My Electric Pony Ride

I was almost bucked off last night. I rode the electric pony until I do not remember getting off—figuratively and literally.

My friend Q is very good with his hands. He can build and make some very imaginative toys and special furniture. Last night we debuted his latest creation—a wooden pony with an electric mane.

I have ridden a wooden pony many times before. The say familiarity breeds contempt. When it comes to the pony, familiarity breeds dread, memories of unrelenting pain and secret anticipation, that swell in the pit of my stomach from the time, usually a couple days in advance, he tells me I will be riding the pony the next time we meet.

Over the years, I learned to ride for longer and longer periods primarily because, from the hips down, I either become numb or my mind is off somewhere in lala-land. I have, like most experienced riders I imagine, found the trick is to settle down into one position and not let myself move or squirm trying to find a comfortable seat. Unfortunately, if the pony is built correctly, there is no comfortable seat.

There probably is not a standard wooden pony or horse. Q's is like most that I am familiar with--a sawhorse as the base and various interchangeable tops or saddles designed to cause anywhere from discomfort to excruciating pain. Since knowing Q, I have been astride the normal single-edge wood saddle, one that has an inverted piece of v-shaped metal, one made of see clear plastic car floor mat with the prickly knobs that keep it in place, and the last time, that same floor mat but with dozens of thumbtacks protruding through and among the plastic nubbies to add just a little more bite.

The difference last night was that the saddle area now included a butt plug and two pieces of metal along the sides of the horse coming up to the top edge of the two pieces of wood but not touching each other. The butt plug and a lose wire were connected to an Eros E-312 power box.

Of course I was naked head-to-toe so that every inch of my body was available to Q's ministrations and imagination.

This ride began when clamps were placed on my nipples. In the past he usually used clover clamps or the ones that can be screwed down as tight as you want. This time, however, Q used metal clamps that he squeezed in the middle which opened the jaws of the clamp. clamp. Once open, he then slowly closed the jagged teeth down onto my nipples behind my stainless steel metal piercings. I had seen similar, but much larger, clamps like the ones he was using in the battery cable sections of car parts section of Sears or Wal-Mart. All I can say is thank God he was not using those on me. He used four clips, one on each side of each nipple. The wires from the four clamps was then connected to a power box.

With his help, I climbed the step stool, then as gently and slowly as I could, lowered myself onto a metal butt plug. The plug was lubricated with Q's concoction of a gel like KY mixed with chili powder and other heat-producing oils and liquids.

At first, there was a tingling cool sensation but which slowly but inexorably turned to burning wherever the hellfire touched flesh. From behind, Q spread my ass cheeks to be sure the plug was in as far as it would go and that the area between my asshole and pussy was in contact with the sharp wooden edge of the pony.

Moving to my front, he pulled my pussy lips apart so they were lying against the metal strips on each side of the pony. He then attached a thin cord from one of my labia rings, ran it under the bottom of the cross piece of the sawhorse, and then tied it onto the ring through my labia on the other side of the horse. In effect, I was tied to the pony by my pussy lips—for sure, I was not getting off by myself.

So far my present predicament was not much different that other times riding the pony. That would soon change --

I was wearing a head harness with a built-in steel O-ring gag, but without the attachable eye covering pieces. I like the harness gag without the eye coverings because I can see myself in the mirror to watch what happening and was going to happen to my body.

My arms were bound behind my back strappado style and pulled upward just enough to cause me to lean forward putting more pressure on my pussy and clit. A rope tied to the ring on top of my head harness was connected to an eyehook on the back of the sawhorse. It was cruelly pulled taunt so that I was looking up at the ceiling. So much for watching myself in the mirror.

The next bit of entertainment for him but pain for me was a piece of cord from the clamps on my nipples to an eyehook at the front of the sawhorse. The cord was elastic like a bungee cord so I could straighten my back somewhat before the cord was stretched enough to pull the serrated metal clamps biting and tearing into the tender, sensitive nipples. Nipples meant for a baby's suckle or a lover's gentle kiss, not the searing crushing bite of jagged metal teeth. The eyehook in the front of the sawhorse being lower than my breasts meant the only way to relieve any of the tension on my nipples was to lean as far forward as my strappado arms and tethered head would allow.

I have always had a special place in my heart for predicament bondage, where if I try to relieve pain in one part of my body it causes pain in another. My partner is very imaginative and I thought he had outdone himself this time. I would soon learn that Q was about to outdo even this.

Again, except for the torturous metal clamps gnawing my flesh, there was nothing at this point especially different from other pony rides. There was, however, one good thing about this position, and almost all positions that have me very tightly bound especially if my clit contacts something rough or hard. I could slide back and forth on the saddle, almost imperceptivity bring myself to a quiet secret orgasm.

I am not a slave or submissive so I do not have to ask permission to cum, but I kept it secret because I did not want Q's head to swell thinking that just putting me into an intensely restrictive and uncomfortable position was enough to make me release.

As I said earlier, the differences between this ride and earlier jaunts were not that great; that is until my tormentor began turning up the power on the butt plug. At first there was just a tickle-like sensation. As the electricity increased, that almost feathery sensation turned into a thumping like being fucked in the ass slowly and gently. It quickly became apparent there was a surge in the power level when a sudden hot jolt hit me. I would have sworn I jumped three inches off the horse, even with my labia stretch and tied tightly to the pony's underbelly.

Almost immediately, Q turned the power down. Now it just felt like my ass was being fucked hard, really hard; I could have easily gotten into the feeling. I love a long, slow, hard ass fuck, especially when it feels like the tip of his cock is coming up through my throat.

Satisfied that he had my asshole sufficiently occupied, Q next turned to the power box hooked to the metal clamps on my nipples. There was never a tickling sensation like the plug in my ass because the power went from none to a zillion volts in a nanosecond, at least that is how it felt. The only other way to describe the pain was if someone was biting off my nipples. Q reduced the current slowly but never to the point where it felt like anything less than a candle flame burning just centimeters below each now painfully distended trapped nipple.

There was no escape from the excruciating molten lava-like burning sensation. I could not even jump or squirm away from the pain like I have when it was just hot wax dripping onto my breasts. This time the pain was attached to my nipples, there was no relief. I agonized and reveled in the pain.

At this point I was pretty uncomfortable being butt-fucked while my nipples were on fire. I had forgotten about the two pieces of metal on each side of the horse that went up between my ass cheeks and pussy lips. My memory was jolted to reality when the electrical power to each of the metal plates was turned on.

I don't know how he did it, but the thumping between my legs was timed to be almost exactly opposite the butt plug. When the electricity paused in my ass, the electricity went on between my legs. The timing wasn't exact; there was maybe a fraction of a second or so when there was no electricity burning into me. Those were the times when I tried to relax my tightened muscles. Just a millisecond or two. In retrospect, it probably would have been better if the electricity was on all the time. I don't know because that never happened.

I was still pretty much in control of my body; I mean I could sit on the horse without moving about too much. The butt plug made me involuntarily squeeze and release the sphincter muscles in my asshole, as the metal against the insides of my pussy lips caused involuntary contractions. The nipple clamps were more like continuous hot, hot wax dripping on my nipples which burned like hell but did not make me move my lower body. But then...

Q loosened the cords pulling on my nipple enough so that he could push my chest backward lifting and relieving the pressure on my clit.

Since shortly after puberty, my clit seemed to have a mind of her own. Maybe, like muscles do with they are exercised, masturbating several times a day, every day, even when I am menstruating has made my sex button grow bigger and bigger. I had my pubic hair electronically removed right after college. It took four applications but there is only a bit of fuss from my Mons Venus to the V where my thong strap, when I wear underwear, goes between my legs from the back. The point of all this TMI (too much information) is that my clit is always at attention protruding enough that when I do wear underwear I am in a constantly aroused state. Enough anatomy for now.

Back to where I was, Even with my clitoris naturally sticking out from my body, it must not have been enough because using a hand-held pump, Q pulled my now unrestricted clit into a clear plastic tube and began pumping.

Satisfied by my moaning and the beads of sweat covering my body that my clit could not stretch much further, he tightly wrapped a thin piece of wire around the bud where it protrudes from my body. Releasing the vacuum the tube soon pooped off, but my clit remained a swollen reddened hunk of flesh that was incredibly sensitive to the slightest touch—even to the air from his mouth when he blew onto it.

Something told me things were going to change for me fairly quickly when the wire from my clit was connected to the electric power box that was shooting fire deep inside my bowels. Instantly, my number one rule to sit still when riding the wooden pony became an unimaginatively impossible wish rather than even the most remote possibility.

The twisting, biting, burning pain in, on and through my clit was not something I could just grit my teeth and endure. The electricity was on and off in some sort of random pattern and intensity. I could not time the pain or its intensity so I had no way to prepare, if that was even possible, for the next pain sensation that would shatter the most sensitive part of me. In mere seconds the woman who no man could tame nor control was becoming a moaning, babbling, drooling, withering mass of electrified muscle, tendon, sinew and flesh.

Q's playroom is in his garage which is just off the kitchen. While I was trying to sit still, sweating, practically choking on my saliva, my juices dripping down the sides of the pony, screaming, gurgling is more like it, and calling him everything but nice, he was cooking what would be our late evening dinner.

My feet were raised off the floor with the ankle cuffs buckled to ring at the back of the sawhorse. I looked like a jockey riding a race. I had a bit of leverage to take some weight off my pussy by using my thigh muscles to push up on my ankles, but it was hard to maintain that relief position for very long. The result was almost continuous pressure on the butt plug, and my pussy, which was becoming numb. .

My clit, however, could not go numb--the relentless jolts of electrical current were like an ammonia capsule snapped under the nose when somebody faints. There was never a moment during my ordeal when the gnawing pain in my clit subsided. Q had been savage before, but this time he found and pushed all the right buttons to send me to a place I had never been.

I remember him coming out of the kitchen and dribbling a couple swallows from his glass of red wine. I do not know just how much wine I swallowed, most, I think, spilled out the sides of my now aching mouth because of the O-ring gag and the backward unnatural tilt of my neck and head.

It was then that Q told me I had been riding a little more than an hour, which I thought meant he would start undoing me, or at least turn off the power to my asshole, pussy, clit and nipples.

Q and I have played together so many times that I am certain he knew what I was thinking. Offering me another dribble of wine, he told me I had just passed the half-way point of my ride. He went on to say that when my second hour was up, he would release me so we could have dinner before resuming playtime.

Probably because of how I was raised to be strongly independent and confident, my present career, and my ability to withstand a tremendous amount and variety of pain, I'm not afraid of any sane man. I emphasize SANE because I know his common sense, decency and my trust in him with prevail. However at the instant Q said, "before resuming playtime" I felt the first pangs of panic. Resume what? Coming back to this torturous ride or, hopefully, some equally entertaining but less intense way for me to find pleasure in my pain?

I made a big mistake accepting, as if I had a choice, those three or four gulps of wine. Combined with my sweating, difficulty breathing and choking down my saliva because my head was pulled back so far, and the jolts of electricity, I started losing control of me.

I have absolutely no idea how long after the one hour mark that I stayed on that damnable horse. I am almost positive that I did not faint because I have foggy recollections of the pain in my nipples exploding once when I must have pulled one or both clamps off my nipples pulling backward trying to relief the stress on my neck and lower back. I also recollect the thumping in my asshole getting stronger as, I learned later, he changed the rhythm and intensity of the electricity in the butt plug.

The next thing I know for sure was trying to stand while he had his arms around me, telling me what a brave and strong girl I was. I did not think I was a bit brave or strong at that moment. Had someone offered me a million dollars to get back up on the pony with the electric mane Q would have seen and I would have realized just how scared and weak I really was.