The kinky Wild West Festival was held at the private farm where I ran in the spring Slave Hunt. I fretted about my last minute “costume” which consisted solely of a white Mexican-ish patterned dress and my hair in braids. But every time I worried that I wasn’t wearing the appropriate thing to a kink event, I saw bared breasts and dangling cocks in the first five minutes of my arrival and I was instantly reassured. The festival centered around cabins that sat in a semicircle around a big barn that featured an open play space on the second floor. Imagine a kinkster’s dream play/torture space fronted by a Wild West facade. There was a cathouse and a jail, and people had set up tables in the center full of various games and services they offered for sale.
The Sybian pony rides, offered by Dancer and his partner D, were held upstairs in the cathouse and happened to be one of the few buildings that had sweet, sweet air conditioning. The Sybian sat beneath a winch, a pair of leather cuffs dangling from the ceiling. The setup wasn’t intimidating, but the Sybian occupied the center of the room. There would be no hiding once I got on it, and this thought inspired an odd mix of anxiety and excitement in my gut. I couldn’t tell if I was thrilled or appalled, and maybe it was both things that got my juices flowing.
I wasn’t uncomfortable with public sex. My inner exhibitionist adored an audience, but the Sybian was uncharted territory. And to make my anxiety a little more present, I was at the tail end of my period. Typically my period rarely stopped my sex life. However, public masturbation on someone else’s equipment struck me as the wrong place to be during Auntie Flo’s visit. I was barely bleeding, but when I orgasmed (and I typically orgasmed A LOT) I tended to gush blood like a crime scene. As much as I wanted to please LH and ride the Sybian, I was also anxious about my body betraying me and grossing out/offending everyone within sight. LH, being a practical dude, asked Dancer point blank if it mattered that I was on my period. Dancer, also being a practical dude, said that it didn’t matter to them. So there ya go. Decision made. Heather was going to have her pony ride.
I knew I was feeling nervous, because I was obsessing about logistics. Did I want a medium cock or large? Slender or beer can size? Did I wear my dress or go naked? Everyone was being accommodating so that I would feel comfortable, but that only served to contribute to my unease. What would have helped the most were specific commands, but I was too jittery to articulate that need. Finally I gave a mental ‘fuck it’ and stripped. A condom and a lot of lube went on the dildo jutting up from the barrel of the Sybian which was covered in sheets of plastic wrap. Just before I was clipped into cuffs, D offered me a blindfold.
Part of the rush of the experience would be knowing that I was being watched. I didn’t want to stare at the people around me, but I wanted to be aware of them. At that point, people had begun trickling into the room to see what was happening (and I think air conditioning was a big part of the allure). It took me a second to realize that I was the show, but I was distracted from my nervousness by Dancer’s instructions to sit on the Sybian.
There was no graceful way to get on the thing, but that could been because I was a newb and had a bad case of the butterflies. I threw my leg over the barrel, but it would take an experienced user to get one’s vagina on the dildo at the exact same time. I almost yelled BULLSEYE when I finally got it right. Dancer adjusted the barrel up and down until I was sitting with my weight fully on it. I made sure that I had some wiggle room, though, so I could lift up on my toes if the sensations got too intense and I needed a breather.
LH’s hands were warm on my back as Dancer dialed up the Sybian. My fears fell away as I felt the familiar pre-orgasm sensations build in my body. If there was one thing I knew how to do in life, it was how to orgasm. The Sybian felt like my best vibrator on steroids, its speed going from 0 to 100 in a heartbeat. If I shifted my hips forward, my clit was vibrated directly as the dildo twirled inside me. I felt a burst of adrenaline and was on the verge of my first orgasm within minutes, and then suddenly Dancer cut the power. He edged me a second time as all the sadists in the room laughed at my disappointed expression. LH said, “that never gets old.” Damn sadists.
Finally the teasing stopped, and Dancer got down to business. I’ve been trained to announce my orgasms, and that rule didn’t change in public. I also swear like a sailor when I’m coming. I’m not entirely certain what I shouted as wave after wave of pleasure washed through me, but I should probably go to confession.
At one point both Dancer and D pinched my nipples while LH caned me from behind. Beautiful pain washed through me, tinged with the pressure of another growing O. Dancer grabbed my chin to make me hold his gaze, and an orgasm bloomed in the intimate space between us. LH hit me on the ass again with a wooden slapper, the stinging pain boosting me towards a double orgasm. I was undone in orgasmic increments; all I knew was the glorious pain delivered by my owner behind me, the sensation of being impaled and stimulated at the same time between my legs, and the power of the man holding the dial in front of me. I felt hands stroking and pinching and hurting as my body quivered and my heart soared on the wings of endorphins.
I got a break from the intensity when D offered me a cold bottle of water. I almost cried from relief, and she fanned me as I gulped down the icy liquid. My hands remained cuffed, my torso stretched between the winch and the Sybian. I adored the glorious torment of being a pleasure toy for other hands and other wills. Although I benefited most directly from the pleasure of the Sybian, it was not within my control. And that’s what got me off the most. I didn’t care who saw me being played like some sexual instrument. In fact, my experience was amplified because I was able to share it. Perhaps it was a function of ego, but I loved knowing that my scene was witnessed. I felt joy and lust in abundance, and in the heat of all those orgasms, I wanted to share them with the world.
Afterwards LH cuddled me as my brain eventually returned to my body. He called me his glorious whore as I smiled contentedly against his chest. Several people approached me to offer thanks for the great scene and new spank bank material, and I was thrilled to know that others genuinely enjoyed it. One of my favorite comments came from a fellow submissive. She said that it was obvious that I had been trained well, because I announced my orgasms and thanked the Tops in the scene for them. (When I was able to think, that is.) I rode the glow of my scene for the rest of the day, and neither the intense heat or a brief visit to the Wild West jail managed to diminish it.