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The Beauty Of Wooden Pony

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I wonder how it feels to be on one of those horses

After perusing this thread I was a little curious myself. I simply sat on the top bar of my bicycle while it was mounted on my training stand. In a very, very short time I decided I much preferred fantasizing about a beautiful young woman mounted on a pony than experiencing anything like it on my own aged, masculine body. The shit hurts, bro. But it's got to pale in comparison to how bad sitting on a wedge would be.

Here's some wooden pony and pony-ish devices I haven't seen on the thread:

pichard5.jpgpichard6.jpg From "The Countess In Red," a comic by the great Georges Pichard.

wooden horse3.jpgwooden horse jul181.jpg Unknown model

wooden horse2.jpg Unknown model


spreadleah1.jpg Leah Wilde, Sex and Submission
 
A few pictures combining riding with other torture! Fire! Hot iron!
 

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Wow, I love the second pic. I think it must be the pony tail. But I love the yoke and the ankle stocks as well. It's just the whole gestalt.

I had a spontaneous fantasy of a young college post-grad, who's working on a dissertation involving some aspect of the medieval witch hunts, and who comes upon a torture museum in a village in some far off corner of Bumfuckia-Herzogovnia. The museum director encourages patrons to try out the devices themselves, to get a taste of what they were really like. Our heroine challenges herself to endure a full hour on the rack, and the director obliges. She is stretched out, fully clothed, of course. Twenty minutes later she feels like she can't catch her breath, and her arm, leg, and hip joints are all burning. She pleads to be let off.

"But you said a full hour," the Museum Director says. "You gave me strict instructions that under no circumstances were you to be released. A full hour, you said."

"Please, sir," she gasps. "I can't take this anymore. Release me! Release me now, or I'll sue!"

"Your laws don't apply here." the Director says. "You agreed to this. It was witnessed. You gave your word. You will stay on the rack for a full hour, not one minute more or less. However, if you wish, you may trade this device for another of my choosing."

"Oh, you bastard!" she grunts. "What is it? I'll do anything."

"Two full hours on the wooden horse, branked and yoked, oh, and I think completely nude."

Sweating and gasping with pain, she thinks that nothing, nothing can be worse than the hot coals that have become her joints.

"You win," she grunts, "I'll do it."

Now, after only ten minutes on the horse, she is discovering what a terrible bargain she has made.
 
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