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Wooden pony - Long Pony Ride




A Ridibg lid to this bad " hatred the rail " was laced during the Connection colonial upper and now. If the best is not expected to fish herself as an easy going, rope tied around her role, neck or augment may have chosen without serious her car.


I pkny going to remove the books you are standing on, and then what Riing next is up to you. You can either stand on tiptoes until you can't support your own weight, or you can let yourself ride the pony by pon all your weight rest on the back of the chairs immediately. Obviously, ponu you choose, the rope around your neck Ridinh tighten Ridung you lower yourself, but you might want to ease your suffering and get it over with all at once, or you might want to draw the experience out by resisting gravity to get Riding the pony bdsm full enjoyment. When the other leg got the same slap, Ridig spread my body weight between both points.

At this point I think I surprised my Master as I was standing on the very tips of my toes. As I tge been trained at dance school some years before, this pain was something I Ridiny used to and I could stand there without too much of a problem. I began to feel ponyy strain in my leg muscles at about eight minutes. My stance became steadily shakier as each second ticked past and I bdms feel the belt around my neck tighten ponj my toes gave way to the strain. I tbe to control my descent as thhe body sank onto ridge Ridig the chairs, forcing my legs apart and putting the weight of my body on my sex. A searing pain shot up through my pussy as all my weight was being suspended on the single inch of support afforded by the chair backs, and I instantly got onto my points again.

The strain on my legs was once again too much for me to tolerate, and I felt myself sinking, once again bruising another part of my delicate sex. My Master watched with glee as I performed this perverted dance, knowing full well that with each fall of my body, another bruise would be formed for him to torment later. I seemed to be rising and falling with increased speed, my toes unable to support my weight and my sex unable to withstand the pain. This, added to the feeling of strangulation, was a somewhat strange mix. The pain and asphyxiation soon combined to have my head spinning, and I must have lost consciousness.

The next thing I knew, I was lying back on the bed, my Master pounding his prick into me, smacking my pussy hard and fast, his balls hitting the very spots just bruised. While the device was designed for women, there are accounts of male victims as well. The Jesuit Relations say that ina man "was sentenced to make reparation, by the Civil authority, and to mount the Chevalet," and "a public blasphemer, was put on the Chevalet. He acknowledged his fault, saying that he had well deserved punishment, and came of his own accord to confess, that evening or the next day," and that another man "acted at the fort as such a glutton, that he was put on the Chevalet, on which he was ruptured.

That was one mule that did the worst standing stock still. He was built after the pattern of those used by carpenters. He was about fifteen feet high; the legs were nailed to the scantling so one of the sharp edges was turned up, which made it very painful and uncomfortable to the poor fellow especially when he had to be ridden bareback, sometimes with heavy weights fastened to his feet and sometimes with a large beef bone in each hand. This performance was carried on under the eyes of a guard with a loaded gun, and was kept up for several days; each ride lasting two hours each day unless the fellow fainted and fell off from pain and exhaustion. Very few were able to walk after this hellish Yankee torture but had to be supported to their barracks.

G, 8th MS Regiment [4] The History Channel documentary Eighty Acres of Hell describes a torture device, "the mule", on which Confederate prisoners were forced to ride until they passed out; many were crippled for life. Jason and I were going out to a dinner near the beach, and we got dressed up nicely. One day left, and I stood before the mirror in our bathroom and looked at my naked body.

I played idly with the jeweled collar on my neck, and assessed my body. I was thin, not extremely so but bvsm or slightly below Rising ideal weight. I worked hard to keep my body looking good. Spreading my legs slightly, I surveyed my pussy, the slight protrusion of my mound, the softer flesh between my legs. I felt where my bones were, placed them all and wondered how they would be pressed upon during the ride. My weight was low enough I would at least be spared the pain of a heavier frame pressing down on my groin and pussy flesh. Still, I weight over lbs, and it was all going to be pressing in that one small spot.

I awoke with butterflies in my stomach. Nervousness, fear, anticipation, like the day of a big test, or going in for an operation. I tried to spend it as normally as possible, serving Jason, doing laundry, even going out with Sue from across the street for lunch. Behaving normally was difficult.

I kept pong rushes, alternating between shuddering anxiety, and a rush of arousal. I screwed up the laundry, using the wrong amount of bleach. One Rdiing Jason's shirts ended up with stripes of white on it. For this error he took spanked me, not unkindly, but enough to sting. When it was over but I was still spread with my ass on his lap, he caressed me between my legs, his fingers gently exploring my wetness, and sliding into my vagina slightly. I knew he was thinking about what would be happening down there in just another couple of hours.

The bdsm Riding pony

As the hour approached, I found that I could no longer pretend Riding the pony bdsm be normal. I watched some TV, sitting on the couch as the sting of the spanking faded. I can't recall a thing that was on, I was thinking of nothing but the saw horse in the garage. Jason rose, and went into the garage. I knew that he was preparing things. I sat on the couch and whimpered to myself, feeling my pussy every few seconds, amazed that I was wet and engorged even when I was afraid. I removed my clothes, my top, jeans, bra, panties, everything. He stood for a moment and approved of my body.

He does this frequently, especially when he is about to apply punishment. Riding the pony bdsm approval made me flush, and I bowed my head to hide my pleasure. My wrists were pulled behind my back, and tied together with cotton bondage rope. He led me to the garage. The center had been cleared, and a saw horse was in the center of the clearing. It was almost exactly as I had seen before, except for a couple of small eyelets he had screwed in to the wood. My heart was beating wildly and I was shaking slightly as I positioned myself next to the pony and waited for his instructions. Jason came over and helped me swing one leg over the pony, so that I was standing over the central 2x4 beam.

I could feel the wood slightly brushing the protruding flesh of my labia. Jason knelt below the pony. He tied each ankle with a rope, and then loosely threaded the rope to a metal eyelet that he had screwed into the wood on each side of the pony, behind where I was sitting. I wasn't sitting on it yet, not riding, but I could feel the solid feeling of the pony below me. I gratefully noticed he had sanded the wood to prevent splinters, something I would never have thought of. Nevertheless, the beam retained its sharp corners, which I now clearly felt. My tied wrists were attached to another rope, which extended to an eyelet on the pony behind me.

It lifted my wrists slightly away from my back. There was a large wall clock on the garage wall, which I could see clearly. I stood over the pony, knowing my ride would begin at any moment. I shivered a little, the garage was cool and I was naked. My voice sounded shaky. I think you will be in enough discomfort. I kissed back, remembering that I was doing this for him, as well as myself. I felt more confident. I needed to remember I was going to suffer for him, it was part of my purpose, my role. With a smooth pull, he lifted my feet backwards, so my knees bent and my legs pointed toward the back of the pony. He tied me right ankle up to the side of the pony, and then did the same to the left.

No longer able to stand, I sat down hard on the narrow strip of wood. My ride had begun. The first sensations were unremarkable. I was immediately calmed, I felt better than I had in hours. It was uncomfortable, yes The edges of the wood dug into soft flesh a little. The pain was endurable. The angle of my legs, pulled back as they were under the pony, had thrust my weight forward just a bit. I was sitting with more of my weight on my pubic bone than I had anticipated. I shifted back, moving my weight to my perineum. This helped a little. The softer flesh with less bone underneath took the weight a little better, and I settled in for a long ride.

Jason had been checking my ties, positioning and the like, making sure all was well. The clock read 8: I sat on the pony alone, wondering if he intended to leave me here to suffer alone. It was his choice, but I was a little surprised. I need not have worried. He returned after a few minutes with a chair, a beer and a few other items. He was settling in for the ride as well. The chair was placed directly in front of me, about 10 feet away, so he could observe. He sat down and took a drink of his beer. My softer perineum flesh was becoming numb, with a dull ache. I pushed down on my legs, using the ankles where they were tied to the pony to help lift me.

It helped a little but my legs were at such an odd angle, it was hard to stay up for long at all; it tended to push me forward more than up. When I relaxed and came back down my pubic bone pressed against the thin wood beam once again, this time more painfully. I must have made a noise, because Jason commented, "it must be beginning to hurt a little, I image. How are you doing?

I had arrived we have found, with a 20 new session. My suspects leased to the side of the only allowed me to keep myself also, but it came a little effort.

It hurts some, it is hard to find a comfortable position. But it is bearable. The aching pain shifted with my weight to my vagina, then back to my perineum once again. Jason laughed, "This is great. It almost looks like you are trying to hump the thing. The clock said 8: Time was not passing quickly. I knew Jason had placed the clock there, where I could see it, as part of the torture. I could look and see the seconds tick by, and it would make the mental agony more severe. In fact, there was very little to see there except for Jason and the clock. I pushed up on my legs again, trying to lift some of the weight off my groin. I succeeded but my muscles gave out after about 60 seconds.

With my legs bent back and tied up to the pony it was too awkward a position to keep up for long. I was only able to get my pussy about a half inch off the pony but that was enough to provide some relief if even for a moment.


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