He awoke groggily, uncomfortably aware of the pressure on his arms, which were suspended straight out toward hooks in the opposing walls by ropes attached to leather cuffs around his wrists. A wide leather collar around his neck was connected in similar fashion to a hook in the ceiling. The cool air wafting across his skin told him that he was also naked, although the blindfold prevented him from examining his surroundings.
His ankles were bound with what felt like leather straps, forcing his legs together against a smooth hard object that was placed between them. This was a board of some sort, perhaps 2 inches thick by 10 inches wide. He judged from the feel of it against his inner thighs that the top of the board lay a few inches below his crotch and scrotum.
Leaning backward slightly he felt a hard narrow pole restricting any movement in that direction. It pressed against the small of his back and ran up his spine. Its slightly wobbly movement suggested that it was not mounted securely to the board. It was in fact a broomstick, running set in a hole that had been bored down through the plank. The hole was large enough to allow the pole to move freely up and down.
He heard the creaking of a pulley and felt his collar being pulled upward even higher. The painful stretching increased until finally he had to lift himself up onto his toes to prevent from being suspended completely in the air by his neck. The board stayed rigidly in place, sliding down between his thighs as he raised himself.
"Are you ready to ride my wooden pony?" The woman's voice was close, so close that he could feel her hot breath against his neck.
"Wh-what is this? Who are you?"
"You've been a bad boy."
"What the hell is this? Let me loose!"
Whack! A sharp pain as a leather strap struck his exposed his buttocks. He screamed in pain and indignation.
"Shut up! You are in no position to demand anything, except mercy." She hit him again, eliciting more protests. She patiently repeated the cycle until at last he learned -- and fell silent.
Suddenly he felt her force a hard narrow object between his thighs. It was not much thicker than the other board and seemed to fit firmly on top of it, perhaps on pins. A bulbous head on the end of this object forced the soft flesh of his inner thighs apart. Its smooth oiled end touched his exposed anus, causing him to yell and struggle some more. These efforts were futile since he was unable to move more than a fraction of an inch.
His loud protests were met with more savage blows from the strap. This time the savage beating continued until his protests turned to screams, and finally to sobbing whimpers. As her subject hung gasping in his restraints.
Brenda quickly stepped forward and wrapped his chest and abdomen against the post in back with leather belts. Now he was prevented from moving his pelvis forward, though he could still slide up and down as the post moved freely in its greased hole.
"Now you will ride the pony," her voice came low and menacingly.
He heard the pulley creaking and felt the pressure on his collar ease a little. Lowering his uncomfortable stance, he immediately became aware that the bulbous object between his legs was now firmly—and painfully—pressed against his anus. He stood back up on his toes and tried to remain there. Brenda settled into a comfortable armchair nearby, picking up a glass of wine that lay next to it. She sipped the dark red liquid, enjoying its pleasant warmth almost as much as the scene before her.
"Riding the wooden pony" was a torture originally designed for women. Initially the subject would hold themselves above the board by standing on their tiptoes. As her legs tired and weakened she would come down, allowing the board to dig into her tender genitals. After a brief and painful rest the unfortunate woman would stretch frantically upward again, repeating the excruciating cycle of pain, fatigue and more pain.
It was always a futile effort, with the exhausted woman finally having to resort to sitting on the sharp edge of the board. There she would squirm and adjust herself, attempting to avoid those tender areas already bruised by the wood. Eventually there were no such areas left and subject had to rest her weight painfully wherever she could.
Brenda was now administering her own version of this brutal torture to the male who had fallen into her trap. She had constructed her "pony" especially with a male subject in mind. The cleaving action of the board would not be as effective as it was on a woman since a man had no "cleft." Instead she had fastened a huge "butt-plug" into the crotch of the saddle. Her subject, constrained by the saddle and the broomstick belt-post, was held in position directly over it so that the only way down was for him to impale himself.
She sipped her wine and sat back comfortably as he "rode the pony." The subject's eventual fatigue and his willingness to trade pain for rest assured penetration would ultimately occur. Brenda savored the wait. There was definitely something erotic about observing the pain and fatigue working against each other in her victim. In this way Brenda's pony was similar to the woman's version of the device.
After awhile he began to weaken and fall. Brenda admired the beads of sweat that ran down his face and the quivering of his overworked calves. He might have made a good ballet dancer she mused, watching the last of his strength wane. Finally, exhausted, he settled down onto the blunt head of the shaft, struggling without success to make it "miss the mark." The greased round head—nearly 2 inches across—lay directly against his anus.
"Bullseye," she exclaimed softly to herself.
He clenched his buttocks tightly together to prevent entry, but this would not last either. After a few minutes of struggling he was forced to let go. Gravity pushed him down against the shaft, stretching him open slightly. Only the enormous size of the head—opposed against his tight hole—prevented entry. His pain was obvious.
