A Cock Horse" (c) Copyright, "Severin Rossetti" "2004"
hand in his, he led her up the stairs and along the corridor to the
playroom. Her haughty arrogance had annoyed him when he first mentioned
the room, the condescending way she had said ‘how interesting’ when he
had told her of his collection of toys. As If such things were beneath
her, as if such a passion on his part could be no passion at all, but
indicative of a solitary man’s sad life.
had been persuaded to see, though, if only to humour him. And now she
would learn, about passion.
are mainly Victorian in my collection," he told her, as they reached
a final shallow flight of stairs at the end of the corridor and mounted
them. "The Victorians were not the dull people they are made out to
be," he said, as he produced a key and slipped it into the lock.
"They too had their secrets, their passions, their dark
she said, stifling a yawn as she waited for him to turn the key.
"Oh yes, as dark as yours," he smiled, finally unlocking the
door, and as he pushed it inwards he caught a glint of interest in her
steel grey eyes. "After you," he gestured.
room was dimly lit, lights flickering to resemble weak yellow gas lamps,
making shadows dance slowly across the walls. In the amber gloom she could
make out cabinets and shelves bearing all manner of objects; soft toys and
tin automata, porcelain dolls and carved ivory figures. In the centre of
the room, though, dominating all and commanding her attention, was a large
wooden rocking horse.
stood the size of a pony, exquisitely carved, the wood polished and
lacquered, its mane and tail of coarse white hair.
he led her towards it.
isn’t it?" he said.
some craftsmanship there," she conceded, touching her hand to its
polished flank. The wood felt warm, as if the beast breathed, and she ran
her fingers along it. "Yes, there’s no denying its well made."
let her stroke the horse for a moment, then asked, "Would you like to
sit astride it, perhaps? Its polished flanks would feel so good against
She withdrew her hand sharply, as if the horse had snapped at her.
"Oh, I think not!" she laughed nervously.
Of course! Such childish amusements would be beneath such a haughty woman!
"Just for a moment?" he pressed. "There’s no one else to
see. And I did say the Victorians had their secrets. The horse is not all
it seems to be."
Her curiosity was piqued, she offered him a cautious smile. "Well…"
"Come on!" he grinned, his hand in the small of her back to urge
her forward. "You could be a child once again. Laugh with joy for
once, rather than out of disdain."
"I’d have to pull up my skirt, or I can’t get astride it,"
she said. "Help me?"
"Or naked perhaps?" he suggested. "Bareback riding? You
could pretend to be galloping naked through the night."
She frowned and hitched up her skirt, held out her hand to him. With his
other hand steadying the horse, he helped her climb onto it.
"Now put your feet in the stirrups, take hold of the reins," he
told her, and when she was settled took his hand from the horse. It rocked
gently beneath her weight, an inch or two forward, an inch or two back.
She smiled once more, her manner now less aloof. "I can almost feel
its heart beating between my legs."
"They say horse-riding can be exciting for a woman, all that raw
power between your thighs. Lean forward," he told her. "Take
Her fingers clenched around the leather reins, she bowed her head forward
and the horse dipped a little.
"But did you not see the hole in the saddle?" he asked, stopping
the horse’s movement for a moment.
"I did wonder," she admitted.
"About its purpose, perhaps?"
Grinning, he gave the horse’s rump a push and it rocked forward again.
And as it rocked forward, as she bent over its neck, a polished wooden
phallus slid up from the hole and slipped smoothly inside her.
"Good grief!" she gasped, her head snapping up, and the horse
rocked back so that the phallus slipped out of her.
"Nice, eh?" he asked her. "With each dip forward it slips
inside you, with each rock back it slips out. A silly place for a horse to
have a cock, I know, but…. nice?"
He had only given the horse a gentle push, and soon it came to a halt. He
looked into her face, his eyes questioning, asking…. more?
She grinned back at him.
"Okay, gently now," he said, and gave the horse another push.
It rocked, back and forth, back and forth, the phallus slipping in and out
of her seven, eight, nine times.. She gasped and tightened her thighs, but
with each rock the movements of the horse got slower, shallower.
"Does that frustrate you?" he guessed.
"Push me harder!" she demanded.
"One moment, I have an idea," he said, set the horse rocking
slowly so that the phallus just teased the lips of her cunt, and then
moved away, crossed the room.
And then, just as the horse was slowing to a halt once more, she heard him
return, his step quick, his stride urgent. She wondered, heard a ‘swish’
along with his laughter.
"How do we make the horse go faster?" he asked, and struck a
riding crop across her buttocks. "Why we beat it of course!"
She screamed as her body lurched forwards, driving the phallus deep inside
her. Again he hot her and she sobbed, moaned, with each stroke she was
made to bend lower over the horse until she was rocking back and forth in
"Gee up! Faster!" he said, and with each stroke she dipped lower
until the only thing keeping her on the horse was the wooden cock inside
her. "Ride! Ride like the wind!"
Her buttocks were stinging now, he stroked them with the crop as he let
the horse’s movements subside until it came to a rest.
"But perhaps there is a gentler way to do this?" he mused, and
she looked over her shoulder to see him taking off his clothes.
Naked, he climbed onto the horse behind her, wrapping his arms around her
and starting the horse gently rocking again. He tapped the crop lightly
against her thigh as he thrust his body against hers, increasing their
movement, then brought his face alongside hers as he whispered, kissing
her ear as he said, "But if you ride the horse and I ride you…."
"Yes?" she sighed, feeling the phallus begin to pump
rhythmically in and out of her once more.
"Perhaps you should be wearing a bridle!"
Even as she opened her mouth to protest she felt cold steel between her
teeth, leather straps around her face, binding her and cutting into her
"A bit and a bridle! Now I can ride you!" he laughed, pressing
his body hard against hers so that the rocking horse lurched forward and
the phallus drove deeper than ever into her.
Then he leaned back, pulled on her bridle so that she had to stifle a gasp
behind the bit. His added weight made the horse move faster, dip lower,
rear higher. The phallus went deeper and harder inside her and he slapped
the crop against her thigh as he urged her on. She gasped, but with
pleasure now, and each time the horse dipped low his weight bore down on
her, slamming her onto the wooden cock. It was as if the horse was alive
now and she gave herself up to the pleasure it afforded. It moved as if of
its own volition so he released the reins, moved his hands to her breasts
to pinch her nipples as they fell back, squeezed them firmly each time
they fell forward.
He kissed her neck, whispered in her ear as he galloped her to an orgasm,
she moaned in time with the rocking motion and each time the horse dipped
forward his own hardening cock now slipped up her back.
"I will come," he warned her. "Over your back, over your
His promise made her shudder, she felt him hold her tighter still, as
tight as her cunt gripped the phallus, and a cry escaped from deep inside
her as his body stiffened, trembled. He was hard and hot and wet against
her and the phallus slid in and out more slowly now, then slower still,
slower, until it slipped smoothly from her.
Then they were motionless, his embrace was soft, her heart was racing and
the power of the beast thrummed steadily between her thighs.