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times,” Ethan said, “men created a torture called riding the pony . Women were sometimes left on it for days, bruising their private parts from pubic bone to asshole as they moved forward and back trying to find relief.”
    Sam realized during the time her weight had been on the bar, she shifted her weight, trying to find the least painful position between pressure on her clit, her already tender pussy, and her asshole.
    Her arms were slowly pulled closer and closer together, and with the plastic around her rib cage and abdomen, and now her arms pulled so far behind her, breathing was becoming more and more difficult.
    Someone removed the contraption holding her shoulders back, which gave her no relief because now the armbinder was holding them back.
    “I intend to leave you on the pony forty-five minutes today, and I’ve made sure you’re horny when you begin. If we decide to use this as a standard consequence there’ll be no arousal beforehand, and you’ll spend a minimum of ninety minutes riding the wooden pony.”
    Sam’s body stilled as her brain parsed his words. This was what he was considering as a long-term consequence? Shit .
    “You won’t spend the entire time today under sensory deprivation.” Sam was sure it was Ethan tightening her armbinder now, as the pulling stopped when he talked. She grunted as her arms were drawn even closer together, and she pushed higher on her tiptoes to try to relieve the pressure on her tender girl-parts.
    She already hurt from clit to asshole, and it couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes. It wasn’t excruciating yet, but she’d moved past discomfort and into pain, and couldn’t imagine forty-three more minutes.
    When Ethan finally stopped pulling her arms together she felt them lifted by the end of the armbinder, and he must have tied them off to something over her head. They weren’t pulled up so far it torqued her shoulders much worse than the armbinder alone, but far enough she wouldn’t be able to lean back and touch the bar behind her.
    She couldn’t know for sure, but she had the sense he stepped away as he continued talking. “I love watching you go up and down, forward and back. I don’t know if you can get yourself off on the pony, but if you can, you have permission.”
    Sam shook her head to let him know she couldn’t orgasm, and he chuckled. “I didn’t think so, but you never know with you so I figured I should cover my bases. You’ve almost hit the five minute mark, only forty more to go.”
    Sam groaned and Ethan said, “You have no idea how sexy you are right now. I won’t fuck you right after you get off today because I know you’ll be hurting, but if I do this to you for punishment, you have to know you’ll be thoroughly fucked, possibly in both your pussy and ass, when you finally come off.”
    Sam pushed up to her toes again, but the spreader bar had her at an angle so she was almost entirely on her big toes unless she bent her ankles. She lasted only a minute or so before she gently lowered her weight back onto her bruised clit, held out for as long as she could and rolled her hips until her weight was on her asshole. When the wood-like texture pressed too far into the sensitive flesh she rolled forward and let her pussy — already tender from being fisted — bear her weight for a short time before she pressed back up onto her toes.
    Ethan was silent for a long time, so she only heard the annoying beat-less music and the sound of her own desperate breathing as she shifted and moved.
    It occurred to her the other two women were likely still on the bondage table, with the last submissive experiencing what it was like to be fisted by a female hand. They were all in the same room, but may as well have been miles and miles apart. Her friends had no idea what she was going through, or whether she was even still here.
    She jerked when a hand touched her shoulder, and squealed in pain as the unintentional movement pressed her