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Riding the Rope

I think I've written about the wooden pony and how much I hate it. My hatred of that particular punishment and torture comes from the fact it just seems to go on and on, wearing me down. My suffering is on display, and I simply can't not wriggle and rock back and forth, providing amusement to those who might be watching. The constant need to try and find some position to relieve the discomfort, along with the complete inability to get more than a few seconds of relief, combine to make a pony ride something I dread.

That said, it also has become one of Jason's favorite activities. He calls it a form of predicament bondage, because the discomfort is constant and while I can move to try and relieve it, that simply moves the discomfort to some other spot.

While on the pony, the normal position rests the majority of my weight directly on the soft flesh of my pussy. When I first start the ride, it isn't terrible, it is uncomfortable but bearable. But as time goes on the pain grows, the aching increases, the digging of harsh corners into my flesh makes moving inevitable.

And so I rock back; with ankles pinioned up off the floor or with weights dragging them down, it is the only thing I can do. Rocking back shifts the weight from my pussy and onto my ass. Depending on the pony, the wood will spread my ass cheeks wide, or press deep into my anus. Regardless, leaning back onto my ass relieves the pain in my pussy (at least most of it), and feels better for a while.

The position of leaning back is more difficult; my back and stomach muscles will cramp quickly and of course, my ass will hurt. The wood presses into the flesh of my buttocks and between my legs as much as on my pussy, and will finally be enough to force me to rock forward. There is also a limit to how far back I can rock, because my arms are usually tied behind me, and up in a semi-strappado. Leaning back just aggravates the discomfort in my shoulders by raising my arms higher.

But my pussy will still be sore; bruised from sitting on the hard wood, and so I will continue to rock forward, leaning my hips until the wood of the pony presses the front of my pussy, and higher into my groin and pelvis. I usually can't hold this position for long; while my stomach, shoulders and back like it, my pubic bone presses against my flesh and smashes it, causing pain to grow fast. Plus, this tends to smash my clit directly, an unpleasant experience, though if I want to wriggle a bit I can actually get rather aroused. Jason loves to watch me do this, because he can see my nipples grow hard while I am moaning from pain.

So, rather quickly, I will rock back onto my pussy.

And so on.  As time and the torture goes on, I get progressively more desperate for a good position. My rocking and wriggling happens faster. I have even tried rocking back and forth as fast as I can go continuously, but it doesn't help. There comes a point where it no longer matters where I am positioned, it hurts. At that point I begin to lose my mind, and cry.

Sometimes during punishment and torture the smallest things can make a difference. One thing I find important and is a kindness that Jason sometimes will do for me, is to put my hair in a pony tail. While riding the pony I inevitably sweat, and my face will be moist. When I rock the hair sticks to the skin of my face and gets very annoying. With my hands bound behind me I can't brush it out of the way. Having my hair in a pony actually helps quite a bit.

Throughout this process I am on display. Jason loves to watch me suffer in this manner, and has even invited a neighbor over to view the process. I rock, and moan, and show my breasts hanging forward and my nipples hardening, and slowly become more desperate, all the while being watched, my discomfort the pleasure of others.  It is, to put it bluntly, humiliating. It's part of the punishment.

When I rode the rope for the first time, I thought it would be better, and in some ways it was. What I did to be punished isn't relevant; I had embarrassed Jason in public and deserved to be punished. I accepted this. Perhaps deep in my subconscious I had misbehaved because I wished to be punished. I leave this to others.

For this punishment Jason had invited our neighbors to come observe. We play with our neighbors at times. The couple next door is in a rather strict femdom relationship, and the couple across the street is very fluid in their willingness to try new things when it comes to fetishes.

I came into the garage area that is filled with some of Jason's more elaborate toys, collared and led by a leash. Our neighbors sat or stood casually watching as Jason ordered me to undress.  I unbuttoned my blouse, revealing my C cup breasts in my bra. I was wearing a skirt, which I slipped off, exposing my panties. Shoes were easy.  Stripping in this manner is easy for me, especially in front of my neighbors; they have seen me naked before and I sort of enjoy the attention. I especially like Diane, a voluptuous blond in her early 30s. One day I hope to find a reason to spend some real intimate time with her.

"Remove your bra and panties," Jason instructed. My bra unhooked, releasing my breasts which sagged only a bit. My breasts are still quite firm. The final article of clothing was my panties, which slid off easily. In doing so, I raised my leg, very aware that I was exposing my pussy to full view. I blushed just a bit then stood with my hands to my sides. My natural tendency to cover myself out of modesty was suppressed as disobedient. My body is Jason's, and I must not cover myself in front of him.

"Stand here, in the middle, legs apart."

I did as instructed, not knowing what was to happen. The neighbors sipped wine I had served them when they had arrived.


Jason took my wrists behind me and tied them together quickly and easily (he is fantastic at fast and secure rope work). I heard him rummaging behind me and then felt him take my tied wrists and thread something between them, just above where they were tied. It was another rope, which he then threaded from where it crossed my wrists down between my legs. Sliding the excess slack from the rope, it slid between my thighs, arousing me a little.

Who am I trying to kid. The whole process was turning me on. I am a bit of an exhibitionist. I admit it.

When the slack in the rope was pulled through, it pressed tightly up into the crack of my pussy. I let out a soft "oh..." of surprise and slight discomfort as Jason walked to the other side of the garage, pulling the rope up tight as he went. The rope pressed harder into my pussy, increasingly uncomfortable. Reaching the other end of the garage space, Jason reached the rope up to an eye ring in the wall at about chest height, threaded the rope through and pulled it tight, clamping it in place.

"Owwwww," I couldn't help grunting. The rope jerked deep into my soft flesh, actually sliding deep enough that I could feel it slide against my vagina walls. My wrists tied in the back pulled the rope up through my ass crack, completing the impalement. I lifted up on my toes, trying to relieve the pressure a bit.

"Good girl. I like to see you on your toes. I always makes your calves look so beautiful." Jason was pleased but I was uncomfortable. Not seriously in pain, but definitely not happy.

Erin and Jim stood and came over to where they could observe my roped and spread labia clearly. Examining me, Erin exclaimed that she loved this bondage position, and wondered what Jim might look like riding a rope. Jim turned pale at this but said nothing.

"Now, Siobhan. You can be released from riding the rope at any time. You simply have to make your way to where the rope is clamped, and unclamp it. There, on the wall. On the other side of the garage." Jason pointed to where he had just fasted the rope.

I contemplated the predicament. Jason wasn't about to let me out of this easily, and I began to see the problem. I would have to walk about 20 feet with the rope sliding through my pussy. Ouch. Like, really ouch.

As I looked closer, I saw the rope had knots tied in it. About every foot or so was a nice, nasty knot, ready to bite into my pussy and tear the sensitive flesh. Just.... ouch. Thanks to the rope being threaded through my arms above my wrists, the knots would also slide between my ass cheeks, giving me a nice buggering. I sighed and began to walk.

I started slowly and immediately stopped. The rope was a lot tighter than I thought, and really hurt as I slid across it. As if to underscore my discovery, Diane came over, examining my ass, and said, "That must really scrape and hurt."

"Yes. It does!" I rolled my eyes and took another step. The rope pulled through my labia, up between my ass cheeks and past my arms behind me.

Another step and I felt the first knot touch the front of my pussy. Stopping for a moment and gathering my determination, I breathed and stepped forward. The knot pressed against my clit really hard, slid over the hardness of my pubic bone and rested in my vagina.

"Ah!" I sort of grunted. Pushing forward against, the knot slid over my perineum and smashed into my anus as if demanding in. "Oh, shit," I moaned involuntarily.

Jason laughed at the irony of that statement as I proceeded forward and the now slightly wet and slimy knot slid over the ropes tying my wrists and was left behind.

My calves were giving out and I had to lower myself onto my flat feet. It didn't actually make the discomfort from the rope much worse, because it stretched slightly.

I leaned back this time, trying to lower my wrists and thus reduce the pull on the rope between my ass cheeks. It worked a little, though it was a bit humiliating for I was thrusting my hips and pubic area out and both Jim and Steve thought that was especially fun. Nevertheless I pushed forward, the foot of rope sliding through my flesh until the next knot slid past my clit and into my vagina, and then lodged nicely in my anus before sliding past and out.

"Oooowwwww.... damnit!" I grunted. This one had felt worse than the last.  I pushed forward, knowing I would have to endure the scraping at some point. Might as well get it over with.

My labia was feeling hot, no doubt because it was beginning to swell and inflame from the irritation. It was also growing more sensitive. I felt something trickling down my leg, and wondered if it was blood or just sweat. Probably just sweat. It was warm, but the pain of punishment usually makes me sweat. Going past the next knot was enough and I stopped for a moment.

"Erin. I think Siobhan is having trouble motivating herself to reach the end of her rope. Do you think you can help?" Jason talked sweetly, but his meaning was clear. Moments later I felt a sharp stinging slap on my ass where Erin had used a riding crop. I yelp just a bit and moved forward. Each time I slowed, Erin would strike my ass or boobs with the crop.  Erin is really a dominant woman. I feel sorry for Jim sometimes, though I am thoroughly submissive to Jason and should understand his situation.

Dragging along, I realized the pain and discomfort of the rope was getting worse. It wasn't just because I was becoming swollen and sensitive (which I was), it was also because as I got closer to where the rope reached the wall, it rose up toward the ring. The pressure on my pussy increased, driving, cutting deeply into my crack. I literally began to feel like I was being fucked by that rope, but I kept going.  I had to.

As I got close to the wall, the rope rose sharply up, cutting and dragging hard against my clit; it also pressed deep between my legs and up between my ass cheeks. I leaned back as far as I could, trying to get the right angle to relieve the pressure, and get closer, but finally I felt I had gotten as close as I could.

I was faced with a predicament. Jason had instructed that I release the clamp that held the rope in place on the wall, but that clamp was in the wall in front of me. My wrists were tied behind my back, unable to reach forward to unclamp it. I turned to Jason.

"Jason, please sir, may I have my arms freed so that I may unclamp the rope?" I asked as politely and calmly as I could, respectful, though tears were welling up in my eyes.

"No, Siobhan. I know it will be difficult, but you need to get the clamp yourself."

My heart sank. The tears came for real now, trickling down my face. How on earth was I supposed to get around and reach the clamp? I stood staring, the flesh between my legs throbbing slightly. My calves were cramping, I had been up on my toes for so long. The neighbors were still there, watching, enjoying my suffering in this predicament, but I had virtually forgotten them.

Finally, I took a deep breath and did what I knew I had to do. Slowly, I began to turn my body so that my shoulders shifted and arms came around toward the wall. As I did so, the rope twisted across my genitals and pressed against my thighs. It was so tight it was almost impossible to move, but somehow I did it. Straining, pressing, pushing, I rose even higher on my toes, sobbing from the pain in my legs. Lifting my hands higher pulled the rope even tighter, and I thought for a moment I would lose my balance.

"AAAAAGGGHHHH!!!" I screamed when I sank back down onto the rope, my first attempt at grabbing the clamp unsuccessful. My feet went flat on the floor, my pussy taking almost all the weight of my body on the rope. I lifted off again, twisting, pulling, maneuvering in spite of the blood that was being cut off from my aching legs because of the rope twisting around my thighs, straining my back to get my arms around, leaning forward as much as I could to get my hands higher behind me, and finally my fingers felt the metal latch.

I grabbed the latch to keep from losing my grip on it, and pulled.  The rope suddenly released, falling down to the floor. I followed it, collapsing in sweet relief. It was over. I sobbed on the floor as my audience applauded.

My labia, vagina, rectum, and perineum were all bruised and raw with abrasions. I couldn't sit for the next 24 hours, and simply lay on my back naked with my legs spread. Jason applied some soothing salve which made the area feel a lot better.

Riding the rope was a bad punishment. I am not sure which is worse, the wooden pony or the rope. I suppose whichever one I am enduring at the moment is worse.


I think I've written about the wooden pony and how much I hate it. My hatred of that particular punishment and torture comes from the fact it just seems to go on and on, wearing me down. My suffering is on display, and I simply can't not wriggle and rock back and forth, providing amusement to those who might be watching. The constant need to try and find some position to relieve the discomfort, along with the complete inability to get more than a few seconds of relief, combine to make a pony ride something I dread.

That said, it also has become one of Jason's favorite activities. He calls it a form of predicament bondage, because the discomfort is constant and while I can move to try and relieve it, that simply moves the discomfort to some other spot.

While on the pony, the normal position rests the majority of my weight directly on the soft flesh of my pussy. When I first start the ride, it isn't terrible, it is uncomfortable but bearable. But as time goes on the pain grows, the aching increases, the digging of harsh corners into my flesh makes moving inevitable.

And so I rock back; with ankles pinioned up off the floor or with weights dragging them down, it is the only thing I can do. Rocking back shifts the weight from my pussy and onto my ass. Depending on the pony, the wood will spread my ass cheeks wide, or press deep into my anus. Regardless, leaning back onto my ass relieves the pain in my pussy (at least most of it), and feels better for a while.

The position of leaning back is more difficult; my back and stomach muscles will cramp quickly and of course, my ass will hurt. The wood presses into the flesh of my buttocks and between my legs as much as on my pussy, and will finally be enough to force me to rock forward. There is also a limit to how far back I can rock, because my arms are usually tied behind me, and up in a semi-strappado. Leaning back just aggravates the discomfort in my shoulders by raising my arms higher.

But my pussy will still be sore; bruised from sitting on the hard wood, and so I will continue to rock forward, leaning my hips until the wood of the pony presses the front of my pussy, and higher into my groin and pelvis. I usually can't hold this position for long; while my stomach, shoulders and back like it, my pubic bone presses against my flesh and smashes it, causing pain to grow fast. Plus, this tends to smash my clit directly, an unpleasant experience, though if I want to wriggle a bit I can actually get rather aroused. Jason loves to watch me do this, because he can see my nipples grow hard while I am moaning from pain.

So, rather quickly, I will rock back onto my pussy.

And so on.  As time and the torture goes on, I get progressively more desperate for a good position. My rocking and wriggling happens faster. I have even tried rocking back and forth as fast as I can go continuously, but it doesn't help. There comes a point where it no longer matters where I am positioned, it hurts. At that point I begin to lose my mind, and cry.

Sometimes during punishment and torture the smallest things can make a difference. One thing I find important and is a kindness that Jason sometimes will do for me, is to put my hair in a pony tail. While riding the pony I inevitably sweat, and my face will be moist. When I rock the hair sticks to the skin of my face and gets very annoying. With my hands bound behind me I can't brush it out of the way. Having my hair in a pony actually helps quite a bit.

Throughout this process I am on display. Jason loves to watch me suffer in this manner, and has even invited a neighbor over to view the process. I rock, and moan, and show my breasts hanging forward and my nipples hardening, and slowly become more desperate, all the while being watched, my discomfort the pleasure of others.  It is, to put it bluntly, humiliating. It's part of the punishment.

When I rode the rope for the first time, I thought it would be better, and in some ways it was. What I did to be punished isn't relevant; I had embarrassed Jason in public and deserved to be punished. I accepted this. Perhaps deep in my subconscious I had misbehaved because I wished to be punished. I leave this to others.

For this punishment Jason had invited our neighbors to come observe. We play with our neighbors at times. The couple next door is in a rather strict femdom relationship, and the couple across the street is very fluid in their willingness to try new things when it comes to fetishes.

I came into the garage area that is filled with some of Jason's more elaborate toys, collared and led by a leash. Our neighbors sat or stood casually watching as Jason ordered me to undress.  I unbuttoned my blouse, revealing my C cup breasts in my bra. I was wearing a skirt, which I slipped off, exposing my panties. Shoes were easy.  Stripping in this manner is easy for me, especially in front of my neighbors; they have seen me naked before and I sort of enjoy the attention. I especially like Diane, a voluptuous blond in her early 30s. One day I hope to find a reason to spend some real intimate time with her.

"Remove your bra and panties," Jason instructed. My bra unhooked, releasing my breasts which sagged only a bit. My breasts are still quite firm. The final article of clothing was my panties, which slid off easily. In doing so, I raised my leg, very aware that I was exposing my pussy to full view. I blushed just a bit then stood with my hands to my sides. My natural tendency to cover myself out of modesty was suppressed as disobedient. My body is Jason's, and I must not cover myself in front of him.

"Stand here, in the middle, legs apart."

I did as instructed, not knowing what was to happen. The neighbors sipped wine I had served them when they had arrived.


Jason took my wrists behind me and tied them together quickly and easily (he is fantastic at fast and secure rope work). I heard him rummaging behind me and then felt him take my tied wrists and thread something between them, just above where they were tied. It was another rope, which he then threaded from where it crossed my wrists down between my legs. Sliding the excess slack from the rope, it slid between my thighs, arousing me a little.

Who am I trying to kid. The whole process was turning me on. I am a bit of an exhibitionist. I admit it.

When the slack in the rope was pulled through, it pressed tightly up into the crack of my pussy. I let out a soft "oh..." of surprise and slight discomfort as Jason walked to the other side of the garage, pulling the rope up tight as he went. The rope pressed harder into my pussy, increasingly uncomfortable. Reaching the other end of the garage space, Jason reached the rope up to an eye ring in the wall at about chest height, threaded the rope through and pulled it tight, clamping it in place.

"Owwwww," I couldn't help grunting. The rope jerked deep into my soft flesh, actually sliding deep enough that I could feel it slide against my vagina walls. My wrists tied in the back pulled the rope up through my ass crack, completing the impalement. I lifted up on my toes, trying to relieve the pressure a bit.

"Good girl. I like to see you on your toes. I always makes your calves look so beautiful." Jason was pleased but I was uncomfortable. Not seriously in pain, but definitely not happy.

Erin and Jim stood and came over to where they could observe my roped and spread labia clearly. Examining me, Erin exclaimed that she loved this bondage position, and wondered what Jim might look like riding a rope. Jim turned pale at this but said nothing.

"Now, Siobhan. You can be released from riding the rope at any time. You simply have to make your way to where the rope is clamped, and unclamp it. There, on the wall. On the other side of the garage." Jason pointed to where he had just fasted the rope.

I contemplated the predicament. Jason wasn't about to let me out of this easily, and I began to see the problem. I would have to walk about 20 feet with the rope sliding through my pussy. Ouch. Like, really ouch.

As I looked closer, I saw the rope had knots tied in it. About every foot or so was a nice, nasty knot, ready to bite into my pussy and tear the sensitive flesh. Just.... ouch. Thanks to the rope being threaded through my arms above my wrists, the knots would also slide between my ass cheeks, giving me a nice buggering. I sighed and began to walk.

I started slowly and immediately stopped. The rope was a lot tighter than I thought, and really hurt as I slid across it. As if to underscore my discovery, Diane came over, examining my ass, and said, "That must really scrape and hurt."

"Yes. It does!" I rolled my eyes and took another step. The rope pulled through my labia, up between my ass cheeks and past my arms behind me.

Another step and I felt the first knot touch the front of my pussy. Stopping for a moment and gathering my determination, I breathed and stepped forward. The knot pressed against my clit really hard, slid over the hardness of my pubic bone and rested in my vagina.

"Ah!" I sort of grunted. Pushing forward against, the knot slid over my perineum and smashed into my anus as if demanding in. "Oh, shit," I moaned involuntarily.

Jason laughed at the irony of that statement as I proceeded forward and the now slightly wet and slimy knot slid over the ropes tying my wrists and was left behind.

My calves were giving out and I had to lower myself onto my flat feet. It didn't actually make the discomfort from the rope much worse, because it stretched slightly.

I leaned back this time, trying to lower my wrists and thus reduce the pull on the rope between my ass cheeks. It worked a little, though it was a bit humiliating for I was thrusting my hips and pubic area out and both Jim and Steve thought that was especially fun. Nevertheless I pushed forward, the foot of rope sliding through my flesh until the next knot slid past my clit and into my vagina, and then lodged nicely in my anus before sliding past and out.

"Oooowwwww.... damnit!" I grunted. This one had felt worse than the last.  I pushed forward, knowing I would have to endure the scraping at some point. Might as well get it over with.

My labia was feeling hot, no doubt because it was beginning to swell and inflame from the irritation. It was also growing more sensitive. I felt something trickling down my leg, and wondered if it was blood or just sweat. Probably just sweat. It was warm, but the pain of punishment usually makes me sweat. Going past the next knot was enough and I stopped for a moment.

"Erin. I think Siobhan is having trouble motivating herself to reach the end of her rope. Do you think you can help?" Jason talked sweetly, but his meaning was clear. Moments later I felt a sharp stinging slap on my ass where Erin had used a riding crop. I yelp just a bit and moved forward. Each time I slowed, Erin would strike my ass or boobs with the crop.  Erin is really a dominant woman. I feel sorry for Jim sometimes, though I am thoroughly submissive to Jason and should understand his situation.

Dragging along, I realized the pain and discomfort of the rope was getting worse. It wasn't just because I was becoming swollen and sensitive (which I was), it was also because as I got closer to where the rope reached the wall, it rose up toward the ring. The pressure on my pussy increased, driving, cutting deeply into my crack. I literally began to feel like I was being fucked by that rope, but I kept going.  I had to.

As I got close to the wall, the rope rose sharply up, cutting and dragging hard against my clit; it also pressed deep between my legs and up between my ass cheeks. I leaned back as far as I could, trying to get the right angle to relieve the pressure, and get closer, but finally I felt I had gotten as close as I could.

I was faced with a predicament. Jason had instructed that I release the clamp that held the rope in place on the wall, but that clamp was in the wall in front of me. My wrists were tied behind my back, unable to reach forward to unclamp it. I turned to Jason.

"Jason, please sir, may I have my arms freed so that I may unclamp the rope?" I asked as politely and calmly as I could, respectful, though tears were welling up in my eyes.

"No, Siobhan. I know it will be difficult, but you need to get the clamp yourself."

My heart sank. The tears came for real now, trickling down my face. How on earth was I supposed to get around and reach the clamp? I stood staring, the flesh between my legs throbbing slightly. My calves were cramping, I had been up on my toes for so long. The neighbors were still there, watching, enjoying my suffering in this predicament, but I had virtually forgotten them.

Finally, I took a deep breath and did what I knew I had to do. Slowly, I began to turn my body so that my shoulders shifted and arms came around toward the wall. As I did so, the rope twisted across my genitals and pressed against my thighs. It was so tight it was almost impossible to move, but somehow I did it. Straining, pressing, pushing, I rose even higher on my toes, sobbing from the pain in my legs. Lifting my hands higher pulled the rope even tighter, and I thought for a moment I would lose my balance.

"AAAAAGGGHHHH!!!" I screamed when I sank back down onto the rope, my first attempt at grabbing the clamp unsuccessful. My feet went flat on the floor, my pussy taking almost all the weight of my body on the rope. I lifted off again, twisting, pulling, maneuvering in spite of the blood that was being cut off from my aching legs because of the rope twisting around my thighs, straining my back to get my arms around, leaning forward as much as I could to get my hands higher behind me, and finally my fingers felt the metal latch.

I grabbed the latch to keep from losing my grip on it, and pulled.  The rope suddenly released, falling down to the floor. I followed it, collapsing in sweet relief. It was over. I sobbed on the floor as my audience applauded.

My labia, vagina, rectum, and perineum were all bruised and raw with abrasions. I couldn't sit for the next 24 hours, and simply lay on my back naked with my legs spread. Jason applied some soothing salve which made the area feel a lot better.

Riding the rope was a bad punishment. I am not sure which is worse, the wooden pony or the rope. I suppose whichever one I am enduring at the moment is worse.


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