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My Electric Pony Ride -

I almost got bucked off last night. I rode the electric pony until I don’t remember getting off—figuratively and literally.

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

I’ve ridden the pony many times before so I know the dread, and secret anticipation, that swell in the pit of my stomach from the time, usually a couple days in advance, he tells me that our next meeting will begin with a pony ride and continue from there.

Over the years I have learned to ride for hours 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—as we all know, if built right, there is no comfortable seat when riding the wooden pony.

There probably isn’t a “standard” wooden pony/horse, but his is like most that I’m familiar with--a sawhorse as the base and various interchangeable tops or “saddles” designed to cause anywhere from discomfort to excruciating pain.

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.

He began the session by attaching clamps to my nipples. In the past we 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 to open so the jagged edges could be closed down onto my nipples behind my stainless steel metal piercings. I have seen similar, but larger, clamps like the ones he was using in the battery cable sections of auto and boat parts stores. He used a smaller metal clip off to the side of each nipple. All four clips were then hooked up to a power box.

With his help, I climbed the step stool, then as gently and slowly as I could, lowered myself onto the lubricated metal butt plug, eventually settling down on the sharp upper edge of the horse. From behind, Q spread my *** cheeks to be sure the plug was in as far as it would go and that the area between my ******* and ***** was in contact with the ragged wooden edge of the pony.

Moving to the front, he pulled my ***** lips apart so they were lying against the metal strips on each side of the pony. Next, he ran a thin cord from one of my labia rings under 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 ***** lips—for sure, I wasn’t getting off by myself.


So far there was really no difference sitting on this new set up than when I sat on the wooden pony before. Because of the various electric connections to, through and in my body, 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 he was doing and was going to do to me.

Finally, my arms, bound elbow-to-elbow behind my back, were raised enough to make me lean forward putting more pressure on my ***** and ****. The rope tied to the ring on top of my head harness was connected to an eyehook on the back of the sawhorse and pulled taunt until I was looking up at the ceiling—so much for watching myself in the mirror.

Finishing up, I hoped, my bondage, Q looped a cord through each of my nipple rings then to the eyehook attached at the front end of the wooden horse. Carefully, he pulled the stretchy elastic cord taunt so the tension on my nipple rings was enough to cause me to lean as far forward as possible to relieve the pull on the delicate entry point on each nipple. Because the eyehook in the front of the sawhorse was lower than my breasts I had to put more weight on my already crushed ****.

It wasn’t long before I began to understand how the pressure and forces on my body were working against each other toward a single goal—make my bondage a dynamic process. The more I leaned forward to relieve the tearing sensation of my nipple rings the greater the pressure on my already crushed ****, and the unyielding tension and pain applied to my tethered head and neck, and strappado arms.

There has always been a special place in my heart for predicament bondage, 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, to this point there was nothing especially different from other pony rides I’ve taken. There was, however, one good thing about this position, and almost all positions that have me very tightly bound especially if my **** contacts something rough or hard. I enjoyed a quiet secret ******.

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

The difference between this ride and earlier jaunts became very apparent when Q started turning up the power on the butt plug. At first there was just a tickle-like sensation which increased until I felt a thumping like a slow *** ****. It was when a sudden hot jolt hit me that I could have sworn I jumped three inches off the horse even with my labia tied to the saddle.

Almost immediately, Q turned the power down somewhat so now it just felt like my *** was being ****** really hard—I could have easily gotten into the feeling. I love a long, slow, hard *** ****, especially when it feels like the tip of his **** is coming up through my throat.

Satisfied that he had my ******* 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 up my ******* because he went from no power to a point where it felt like someone was biting off my nipples. He reduced the power, but never to the point where it felt like anything less than hot wax from a candle almost touching my breast was dripping onto each now painfully distended captive nipple.

There was no escape from the molten wax-like burning sensation. I couldn’t 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 searing torment that was my breasts.

At this point I was pretty uncomfortable but I had almost forgotten about the two pieces of metal on each side of the horse that went up between my *** cheeks and ***** lips. Almost forgotten, that is, until Q turned on the power.

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 ***, 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 thumping me. That was the times when I tried to relax my tightened muscles. Just a second or two, I think it 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. The butt plug made me involuntarily squeeze and release the outer and inner sphincter muscles in my *******, as the metal against the insides of my ***** 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…

Using a hand-held pump, Q pulled my crushed but as yet restricted **** into a clear plastic tube. Once satisfied by my moaning that it would stretch no further, he tightly wrapped a thin piece of wire around my **** were it protrudes from my body. Releasing the vacuum the tube soon pooped off, but my **** remained a swollen reddened hunk of flesh that was incredibly sensitive to the slightest touch—even to his breath when he blew onto it.

Something told me things were going to change for me fairly quickly when he took the second wire from the E-312 power box which was shooting fire into my *******, and connected it to the end of the wire wound around my clitoris. Soon, that number one rule of mine which says to sit still when riding the pony would became a silly wish rather than even the most remote possibility.


The twisting, biting, burning pain in, on and through my **** was not something I could just 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 stab of pain 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, sinew, tendon and flesh.

Q’s playroom is in his garage which is just off the kitchen. While I was trying to sit still, sweating with my own fluids dripping down my things and the sides of the pony, salivating, screaming, and calling him everything but nice, he was cooking what would be our late evening dinner.

My legs were raised off the floor and buckled to the ring at the back of the sawhorse, making me sit like a jockey rides during a race. I had a bit of leverage to take some weight off my ***** 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 *****, which was becoming numb quickly.

My ****, 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 **** 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 giving me a couple sips from his glass of red wine. I don't know just how much wine I swallowed, most, I think, dribbled 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 *******, *****, **** and nipples.

Q and I have played together so many times that I’m positive he knew what I was thinking. Offering me another sip of wine, he told me that 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.

I was raised to be strongly independent and confident. I am also able to deal quite admirably with stress and I can endure a tremendous level 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, “…have 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 taking those three or four sips 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’m almost positive that I did not faint because I have foggy recollections of the pain in my nipples exploding once when I pulled back one time trying to relief the stress on my neck and lower back. I also recollect the thumping in my ******* 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 didn’t 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.
quiessolo quiessolo 70+, M Mar 22, 2013

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