Horsing Around

This is only a fantasy of mine. But it has been prompted partly by things that really happened, real people and real experiences I have had later, which I have been able to build into the story, and partly by something, which just recently I found myself dreaming of.

What prompted this fantasy was a visit to a farm owned by one of our friends. They persuaded me to go riding, a thing I haven’t done for many years. My friend’s husband was very interested in me, talked a lot about the horses and asked where I had learned to ride and so on. Reliving my riding years during the day, it must have been very much on my mind when we returned, because this little story popped into my mind during the night and I have spent the time since getting it down on paper.

Like so many other girls at that age, I was into horses when I was about 14. I shared a horse with a lady called Fiona who was in her mid thirties. I used to call her Lady Fi. It was a good arrangement that lasted about 4 years. It was good because, during that time I was away a lot with the school and on summer holidays. During the year I was in the US, she was working from home and was only too happy to have the horse all to herself that year. On the other hand, when I was home, I did more than my share of looking after the horse, so it worked out very well.

During the years, I also became very close friends with her. She didn’t appear to be much older than I was, despite the fact that she was almost twice my age. I could talk to her about everything, and she used to laugh at me when she heard me talking to the horse about my boyfriends. She taught me a lot about boys, and about myself for that matter. She had married early, and had divorced early and had no children. I think she thought of me as the daughter she could have had. But to me, she was as far from a mother (or at least my own mother) as you could imagine. She also had an active sex life and we often shared experiences and feelings. Even though my mother accepted that I was sleeping with my boyfriends, I could certainly not talk to her about the details of my sex life.

The name of the horse was Bono; he was large, black and very beautiful. We had him on a farm, a very nice place close to the sea, lakes and forest, so there were fine opportunities for riding alone in nature, which I enjoyed a lot.

Another true aspect of this story is that I was in love with the horse! I had the horse during the years when I began to be very much into relationships with boys; but for some reason I felt the horse was my best friend. When I went riding, I used to have long intimate conversations with him, talking to him about my friends and imagining that he would give me advice on how to go ahead with different boys. I loved the strong feeling of closeness when we rode together along the isolated paths in the forests, and I have to admit, that more often than what was probably good for me, I was getting off while riding. It was just so easy to ride the handle of the whip and let the motion of the horse do the rest.

When I was out in the early morning with no risk (or at least very little) of meeting people, I would unbutton my shirt and enjoy the exposure of the cool morning air as I was getting off on the whip. I had dreams of riding into the forest naked, but never had the nerve. Topless was bad enough, but I could quickly button up the shirt. Getting riding trousers on and off involved getting off the horse, and I simply didn’t dare do that.

Another part of the background to this story was the character James. He was a jockey and was always helping out on the farm, where he lived in a room on the first floor of the farmhouse. He was very nice and good-looking, but he also had a mean streak. He was not from a very good background, and my father really disliked him, practically forbidding me to have anything to do with him.

This, of course, only made it so much more exciting. He was 25 when I started to ride, and he always ‘helped’ the girls when he could get away with it; I know of several other girls who had had relationships with him. They all complained afterward that he had been rough, that sex had been fantastic, but they didn’t dare to see him again. I always wondered what he did to the girls that scared them away like that.

Okay, that’s enough of the background. Let the story unfold. . .

We were going off on vacation and we were going to be leaving the house around nine in the morning. I was supposed to have groomed Bono and given him a last ride before going away for three weeks, but I had gone out with a new friend the day before and hadn’t managed to get home in time. My father, as usual, was upset with me. He couldn’t understand how I could be so irresponsible. Between my father’s wrath and my own bad conscience towards Bono, I decided to get up really early, go for a good ride, groom him and clean his box in time to be back for a shower and breakfast before leaving.

I couldn’t believe I had made such a stupid decision when the alarm clock went off at four thirty in the morning. I had been in bed for less than four hours, and on top of that I had slept badly, dreaming of the guy I had met, and frustrated that I wasn’t going to see him during the time we were away.

It was already light, being shortly after midsummer; there was a slight mist over the ground, but I knew that would soon clear as the sun gathered strength and burnt it away. I quickly dressed in just a pair of dirty cut-offs, my riding bra and a simple T-shirt. I wasn’t intending to go for a long ride, and I didn’t want to clean the box in my good riding clothes. I didn’t usually do both on the same day. On my bike, it was only a short ride of ten minutes through the back alleys, across one field and through a bit of the forest. I rode fast, knowing the road like the back of my hand.

The farm seemed deserted at that time of the morning; I don’t think I had ever been there so early before. I was rather surprised, however, to see the stable door open and no sign of Bono. As I was standing there, still wondering where he could be and what to do now, I heard faint sounds from the large rink building where we usually exercised the horses in the winter. I dropped my bicycle and crossed the yard to the large gate and peeked inside. Down the other end I could see Fiona, practising dressage, as she liked to do with Bono. I never did that, I preferred riding in nature.

Quietly, I went up to the elevated wooden walkway encircling the soft, and rather dirty area in the middle of the rink. Fiona still hadn’t seen me, so I just stood quietly admiring Bono’s steps. I didn’t even know he could do that sort of thing so well. Fiona wore only a loose-hanging dress, and I was just wondering why she was riding in clothes like that, when she turned Bono and saw me. Across the rink I could clearly hear her gasp of surprise as she saw me. She stopped Bono and just sat there staring at me. I waved and called out to her. She slowly rode Bono over to the edge of the spectator area where I was standing.

“Jenny,” she said, appearing all guilty and somewhat out of breath, “What are you doing here so early? I don’t think I have ever seen anybody here so early, and you of all people!”

I didn’t really think that was fair. I had been there early before; at least as early as eight. But I guess she meant as early as this, even though eight was very early for me.

“Well, I didn’t make it down here yesterday. I was going to give Bono a good-bye workout, and give him a proper grooming.”

As I spoke I was staring at Fiona’s dress. It seemed as if she had just come straight from a party. It certainly wasn’t a riding dress. It was very thin; I could clearly see her breasts through it, which also surprised me. She was the one who had taught me to always wear a bra when riding, both because otherwise it was very uncomfortable, and also because she said it ruined the tissue so you got sagging breasts much too early.

“But what are you doing down here so early, and dressed like that. Did you come straight from a party or what?” Our relationship was such that it was perfectly okay to ask a question like that.

“No, I often come down here this early. And I love doing dressage dressed like this,” she said with a funny smile.

I didn’t quite know what to say.

“Oh well, maybe I will clean out the box first.”

“No, wait a minute Jenny. I . . . ” she started, and then stopped, blushing. “This is kind of embarrassing, but I have meant to show you this for some time anyway.”

I had no idea what she was talking about.

She rode Bono over, close to the wooden planks, and started to get off the horse, with what I thought was a very awkward movement. The hem of the dress caught on something on the saddle as she swung her leg over, revealing the fact that she was wearing nothing under the dress. As she ripped the dress loose, I was still looking at her bare bum, but quickly looked up, somewhat flushed, when she turned around.

She was blushing even more than I was, but that was only until I noticed what the dress had caught on. Still swaying slightly, was the largest dildo I had ever seen, completely lifelike, even down to the colouring and veins. It was still shining wet. I had only recently had some experiences with dildos, but they had been the plain ordinary ones; I had never seen one like this before – and certainly not one mounted like this. I went completely hot and must have blushed like a tomato, because Fiona laughed a little nervous laugh when she saw my reaction.


“Don’t look so frightened, it’s okay,” she said with a smile.

“I’m sorry I came down here when you were doing . . . that. . .” I couldn’t find the words. This was terribly embarrassing. I felt it was all wrong that I should have seen her doing that. At the same time I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the dildo, getting me all warm and soft in the belly from watching it, still swaying very slightly with every move from Bono.

“It’s okay,” she repeated. “Of all the people to see it, you are the one I mind the least. As a matter of fact I was going to show it to you one day, in case you would be interested in trying it yourself. I just never got around to it. It is a little embarrassing, I admit.”

But she didn’t look embarrassed any more. Rather, she had a kind of dreamy expression on her face. “A guy I used to date made this one for me. It is an exact replica of his dick. I helped make the mould. He was very handy, but it still took him quite some time to get it ready”.

“But, if you were already fucking this guy, why did you need a replica?” I asked.

“Well, he wasn’t always the easiest guy to be with. I finally broke up with him, but I missed the sex with him so much, I finally went back to him just for the sex. He started to realise that I was hooked on the physical sex because of his size, and that it wasn’t really him I wanted. That was okay with him, but at some point he jokingly suggested that we could plant a copy of his dick on my horse, which seemed to be the only other thing I really loved. Even though it was only said as a joke, the idea grew on me. I told him, and he laughingly said I could help him make it. He gave it to me on the condition that I would grant him one wish, to be cashed in at a later stage. I agreed and have never regretted it, even though I know I will hate him, when he calls in the favour”.

She had a sly smile and looked at me daringly as she continued, “Remember how you told me you were dreaming about riding naked in the forest?”

I remembered that very well. I had come back from a ride where I had dropped my top and ridden through the dense forest. A branch had hit me and made a big mark across my shoulder and breast.