Riding The Metal Pony

The windows and doors were locked, the answerphone was on and everything I would need was gathered in a sports bag. Using a pole with a hook on the end, I opened the hatch to the loft and pulled down the ladder.

Although it had been a hot day, the air in the loft had cooled now to a reasonable temperature to be naked – I hate being cold. I turned on the light and unpacked the bag, laying out all the items and checking that nothing was missing. All present and correct, I covered the hatch with a large box, cutting out most of the external light, although a little could seep in through the vents between the roof and the top of the walls.

Firstly the lamp. Peter had put power sockets in the loft and I plugged a security timer into one and connected a small lamp. The timer had eighty four segments, each representing fifteen minutes of the day. I had set this so that each fifteen minutes of light was separated by a random period of darkness. A few of these were also for fifteen minutes, about half were for thirty minutes, three for one hour and one would turn the lamp off for a total of two hours. I hoped I didn’t get that one.

Looking away, I twisted the dial of the timer, coming to a stop when the light was lit. I placed another box in front of the socket so that I couldn’t see how long I would be suffering, although from the far end of the loft, I wouldn’t be able to make out the dial anyway. I walked away, resisting the temptation to peek, and turned off the over head light. I had fifteen minutes to prepare.

I kicked off my trainers. The boards were pleasantly cool under my bare feet. Tee shirt, jeans and pants were piled together and my glasses placed carefully on top. Now, the equipment.

First, a short chain, the end wrapped once about a horizontal support beam and fastened with a padlock. At the other end, a pair of handcuffs. All the other equipment was home made, but these we’d seen in a gift shop in Warwick. I’d called Peter over to me and told him that I’d wear them if he’d buy them. He immediately picked up the box and marched brazenly over to the till. I had a horrible suspicion that he’d put them on me as soon as he’d paid for them, but he resisted, although the thought was clearly in his mind. He’d made up for it back at the hotel that evening and I spent most of the night cuffed to the frame of the bed; apart from the half hour about midnight that I’d been naked and bound on the balcony for anybody who cared to look up to see.

The handcuffs were fastened to the chain with a padlock that had three tumblers. The combination to get out was 000 as we’d lost the instructions to change it. Once the lights were out, it wouldn’t matter anyway.

A long chain was fastened to a diagonal support, and again padlocked in place. I picked up the rest of my things as I wouldn’t be able to reach for much longer, clipping two wooden clothes pegs onto the long chain and putting the rubber ball, which had come from a pet shop into my mouth. A thin leather belt, fastened behind my head secured it in place. 

I passed the long chain between my legs, opening my split and pulling the chain close. Standing on tiptoes, I wrapped the end around another support and locked it in place. There was no slack in the chain and I was as high as I could go. I rubbed both nipples gently, although by this point they were already swollen and proud. I have really small breasts, and once asked Peter to tie rope around them as I’d seen in pictures on the net, to make them bigger. He’d refused, telling me he liked me just as I was and, since then, I’d been much more relaxed about them. I took the clothes pegs and placed one on each nipple, wincing as they bit home. Originally we’d used plain pegs with flat surfaces, but one day Peter had taken some sort of chisel and carved a cross hatch into each, so these now had twelve small teeth.

Quickly I reached up and locked the cuffs around my wrists. The links between the cuffs was just flexible enough to allow me to reach the dials on the combination lock – I’d practiced when Peter was in, just in case. He was at the conference for another two days and I didn’t want to be hanging here until he came back. Although the pupils wouldn’t mind their maths teacher being absent, the school would want to know where I had been. Not to mention the pain and suffering.

The light was still on and the temptation to free myself was increasing. My nipples were on fire and the chain was going to cut me in half. As I reached for the lock, there was a click and the loft was plunged into darkness.

I tried to relax and absorb the pain. I knew that the clamps would become tolerable, but I had no idea what the chain would do to me. I tried pressing my clit against the chain and rocking backwards and forwards, but there wasn’t any slack in the chain. Pleasure would have to wait until pain was over.

A tremor started in my right leg and I was suddenly unable to support myself on my toes. The metal pony sank deeper and I tried to scream, although the ball in my mouth stopped this being anything more than a thin wail. The cuffs bit into my wrists as I tried to pull myself off the chain. Eventually I was able to get a footing and relieve the pressure between my legs. The tears were streaming down my face and I was afraid that I was going to suffocate as my nose became blocked and the ball in my mouth grew bigger and bigger. 

Please, please let this be only fifteen minutes. I could tell that it had gone dark outside as no light came through the vents. It felt like I had been riding the pony for hours, but might only have been a few minutes. What if the light bulb blew, or the power failed? I couldn’t stand the pain any longer.

But I had no choice. The dials on the lock had been spun randomly, and I’d taken care not to look. I would have to endure the torture that I had prescribed for myself. This was the most extreme I’d suffered so far. Quite frequently, if I got home before Peter, I’d tie my hands and feet to the corners of the bed. He’d come home to find me gagged, blindfolded and spread-eagled, completely at his mercy. Sometimes he would remove my gag and I’d give him a blowjob. Sometimes he would just stroke my body gently with his fingers, making me tingle all over. Sometimes he would use his tongue to pleasure me. I liked all of these, and I liked it when he took off his belt and whipped me across the backside or breasts for drooling all over his pillow.

It was a shame he couldn’t see me now. I couldn’t figure out a way to take pictures using a delay, and the video camera would have needed light and I would have given in and released myself. When he was away, he always rang to say he had landed, and the taxi delivered him to the door about half an hour later. This time he’d arrive to find me riding the pony, with the lights set to stay off, blindfolded, and bound at the ankles. Perhaps he would release me and do something nice to me on the floor of the loft. Perhaps he would whip me while I danced on the chain. Perhaps he would do nothing, leaving me to the torment which I’d set on myself.

Three more times the pain in my legs forced me onto the chain. I screamed, thrashed about, sobbed uncontrollably and cursed myself for what I’d done. When the light came back on, I’d retreated into myself so far that it was a few minutes before I realised. If I wasn’t quick, it would be dark again and I’d be sentenced to another period in hell. I spun the dials on the lock, bringing my cuffed arms down. I pushed myself off the chain and fell to the floor where I rubbed my tender slit gently, building up the speed and pressure until I came in an explosion of incoherent shouts.

Once I returned to earth I gingerly unclipped the pegs – that hurt so bad, then took out the ball. Without my glasses it took me a while to find the keys for the cuffs, but I eventually released myself and climbed wearily down the ladder. I collapsed into bed. I’d sort out the equipment in the morning.

Clare
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20.09.03