I stomped grumpily into the nearest shelter while I decided what to do. Instantly my nostrils pricked with pleasure. The place was suffused with my favourite smell. Leather. The room was lined with gleaming saddles and bridles, shiny metallic buckles and snaffle bits, belts and harnesses and whips.
And in the darkest corner sat a huge Wild West style saddle strapped to a kind of wooden bucking bronco. It was big and wide as an armchair. It had a huge, ornate pommel rearing up in front. That’s for people like Clint Eastwood to idly rest their hands. I glanced out of the window. I was in the middle of nowhere. I looked back at the saddle. God, it looked so comfortable. I walked over the wooden floor, scuffing up sawdust, climbed aboard the wooden horse and swung my leg over the saddle. The flat leather seat felt warm as an animal.
I wriggled into place, hemmed in by the high back and the fat pommel as if I was about to ride into battle. Now I was astride it, my legs spread wide to get comfortable, my skirt stretched taught over the tops of my thighs, my knickers pressing on the wide seat. No wonder cowboys had bandy legs. If I pressed downwards, my pussy squashed against the leather, spreading the puffy lips open. Just flimsy pink silk separating them from the musky saddle. Think of all the bottoms, mostly male, that had straddled this seat. The soft balls hiding inside those button flies, the cocks resting there, safe from the chafing.
I moved slightly, and the headless bronco dipped forwards, tipped back, started rocking. A kind of grown-up’s rocking horse! My legs were flopping about, feet dangling in the air, but I didn’t want to stop. My cunt quivered faintly with the motion. The leather was heating up under me, as if I really was astride a sweaty mount, and it creaked as if speaking.
Outside, the wind rattled the stable doors and knocked over a bucket, but there was no one else here. Well, those lanky girls might come trotting back any minute. That oaf sweeping the yard was probably long gone. I glanced out of the window, imagined his dark, sardonic (or was that satanic?) face staring in at me, grasping his broom or whatever between big, dirty hands.