Riding the pony

Dear Diary, (still May 23rd)

I can still remember Miles Manton's words perfectly.

“I think this little **** needs to take a ride on the pony too, Sean.” At the time, I had no idea what he was talking about, but even so I knew that it would not be something I'd enjoy.

I soon found out because in the room next door I saw Angelica perched on wooden 'pony' with her hands tied above her head. The contraption was fashioned a little like a sawhorse with four sturdy legs holding a thick black log as a cross piece high enough to lift her legs off the sawdust covered floor. The light-skinned **** was as naked as I and looked wild with her tangle of hair falling like a lion's mane onto her shoulders.

It wasn't until I was strapped in next to her that I realized that the polished log was carefully carved to add to my torment. One of the old log's branches had been left protruding upward a few inches, and the sides of the log were carved with indentations that my thighs fit into. When my legs were tied together under the pony, the polished raised section pressed exactly against my sex, just where the pleasure nub was hidden in my petals.

“Well look at these two pretty sluts, Kyleson.” Manton's cruel laugh filled small room as he wrapped more rope around my wrists. “A matched pair of nigger slaves that aren't so uppity anymore.” In no time at all he threaded the rope through a cast iron ring above my head put there exactly for that reason.

When Manton put his weight on the rope, the cord tightened sharply, and my body was stretched upwards and forward against the polished knob that pressed hard against my sex. Even now, hours later as I dutifully record the event, I can feel both the pain and pleasure that wracked my tender body.

“Who's your master now, ****?” It was Mr. Kyleson addressing his new possession that brought me back to the moment.

“You are, Massah Kyleson.” Angelica's answer was loud and quick, but apparently Mr. Kyleson wasn't satisfied because the training whip lashed out across my partner's belly and breasts making her scream out just like I had in the other room.

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My own body jerked in sympathy with hers as we writhed against the pony. Were it not for the fact that my arms were stretched up above my head the polished knob of wood against my womanhood felt much like when I used my maple brush handle to pleasure myself. With each wiggle and squirm the protrusion worked me like a lover's foreplay, in spite of my shame and anger I could not ignore the pleasure I was starting to feel. Angelica however had to deal with the pain of the whip, as well as pleasure and she had been riding the pony for much longer than I.

“Please, Massah Kyleson, I be yo good **** girl!” Her whole body twisted on the smooth wood as she pleaded with her new owner. “I be da best nigga ho you can evah ask fo!”

It is then that I see Mr. Kyleson hand the short whip to my cousin who swung the lash experimentally as he stepped forward to my side.