Stable Hand

His sack tingled as he watched her demonstrate on horseback for her students. He would save cleaning the stalls near the arena for when her class was in session. Now and then she would mount a students horse and show everyone what she was trying to tell them. He would drop everything whenever she did this and find a discrete place to watch. One time, he actually took matters in his own hands.

It was during a demonstration of something she called the rising trot. As she slipped her toe into the stirrup leaving one foot on the ground, her legs stretched apart. Each round cheek of her ass was separate and distinct and his mind reeled when he thought of the space between. She hopped onto the stirrup, and from this angle he could see her chest jiggle with each hop. 1,2,3, her lower leg swung up and over the saddle. He got a brief glimpse of her crotch region and squeezed his balls with his hand in the pocket of his overalls: He longed to be that saddle as he watched her split legs nestle into the leather seat.

He ducked into an empty stall where he could lean against a post and watch her through a knot-hole in a board. He unzipped and slowly stroked himself through his long-johns wondering how the hard leather saddle felt to her. Did she receive any stimulation while straddling it? Did it rub her clit or squish her labia? Thinking that it did made him a little harder.

She rocked back a bit as she squeezed her horse's sides with her calves. While riding off, she squeezed left then right then left in rhythm with the horse's walking gait. She explained to the students that the horse relies on her to set the pace. She demonstrated quicker leg squeezes, left, then right, then left. This made her hips rock ever so slightly and he could only think of her resting atop his lap doing his; riding him and squeezing left, then right, then left as his cock grew inside of her.

He pulled himself free of his work-clothes and noted he was harder than he'd been in a long time. His large, pink, bell-shaped cock-head was tight and shiny. He began to slowly stroke down, then up stopping just below the head. She continued riding around the arena, lecturing to her students who waited at the center. She discussed the premise of the rising or posting trot. That it was invented for riding long distances without getting a sore back-side. The modesty with which she phrased the term "back-side" made him want her all the more: The girl-next-door, the virgin, the innocent and pure. This image turned him on like the pictures in his dirty magazines of young women dressed in catholic school girl uniforms: Nice, but naughty.

"The rising trot is a gait with a 1-2 rhythm, ridden while the horse trots fast. You must rise on the proper diagonal to your horse's front hoof placement or you risk a bumpy ride, or worse, your horse losing footing and taking a tumble with you." With this she clucked her tongue to the roof of her mouth, squeezed both legs into her mount's sides, sat with a single, deeper sort of scoop movement which pulsed his groin to see and said, "Trot on." The horse picked up a trot and she began to rise up then down, up down, up down, as his hand began to rub up then down, up down, up down in rhythm with her rising and sitting: Ah to be that saddle.

"You must rise as the inside shoulder is back. This takes your weight off of the animal's center of balance and allows free movement around turns and corners." Her breasts heaved up down, up down, up down with an extra jiggle each time she sat and at each apex of rising: Ah to be that saddle, up down, up down, 1-2,1-2... His head began to spin as she spoke, "Your rhythm tells your horse how fast you want to go. You can go slower." As she rose and sat slower he was unaware that his hand rubbed slower in time with her. "Or faster," up down, up down, up down. He rubbed faster and began to breath fast. "Slower," her breasts looked like slow motion, he thought he could see her nipples harden under her sports bra and t-shirt.

Is it possible that she is getting some sort of pleasure from this rising and sitting? He watched a little closer. "Faster," up down, up down, up down. He saw her cheeks flush, and two distinct points at the center of each breast. They were so hard that her shirt began to grow a line between them. He could barely stand knowing that she had big nipples, he loved big nipples. "And slower," he could see her breathing quicker, this could be simply because she was exerting some energy. However, seeing her rising and sitting, panting with parted lips, chest heaving, cheeks flushed and hard-nippled, she looked like she was fucking. Up down, up down, up down, up down.

"I want you all to practice this without stirrups. Begin with the sitting trot until your legs are completely stretched down and you feel glued to your saddle. Then begin your rising trot without stirrups." She dropped her feet from her stirrups as she spoke and began to sit as the animal continued the bumpy gait. Sit, sit, sit. Her hips wiggled in time with the quick pace. She was grinding the saddle in such a way that he changed his up down gliding stroke to short tugs just below his swollen, purple head. His balls began to pull up inside and tighten. He watched her every move. Tits bouncing. Sit, sit, sit. 1,1,1. Tug, tug, tug. His index finger began to rub just under his cock's head at the beginning of the sensitive spot he loved to have licked: Ah to be that saddle.

He could see her flushed face and her parted lips as her eyes began to roll slightly back, her hips grinding the saddle, her legs straight and her toes pointing up. She tensed for a moment and her jaw clenched. Did he see her shudder ever so slightly has her horse dropped abruptly into a walk?

At this very moment his own eruption sent shivers of release through him has he squeezed his balls and sent a stream onto the hay below.