Tag Archives: Human Ponies


A Woman sitting on a man’s shoulders … that’s just a bit of harmless fun, right? That’s what I thought, anyway. That changed on a sunny day at the local park, when Patricia sat down on my shoulders. She locked Her feet behind my back and squeezed Her legs together.
What are you waiting for! Move!
I giggled and before long I was sweating like a melting glacier.
Come on, She groaned, slapping me across the head, FASTER!
She grabbed my hair and pulled.
Horses don’t talk! So shut up and move!
She tightened Her grip on my head and I walked the bejesus.
Stop, stop!
I obeyed immediatlely, panting to breathe.
Do you want Me to replace you? Is that it? I’m pretty sure there are plenty of guys who would love to take your place. Is that what you want?
No, Patricia, I panicked.
She slapped me on the back of my head.
What did I say about talking horses? Mm?
I opened my mouth, but wisely closed it again.
Better! Now, prove yourself worthy to Me.
And off we went. Left, right, uphill, downhill and always faster, faster, faster. She slapped me, pulled my hair and almost killed me with Her strong legs. I was sure I would faint from exhaustion, but somehow I survived the ordeal. She was not my Mistress, nor would She ever be, but She gave me one hell of a ride that day!


Take two decks of cards, shuffle them together, and divide them into two piles of 52 cards. Each draw a card and the highest card wins. Even I understood it!
If I win, Mistress Angela said, I will pick a punishment for you. In the unlikely event that you win, you can pick any punishment you like. How’s that?
I smelled a rat, I didn’t like it.
I like it, Mistress, I said with a pokerface.
She won the first three in a row, which resulted into severals kick in the groin, nipple torture and bastinado. Bloody hell, we had just started and I was bruised and battered already. But then I started to win. Not once, not twice, but over and over again. So foot-worship joined the fun, facesitting, ponyplay, ass-worship and much more. I started to love this game.
I’m starting to hate this game, She said with a clear threat in Her voice.
It’s a game of luck, Mistress, I panicked.
She drew a card: three of diamonds. I began to sweat like a waterfall in spring. I drew mine: Queen of hearts. If looks could kill, I would be living in an urn right now.
I’m going to take you to Hell and back for this, She fumed.
So there you have it! No matter how successful, important, populair, rich or victorious you might be; you are, and always will be, a fucking loser.


He was on all fours, blindfolded and had a bit in his mouth. Suddenly he felt Her weight on his back. She took the reins and said: Come on, boy! She applied some pressure with Her legs and he started to crawl. The crop lashed against his ass as She pulled the reins.
Steady! I did’t ask you to gallop, didn’t I.
He slowed down. He couldn’t see a hand in front of his face, but all it took was a light pressure from the reins to know which way to go. Well, and the relentless lashing of the crop, of course. She was a petite type of Lady, but crawling with Her on his back was pretty exhausting. His knees were almost killing him.
Let’s trot, She said, applying pressure with Her legs. Put some backbone into it, Jolly Jumper.
He did his utmost, but the crop told him he wasn’t going fast enough. He breathed heavily and drooled like a mad dog. Eventually he became so exhausted and simply collapsed on the ground.
Who the fuck told you it’s time to take a nap?
He hoped it was a rhetoric question, because he couldn’t talk. Or neigh.
She got up, pulled his blindfold off and showed him a pair of spurs with huge five-spiked rowels. He nearly fainted.
This will wake you up! Come on, horsie, time to train the passage, the piaffe and the pirouette.