touching the wood, from high in the front to high in the
back, with equal pressure. By that time, her legs were aching from
the exercise.
Even then, he warned her against resting her
full weight on it. “The edges are sharp and splintery. Getting
splinters is not supposed to be part of your torture. I’ll have
that fixed by tomorrow night. Then we’ll give this thing a serious
test drive.”
She quailed slightly at the word serious.
Even though she had not yet let her full weight rest in the saddle,
she could already tell that it was going to be a worse experience
than she had yet suffered.
The next evening, she looked at the completed
saddle with a mixture of curiosity and fear that tied her stomach
into a hard knot. It was lovely to look at. The wood had been
shaped and sanded so that the edge against her crotch had about the
same radius as her little finger. As well, the maple had been oiled
and its prominent grain gleamed like a piece of fine furniture. But
it was also humiliating to look at because she knew that the
irregular curve was a perfect representation of the shape of the
most intimate part of her body. In the curve, she could recognize
the base of her mons pubis, her vulva, perineum, and anal crease
with a slight bump for her rectum, extending right up to the end of
her coccyx.
If a stranger looked at it, would they know
what they were seeing?
“We have some things to discuss. Please mount
the horse.” Trevor’s voice was soft, but unyielding.
She realized that he would have been looking
forward to this moment all the time he was planning, building,
adjusting, and finishing the ‘saddle’. He must have something
specific in mind for her.
She stripped off her jeans, tee shirt, and
underwear, buckled the handcuff belt around her waist, stepped in
the stirrup, swung her leg over the saddle, and, for the first
time, settled her full weight into it.
Her first impression was that it was not as
bad as she had feared. In fact, because her weight was distributed
over a much larger length, it barely hurt at all compared to her
previous experience on the horse. She confidently buckled the
straps about her legs – that was a little more difficult now
because she had considerably less freedom of movement – and then
pulled the reigns until the weight of the stirrup cleared the bar
and was snatched up out of reach.
About the time she finished clicking her
second wrist into its handcuff, she realized that her first
impression about the saddle being less painful than riding the
wedge bareback was wrong. It only took a minute for the saddle to
begin working on her. Under the inexorable pressure of her own
weight, the curve of the saddle edge was pushing hard into her
pussy; her labia were being crushed against her legs. Worse, a
significant amount of her weight was resting directly on her
clitoris and she could not shift her position even a millimeter to
get relief.
At the other end, the slight bump that was
pushing against her asshole now felt like a tiny relentless fist.
It was not so much a feeling of penetration – it was not large
enough to actually penetrate – as a feeling of inexorable pressure
such as might be caused by severe constipation.
She pulled at the handcuffs, but could not
reach anything that she might use to relieve some of the
weight.
She whimpered as the pain increased
rapidly.
She kicked her legs against the straps that
restrained them and had to muffle a scream. Even the slightest
movement of her legs added to the pressure against the most
sensitive parts of her anatomy and multiplied her pain
“How long?” she asked though gritted
teeth.
Trevor glanced carelessly at his watch. “A
few minutes. I don’t know. I didn’t bother timing you.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you to talk to me.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“We’ll chat about that soon, but not right
away. I don’t think you’re quite ready yet.”
“I’m ready. I’ll say anything,” she
back, with equal pressure. By that time, her legs were aching from
the exercise.
Even then, he warned her against resting her
full weight on it. “The edges are sharp and splintery. Getting
splinters is not supposed to be part of your torture. I’ll have
that fixed by tomorrow night. Then we’ll give this thing a serious
test drive.”
She quailed slightly at the word serious.
Even though she had not yet let her full weight rest in the saddle,
she could already tell that it was going to be a worse experience
than she had yet suffered.
The next evening, she looked at the completed
saddle with a mixture of curiosity and fear that tied her stomach
into a hard knot. It was lovely to look at. The wood had been
shaped and sanded so that the edge against her crotch had about the
same radius as her little finger. As well, the maple had been oiled
and its prominent grain gleamed like a piece of fine furniture. But
it was also humiliating to look at because she knew that the
irregular curve was a perfect representation of the shape of the
most intimate part of her body. In the curve, she could recognize
the base of her mons pubis, her vulva, perineum, and anal crease
with a slight bump for her rectum, extending right up to the end of
her coccyx.
If a stranger looked at it, would they know
what they were seeing?
“We have some things to discuss. Please mount
the horse.” Trevor’s voice was soft, but unyielding.
She realized that he would have been looking
forward to this moment all the time he was planning, building,
adjusting, and finishing the ‘saddle’. He must have something
specific in mind for her.
She stripped off her jeans, tee shirt, and
underwear, buckled the handcuff belt around her waist, stepped in
the stirrup, swung her leg over the saddle, and, for the first
time, settled her full weight into it.
Her first impression was that it was not as
bad as she had feared. In fact, because her weight was distributed
over a much larger length, it barely hurt at all compared to her
previous experience on the horse. She confidently buckled the
straps about her legs – that was a little more difficult now
because she had considerably less freedom of movement – and then
pulled the reigns until the weight of the stirrup cleared the bar
and was snatched up out of reach.
About the time she finished clicking her
second wrist into its handcuff, she realized that her first
impression about the saddle being less painful than riding the
wedge bareback was wrong. It only took a minute for the saddle to
begin working on her. Under the inexorable pressure of her own
weight, the curve of the saddle edge was pushing hard into her
pussy; her labia were being crushed against her legs. Worse, a
significant amount of her weight was resting directly on her
clitoris and she could not shift her position even a millimeter to
get relief.
At the other end, the slight bump that was
pushing against her asshole now felt like a tiny relentless fist.
It was not so much a feeling of penetration – it was not large
enough to actually penetrate – as a feeling of inexorable pressure
such as might be caused by severe constipation.
She pulled at the handcuffs, but could not
reach anything that she might use to relieve some of the
weight.
She whimpered as the pain increased
rapidly.
She kicked her legs against the straps that
restrained them and had to muffle a scream. Even the slightest
movement of her legs added to the pressure against the most
sensitive parts of her anatomy and multiplied her pain
“How long?” she asked though gritted
teeth.
Trevor glanced carelessly at his watch. “A
few minutes. I don’t know. I didn’t bother timing you.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you to talk to me.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“We’ll chat about that soon, but not right
away. I don’t think you’re quite ready yet.”
“I’m ready. I’ll say anything,” she
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