After he finished the stalls that day, he was in the tack room cleaning some of the bridles. He leaned against a saddle resting on its stand. His thoughts drifted back to the lesson earlier that day. His prick jumped as he smiled thinking of her hardened nipples. He always wondered why women liked riding, he suspected but never knew. He finished cleaning a bridle and reached across the saddle for another. Glancing down, he realized this was her saddle. The one which housed her rising and sitting crotch. Her sweet crease was virtually here with him now. He let his hips press forward into the hard leather.
He began to stiffen as he caressed the soft, black, padded seat. He fingered the pommel as if it were her slit; sliding back and forth and over the edge. He was fully erect now and needed some room. He unzipped and pulled himself out. Touching the tip of his head to the leather seat, a drop of juice dripped out of him. He quickly wiped it off for fear of leaving a stain. He pulled more at himself and freed his still tight balls over the edge of his zipper as he raised a leg to straddle the rack. Slowly he rested himself into the saddle and closed his eyes. His cock stiffened to an unrecognizable hardness as his balls rested on the leather: Ah to be this saddle as she rises and sits in that rhythm. That fucking rhythm on his cock; up and down. Up and down he stroked as his balls slapped against the leather.
He could feel his pleasure rising when he heard the door open. He let out a gasp when he looked up. It was her. And he here in such a state. Although she stared unmoved for an uncomfortable amount of time, his erection did not abate. The surprise sent a rush through him and he was now coursing with passion. His nipples became hard and his penis stood straight up even though he had let go of it. He was hot with embarrassment. He wondered if he would faint with so much blood concentrated in two places of his body.
She stepped in and closed the door behind her. What? He was confused, frightened and extremely turned on as he wondered what she was about to do. He was not used to this vulnerability. He felt like the defenseless, bridled horse waiting for instruction from the rider. He was sweating profusely and could feel his balls begin to stick to the saddle, the leather felt good. Hell, his shirt felt good. As the sensations spilled out of his body, he could pin-point each sense being used. He could smell her aroma as she approached, in what appeared to him as slow motion. His vision became acute as he searched her form. He could almost taste her lips which were parted as her breath quickened. His sense of touch was heightened by his interrupted orgasm. He could hear the pounding of his heart while still aware of her boots stepping across the wooden floor: 1, 2, 1, 2.
He stopped breathing when she pulled off her shirt and bra in one swift movement, revealing two perfect round mounds with stiff pink nipples. He began to salivate as she approached, his penis jutting up with no visible support. She stepped over and straddled his lap. Her breasts hung pendulous within inches of his mouth. She looked at him like she was angry. She told him to take off his clothes. He gulped and could not believe what was happening as he stood up to remove his overalls, button-up shirt and long-johns. It felt like forever as his nervous fingers fumbled with each button, snap, zipper, hook, lock. His wood never dissipated though. She did not move from her position as he grazed and bumped her now and then. This turned him on so very much. Allowing himself minimal access to her made him savor the moment when he could actually taste her, when she would be riding him: Ah to be the saddle.
