the reigns and thumped my heels into Star’s sides.

   

This tale is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog, but can be found in Breanne Erickson's book "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Vol. 7"  Click here to check out our sample page and take a look at the amazing work of Breanne Erickson!