Some years ago I used to visit Las Vegas each January, for the Consumer Electronics Show.
Once, I went with colleagues to a bar - I think it was the PBR Rockbar - that had a 'bucking bronco' machine.
Against my better judgement, I agreed to ride it.
Being stupidly stubborn, I did stay on quite a while - and my arms ached for days afterwards as a result. And being in my favoured casual outfit, then as now, of a denim skirt, the experience though funny was also very revealing - mostly of my thighs and panties. This story is total fantasy, but it arose from my real experience of riding that bucking bronco.
I hope you enjoy me.
Bucking Bronco
I know it is all a great joke, as they push me forwards to ride the bucking bronco machine: but I feel my face burn, and I wish I had the strength of mind to decline more forcefully because I hav eseen how for women ridesr this is very much about skirts riding up, panties being glimpsed, men laughingh but also leerily eyeing the exposed flesh an dno doubt imagining that flesh that remains unexposed. But I don't want ot be the spoilsport, and actually it does look quite fun.
The saddle is wider than I expected, my legs are spread further apart than on the small horse I used to ride as a teenager. I feel my denim skirt ride up, but I have no time to smooth its hem down because the bronco lucrhes and it is all I can do to hang on.
My thighs grip the leather saddle, my hands are white as I hold on to the metal handle at the front of the machine.
It is incredibly hard to stay on - the machine actually bucks, as its name implies - I am physically thrown up off the saddle and slam down so hard on it that it is almost painful. But I am nothing if not stubborn, and I hold on - hang on, sliding sideways, slipping back and forth as the machine lurches, yaws, pitches, shakes.
My skirt has ridden up so high it is almost at my waist, and I am sure my white panties are exposed, but I will not fall, I am grimly determined to stay on this bucking machine.
There is a leather horn at the front of the saddle - a pommel, I think it is called, though someone told me cowboys simply call it the saddle horn - and when ther bronco pitches forwards I slide, down the leather saddle, until the pommel stops me. It nudges at me, the hard leather pommel: its horn shape pushes at the gusset of my panties, I can feel it nudge and shove at me through them - at my cunt lips, at my cunt. Each time the bronco tips back I slide down the saddle, and with each pitch forward I slide right back and the pommel shoves - thrusts - at my cunt lips. I can't think straight, my mind is a fog - there is wetness now on the saddle, so that my sliding its easier, faster and the thrust of the pommel is harder each time. My face flames as I think the slickness must be visible to all who watch - bthat they must see how the pommel now nudges so deep in between my wet cunt lips, pressing at them, opening me up, stimulating me.
Whoever is controlling the machine has it pitched forward mostly now - shaking side to side. I can feel the cotton panty gusset nudged, aside, so that the hard pommel leather now nudges not agaisnt cotton but into soft warm damp bare skin.
My clinging is now not so much stubborn determination as the clutching clasping grabbing that presages and accompanies orgasm. The pommel is like a cock - a huge, hard, bulbous cock - and it is starting to fuck me, to fuck into me, its bulbous head almost fully entering me, openingme up so wide. I feel my eyes close, my head nods, my whole body shudders, shakes, as the leather pommel cock finally FUCKS right in to me and my cunt spasms, clutches, clasps, ripples on it and the bronco slows, stops, as my body slumps forwards and the men almost have to pry me from it, the pommel sucking wetly and obscenely from me as they carry me off.
Once, I went with colleagues to a bar - I think it was the PBR Rockbar - that had a 'bucking bronco' machine.
Against my better judgement, I agreed to ride it.
Being stupidly stubborn, I did stay on quite a while - and my arms ached for days afterwards as a result. And being in my favoured casual outfit, then as now, of a denim skirt, the experience though funny was also very revealing - mostly of my thighs and panties. This story is total fantasy, but it arose from my real experience of riding that bucking bronco.
I hope you enjoy me.
Bucking Bronco
I know it is all a great joke, as they push me forwards to ride the bucking bronco machine: but I feel my face burn, and I wish I had the strength of mind to decline more forcefully because I hav eseen how for women ridesr this is very much about skirts riding up, panties being glimpsed, men laughingh but also leerily eyeing the exposed flesh an dno doubt imagining that flesh that remains unexposed. But I don't want ot be the spoilsport, and actually it does look quite fun.
The saddle is wider than I expected, my legs are spread further apart than on the small horse I used to ride as a teenager. I feel my denim skirt ride up, but I have no time to smooth its hem down because the bronco lucrhes and it is all I can do to hang on.
My thighs grip the leather saddle, my hands are white as I hold on to the metal handle at the front of the machine.
It is incredibly hard to stay on - the machine actually bucks, as its name implies - I am physically thrown up off the saddle and slam down so hard on it that it is almost painful. But I am nothing if not stubborn, and I hold on - hang on, sliding sideways, slipping back and forth as the machine lurches, yaws, pitches, shakes.
My skirt has ridden up so high it is almost at my waist, and I am sure my white panties are exposed, but I will not fall, I am grimly determined to stay on this bucking machine.
There is a leather horn at the front of the saddle - a pommel, I think it is called, though someone told me cowboys simply call it the saddle horn - and when ther bronco pitches forwards I slide, down the leather saddle, until the pommel stops me. It nudges at me, the hard leather pommel: its horn shape pushes at the gusset of my panties, I can feel it nudge and shove at me through them - at my cunt lips, at my cunt. Each time the bronco tips back I slide down the saddle, and with each pitch forward I slide right back and the pommel shoves - thrusts - at my cunt lips. I can't think straight, my mind is a fog - there is wetness now on the saddle, so that my sliding its easier, faster and the thrust of the pommel is harder each time. My face flames as I think the slickness must be visible to all who watch - bthat they must see how the pommel now nudges so deep in between my wet cunt lips, pressing at them, opening me up, stimulating me.
Whoever is controlling the machine has it pitched forward mostly now - shaking side to side. I can feel the cotton panty gusset nudged, aside, so that the hard pommel leather now nudges not agaisnt cotton but into soft warm damp bare skin.
My clinging is now not so much stubborn determination as the clutching clasping grabbing that presages and accompanies orgasm. The pommel is like a cock - a huge, hard, bulbous cock - and it is starting to fuck me, to fuck into me, its bulbous head almost fully entering me, openingme up so wide. I feel my eyes close, my head nods, my whole body shudders, shakes, as the leather pommel cock finally FUCKS right in to me and my cunt spasms, clutches, clasps, ripples on it and the bronco slows, stops, as my body slumps forwards and the men almost have to pry me from it, the pommel sucking wetly and obscenely from me as they carry me off.
