The Spanish horse

The Spanish horse is a wedge- or saddle-shaped torture and humiliation device on which a person is seated with their legs spread apart.

Silke received a message from Mira. Mira and Max had made arrangements. Thanks to the revenue, Mira was able to use the room longer. She had set up a new scene. Silke was supposed to come—officially as a photo assistant. A part-time job. A contract that looked harmless on paper to keep her identity safe. That way, she’d have an excuse to be nearby.

Max spoke with Silke afterward. He gave her tips for today. And he told her not to bring up what had happened. Just act as if it had never happened.

Silke returned to the location as agreed. It was 9:00 p.m. and dark.

The room was the same, and yet it wasn’t. Many mirrors stood in a semicircle around the window. Inside, it remained rather dark; only colorful spotlights cast beams of light through the dust. Silke stepped up to the glass and looked up at the roof. It was empty. So that’s where they had been standing up there. Zoom. Cell phones. Jonas.

Cameras in between. In the middle, a sort of mechanical bull. Mats all around it.

Mira wiped her hands on her pants.

“Today you’re going to ride the bull from the fair. Just a few photos to start. Then the bonus footage.”

Silke changed her clothes. She had a plan in mind. Peter had prepared her well for the shoot. Mira was just setting up the lighting. The lingerie was black, expensive, and provocative. A tight set, open at the crotch. In the front was a narrow strip of lace that didn’t cover her labia but framed them. As long as she didn’t kneel, you could only see fabric. When she knelt, you could see her bare slit. In the back, a thong that split her buttocks. The top was a half-cup bra with bows on the straps; her breasts were gently pushed upward, her nipples visible beneath the lace as soon as light hit them from below. Garter belts. Dark stockings. Ankle boots with heels that clicked on the concrete. None of it looked like something an assistant would wear.

Silke remembered what Peter had advised her.

She was supposed to say no. Or at least negotiate.

She climbed onto the police car.

It was different from a horse. The whole thing felt like two slanted planes meeting at her crotch. The edge cut uncomfortably into her bare slit. As long as she squeezed her thighs together, she could reduce the pressure somewhat. Still, her labia rested on the cold ridge. Every tiny movement caused friction.

Mira made a few test turns. The bull turned. Slowly. Almost ridiculously so. The leather gave Silke a grip. It was smooth leather.

Silke laughed. “Is that all there is to it?”

Mira smiled.

“Maybe. I’ll make you a deal. You ride the bull. If you fall off, you’ll use a few more sex toys for me today. If you stay on, we’ll call it a day after a few photos for the bonus material.”

Silke thought quickly and asked, “How fast would the bull move?” Mira was surprised by the clever question. Mira turned it up to test it. She cranked it up to five.

The bull jerked. A jagged wave shot through her crotch. Her bare slit rubbed against the edge. Silke was on the edge, but she’d make it. Her thighs trembled but held firm.

“How long?”

“I need ten minutes for the photos.”

“I can easily manage that.”

Mira tilted her head.

“Want to bet?”

Silke nodded.

“If you fall off, I get to install grip loops. And a saddle horn. If you come, I get to fill your pussy with cum.”

Silke wanted to negotiate. She wanted power.

“And if I don’t come, I’ll take photos of you today.”

Mira hadn’t expected that. Silke noticed the reaction immediately. A brief pause. A glance to the side. She’d found a weak spot.

“Then I want you without a mask.”

Mira said, “No. You can wear a mask, too.”

Silke wanted to negotiate. “Five private photos without it. And then some for the lingerie line.”

Silke got wet at the thought of gathering material. Mira without protection. Mira against the wall. Enough of this.

For Mira, it was a risk. But she believed she was winning.

“Deal.”

Silke was already imagining how she would humiliate Mira. The mirrors. The window. Five pictures without a mask. Then it would be over.

Her arousal was already at a high level. The ridge between her legs did the rest. Moisture was showing through the leather, invisible to a camera meant to see only lingerie.

Mira focused the four cameras. One on her crotch. One on her face. One on the mirrors, in which Silke saw her double, soft, strapped to nothing but her own ambition.

“Ten minutes. Level five. The bonus is: you play along.”

Silke agreed and repeated the terms for the camera.

The bull came to life.

Mira set up a timer and set it to random between levels 1–5. Then it began. The jolt came at an angle, then in the opposite direction, then a circular motion that dragged her naked slit along the edge. Silke clenched her thighs together. The pressure eased and intensified at the same time. Her clit hit the seam. A sound escaped her.

“Don’t hold on,” Mira said. “Hands off. You’re modeling lingerie. Sit elegantly.” Silke raised her hands. The bull thrust his hips to the left. Her breasts bounced in the lace. Her nipples stood out. In the mirrors, she saw herself: the bunny mask was her trademark and her protection, her crotch open on the leather, her belly soft, her mouth open.

One minute. She stayed up. Peter must be proud of her. “Negotiate,” he’d said. “Don’t say yes right away.” Now she just had to make sure she didn’t fall right away.

The bull picked up the pace by a notch that Mira hadn’t called for. Silke laughed anyway, briefly, sharply.

“Is that all?”

Mira photographed the laugh.

“Eight more.”

Every time the sloping surface thrust upward, the edge rubbed against Silke’s bare slit. Moisture made the leather slippery. The bet sat between her legs like a second saddle. In the mirrors, she saw Mira behind the camera. Slender. Calm. Defeatable, if this held up. Silke thought of the five photos. Of the fact that, for the first time, she wasn’t just the subject. The bull threw her forward. The ridge hit her clit squarely.

Silke gasped, but it was bearable.