Ultimate shoulder rides

The Visit (2)

He felt a chill run down his spine at her imposing attitude. He instinctively knelt before her, bowing his head in respect, and without hesitation, he kissed the toes of her boots reverently. He said, “On the table beside you there is a bit, a bridle, reins, a saddle and a whip,” he said admiringly. “I brought spurs to give to you, they are your gift.”

She raised an eyebrow, pleased by his gesture. She looked down at him, a satisfied smile on her beautiful face. Without saying a word, he took the spurs and, with hands trembling with excitement, set about putting them on and adjusting them on her boots. As he did so, he felt her penetrating gaze upon him, analyzing him, enjoying his devotion. When he finished, he looked up to find her smiling with an expression of triumph.

“You can’t kick your son off one of your horses,” she told him in a calm voice, “but you could ride another of your horses.”

Her eyes narrowed, her smile widened, and she elegantly picked up the whip from the table. Then, with a subtle but determined movement, she caressed her brother-in-law’s cheek with the tip of the whip, forcing him to lower his head even further and kiss her boots. “You are right,” she said in a seductive and dominant tone. “There are always more horses to tame,” then she continued, “you gave me my spurs and you gave me yourself, I accept both of your gifts and I will use them.”

He closed his eyes and felt his pulse quicken. He knew that, at that moment, there was no turning back. His fate was already sealed by her.

The Visit (4)

As she pulled on his reins, her mount immediately reacted, beginning to move forward with careful, submissive movements. Each footstep of her human horse echoed on the ground, marking the rhythm of her absolute dominance. From her elevated position, she felt the firmness of the seat, the comfort of the saddle perfectly adjusted to her mount.

With one hand she gripped the reins, occasionally pulling them to manage him, while with the other hand she gripped the whip, ready to set the pace when she deemed it necessary. Her high-heeled boots, with their spurs shining in the light, brushed against the sides of her horse, reminding him with each touch who was the Mistress of the situation.

She smiled, fully enjoying the feeling of power and control. She felt an indescribable thrill as she watched him obey without hesitation, his will completely subdued to hers. “This is how things should be,” she thought. “A well-trained horse does not question, it only obeys and serves.”

For his part, he felt the weight of his beloved rider pressing against his back, the rigidity of the saddle firmly secured to his body. Every movement of hers conveyed clear orders to him: a pressure of the reins to turn, a flick of the spurs to quicken the pace, a flick of the whip when his rhythm was not right. He knew he should not speak; his rider’s warning echoed in his mind: “Animals do not speak.”

His thoughts oscillated between humiliation and devotion. Part of him felt the intensity of submission, the total loss of control over his own body. But another, deeper part of him reveled in the sensation of being completely dominated by her. The bridle in his mouth, the weight on his back, the constant orders… everything made him feel part of something bigger, as if this were his purpose.

As her horse crawled forward on all fours on his hands and knees, her high heels and spurs clacked softly in the stirrups, marking her commanding presence. She enjoyed every second of her ride, knowing there was no resistance, only total submission.

As she approached where her husband and son stood, she pulled the reins in one firm motion, bringing her mount to an immediate stop. With a triumphant smile, she looked at her husband, still on all fours with her son riding on his back.

“That’s how I ride a good horse,” she said with a satisfied laugh. Then, she lifted the whip and let it fall gently on her mount’s neck, caressing him with a mixture of affection and dominance.

“You’re exactly what I expected,” she whispered to him with pleasure.

The Visit (6)

Meanwhile, the husband saw his wife, imposing and triumphant, on top of his younger brother and controlling him, he whinnied for her.

The son looked at his imposing mother.

The dark-skinned mother, controlling the situation and staring at her husband and son, lowered their gaze.

The Brother-in-Law (the Rider's Horse) felt the weight of his sister-in-law firmly seated in the saddle on his back, his mind torn between surrender and fascination. Each pull on the reins made him more aware of his new condition, his mouth dominated by the bit, his skin marked by the spurs she wielded with precision. When the whip fell upon his body, a strange mixture of pain and devotion invaded him. His mind no longer belonged to her; his entire being was at her service.

Her whinny was not a simple sound, but absolute surrender. There were no words, only the recognition of his position beneath her, her rider, her mistress. In that instant, he was not a man, but the steed she had molded to her liking.

The Husband, still on all fours with his son on his back, watched the scene with a mixture of submission and awe. His wife looked imposing, riding her younger brother as if he had been born to be her horse. Something about her presence, the way she dominated him so confidently, made him feel even smaller.

He couldn't help but wonder: was this a lesson? A reminder of who rules in the house? Every detail, from the victorious expression on her beautiful face to her brother's absolute obedience, reinforced his admiration and respect for her. And then, without realizing it, he neighed for her too.

The Son, still atop his father, stared at his mother with wide eyes. Her childlike mind still couldn't grasp all the complexities of what was happening, but she felt something undeniable: her mother is strong, powerful, and unbreakable.

Seeing her like that, sitting so confidently on her uncle's back, pulling on the reins, her high-heeled boots dominating the situation, made her think of her as a queen, as someone who always stood above everyone else. Something in her instinct told her that her father and uncle were where they belonged: on the ground, serving her.

The Mother (Rider), her brown skin glowing in the light, felt a surge of satisfaction as she watched her husband and son lower their gaze before her. She was completely in control. She had her brother-in-law firmly under her thumb, obedient to the slightest movement of her hands and legs.

The feel of the reins in her fist, the control over her horse's mouth, the sound of her boots and spurs clicking against her saddle with every movement—it was all music to her. She looked at her husband, at her son, and smiled powerfully.

Her victory was complete.

The First Time Is Unforgettable (1)

The first time her brother-in-law was broken in by his sister-in-law, he visits the house. The horse always goes toward the rider, and she makes no effort to capture it because it goes toward her.

Her sister-in-law opens the door, and he is impressed.

Her sister-in-law is a 23-year-old woman with warm brown skin, a tan or light chocolate hue that shines in the sunlight. Her hair is dark brown, long, and straight, falling in a silky cascade down her back. Her deep-set, expressive eyes reflect a combination of determination and mischief, making it clear that she is always in control. Her body is athletic and slender, with a wasp-like waist that highlights her wide, shapely hips, while her strong, firm legs denote her mastery of riding human males.

For the occasion, she wears a brown cowboy hat, which casts an elegant shadow over her face. Her figure-hugging white short-sleeved blouse reveals the definition of her arms and highlights her imposing posture. She wears an open brown leather vest, which adds an air of authority and dominance.

Her tight-fitting dark blue jeans highlight the curves of her thighs and buttocks, highlighting her demeanor as an experienced rider. Around her waist, a thick black leather belt with a silver buckle secures the reins she will use to control her mount.

On her feet, she wears knee-high brown leather riding boots with wide heels and metal spurs that gently jingle with each step she takes. These boots not only slim her legs but also reinforce her image as a dominant lady and peerless rider.

Finally, in her right hand, she holds a black riding crop, a symbol of both control and her dressage prowess. With a confident smile and a challenging gaze, she prepares to take the reins of her next mount.

Smiling, she accepts the kiss, and he places it on her cheek. She closes the door, takes his hands, and kisses him on the lips. She says, “Hello, brother-in-law, you arrived just in time,” as she walks, holding his hand as he follows her.

She leads him into the living room where she sees her brother (her sister-in-law's husband) on all fours carrying their son on his back. The brother-in-law is witnessing a scene that reflects family tradition and dynamics.

The sister-in-law smiled confidently and said to her brother-in-law in a calm but firm voice, “You arrived just in time. Did you come to offer your back too?”

The brother-in-law swallowed, knowing that the question wasn't rhetorical.

She continued, “Your father, brothers, nephews, and other men come to my house to offer their backs to me, and I ride them.”

He looked at his brother, who was still on all fours with his son on his back, and then looked back at his sister-in-law. “I… came to visit you.”

“Well, stay, but visitors have their role here too,” she said, taking a few steps toward him. With a gesture of her hand, she pointed to the floor. “Get on all fours.”

There was a brief silence in the room. The husband, still carrying his son, glanced at his brother, waiting for his reaction. The boy naturally chimed in: “My mom is the best rider. If you resist, she'll break you anyway.”

The brother-in-law exhaled slowly, then lowered his gaze and knelt submissively. She smiled, satisfied. “Good boy. Now, on your hands and knees.”

He obeyed, feeling the weight of his sister-in-law's gaze on him. She bent slightly, sat on his back, and with precise gestures, she slipped the bit into his mouth and adjusted the bridle straps. “Animals don't talk,” she gently reminded him as she tightened the buckles.

Then she stood up, took the saddle, and, just as skillfully, placed it on and secured it by cinching it over her brother-in-law's back. “Perfect. Now you're mine.”

She took the reins firmly, rode, and settled herself on him, stepping elegantly into the stirrups. The brother-in-law watched his brother and nephew watching the scene without surprise; they were already accustomed to the same story repeating itself every time a visitor arrived.

The sister-in-law, using tugs on the reins and a touch of her spurs, ordered, “Let's go, it's time to ride.”

The brother-in-law moved forward, feeling the weight of his rider and the absolute control she had over him. Meanwhile, the husband and son followed, ready to accompany them on their walk or ride around the house.

The First Time Is Unforgettable (3)

The brother-in-law, his sister-in-law's horse, crawling on all fours, felt a mixture of submission and absolute surrender. From the moment she bridled and saddled him, he understood that he was under her control. The pressure of the bit in his mouth, the firmness of the saddle on his back, and the feeling of his rider dominating him with reins, whip, and spurs reminded him that he was no longer a man at this moment, but his sister-in-law's personal steed. He felt her weight as a reminder of his role, and every lash, spur, and tug of the reins plunged him deeper into his role as mount.

With every movement of his knees and palms against the ground, the brother-in-law felt the coldness of the ground contrast with the warmth of his rider's body on his back. He found himself immersed in a feeling of inevitable obedience. When she bridled and saddled him, he had no choice. The moment he felt the whip and spurs touch and dig into his skin, he knew he had to move forward without question.

His breathing was labored, not yet from physical exertion, but from the mixture of nervousness and excitement. He felt his sister-in-law's firm, steady weight on his back, the touch of her boots, her whip, and her spurs against his sides. Every time she moved the reins and used the whip and spurs, he obeyed instantly, without hesitation.

"Move forward, horse," she ordered gently but authoritatively.

He obeyed, crawling faster on all fours. He wondered when he had given in so easily, but he knew the answer: his sister-in-law wasn't asking, she was simply taking.

The husband, the brother of the rider's horse, watched the scene with a mixture of resignation and admiration. He'd been through this so many times that it no longer surprised him how easily his wife transformed men into her horses. He knew his brother now belonged to her at that moment, just as he himself had once belonged to her. Watching his brother groan under his wife's commands, he couldn't help but feel a certain empathy, but also a strange pride at seeing his wife's authority imposed unquestioningly.

From his seat, she allowed him to sit next to their son. He watched with a mixture of resignation and admiration. He knew what his brother was feeling at that moment; he'd experienced it many times with his wife. It was inevitable; his wife had a natural gift for subduing men. No matter how strong or willful a man was, she always found a way to break him, to turn him into her mount.

As he watched his brother obey his wife's every instruction, he couldn't help but smile somewhat wryly. "Now you understand..." he thought to himself.

Yet there was something comforting about it all. His wife wasn't cruel or abusive; she simply imposed her will with grace and ease. In the village, this was normal. Men carried the ladies, the children, the elderly. The difference with his wife was that she didn't need to ask; she simply did it.

The rider's son watched with fascination and admiration. For him, it was completely natural for his mother to ride his father, his uncle, and any man. He didn't understand why the men sometimes resisted if, in the end, they ended up obeying and carrying her. He liked watching how his mother controlled the men, and he wondered if when he grew up, he too would be ridden, or if he could be a rider like her. Her innocent gaze reflected a developing learning curve: men were horses, and his mother was the owner of them all.

For him, all of this was a game; it was completely natural for men to be horses, and for his mother to be the best rider of all.

“Mom always wins,” she said innocently, as she watched her uncle obediently crawl beneath her mother.

She remembered how her father had also gotten down on all fours that morning and carried her on his back. But what excited her most was seeing her mother dominating. The way she held the reins, how her uncle obeyed without question, how imposing he looked on his mount.

Questions began to arise in her mind: “When I grow up, will I be a horse or a rider?” She knew her mother rode her father, her uncle, and any man. But what did the future hold for him?

For now, she didn't care too much. She just enjoyed the show, learning with every moment.

The Break-In (1)

The sister-in-law, sitting firmly on her brother-in-law's back, felt his rapid breathing and the slight tension in his body. She knew he wasn't used to being ridden and still didn't fully understand his role. With a serene smile, but with the determination of an experienced rider, she adjusted the reins and gave him directions using her spurs.

"Relax, we haven't even started yet," she said in a relaxed tone, leaning forward slightly. "First you must learn to obey my commands without question."

The brother-in-law swallowed. Since he had arrived at the house, everything had happened naturally, as if this were his inevitable destiny. His brother seemed comfortable in his role as mount for his wife and son, but he still didn't understand how to let himself be led. "And how... how do I do that?" he asked somewhat nervously.

The sister-in-law gently stroked his hair, as she would with her equine, also called a royal horse, and then took a little more control of the reins.

“Simple,” she replied. “You just have to concentrate on following my cues and maintaining your balance. Don’t worry about the rest, I’ll take care of you.”

The boy, sitting nearby, watched excitedly. “Mom is the best horse trainer,” he said proudly. “When she puts the reins on, there’s no man who won’t become her horse.”

The brother-in-law felt a chill run down his spine. Would it really be that easy? He decided to relax and let his sister-in-law guide the process.

“Let’s start with something simple,” she instructed. “Move forward.”

He tried to move forward, but his movements were clumsy. He wasn’t used to carrying weight like that. She nudged him with her spurs.

“Firmly. Don’t hesitate. An insecure horse is an inefficient horse.” She added.

The brother-in-law took a deep breath and tried again, moving forward with more determination. Little by little, he began to feel the rhythm. His sister-in-law kept her back straight and in absolute control, guiding him with precision.

"That's better," she said. "Now, let's try turning."

She gently tugged on one of the reins, and without much thought, he turned in the indicated direction. "Good. You're beginning to understand."

The husband, still with his son on his back, watched with a slight smile. "Don't resist," he advised. "It's easier when you accept your role."

The brother-in-law nodded, continuing to move forward. He was beginning to understand. There was something natural about the way his sister-in-law directed him, in the firmness of her hand and the assurance of her voice.

"Very well," she said finally, pausing for a moment. "Now, I want you to take a light trot."

The brother-in-law obeyed. At first, he felt the weight on his back like a burden, but as he progressed, he realized the key was posture and breathing, and he began to feel her weight as a gift.

"Excellent," the sister-in-law whispered, satisfied. "I think we have potential here."

The boy clapped his hands enthusiastically. "My uncle is already my mom's horse!"

The sister-in-law smiled proudly. "There's still more to do, but he's making progress."

She knew that breaking in took time, but she was confident that her new horse would soon be fully trained.

Last edited by caballito (2025-03-17 11:41:32)

The Break-In (3)

The Hierarchy (1)

She dismounted and unsaddled her brother-in-law, while he remained bridled, his reins tied to a ring on her belt. Meanwhile, she had her son sit on her horse.

The brother-in-law, feeling the control of the reins attached to his sister-in-law's belt, remained in his submissive position, breathing deeply while his mind debated between resignation and astonishment. The sensation of the leather of the bridle tightening around his face reinforced his new status, a role his sister-in-law had conferred on him naturally and effortlessly, as if fate itself had endowed her with an innate gift for bending wills.

The brunette rider, upright, with her elegant and confident posture, smiled serenely as she stroked her son's head. He, full of enthusiasm and complicity, settled onto the back of his new horse. The warmth of her maternal touch offered him a sense of security, as her hands rested on the strong and obedient back of her mount.

The husband, witnessing the scene, watched with a mixture of pride and fascination his wife, whose figure radiated authority and sweetness at the same time. He knew that look of hers well, that expression of complete confidence with which she always guided those around her, whether in daily life or in these playful displays of dominance and control.

The brother-in-law, feeling the light weight of the child on his back and the proximity of his sister-in-law, lowered his head in a mixture of surrender and acceptance. There was no struggle in her spirit, only the tacit recognition that this moment did not belong to him, but to her, the woman who gracefully and firmly directed the scene.

With the same ease with which she bridled and saddled her horses, she slid her fingers through the reins, giving them a gentle tug to remind her new mount that he was still under her control. With a melodious voice and playful tone, she whispered to her son: "That's how we play with your father too..."

And in that phrase, full of sweetness and dominance, the truth was sealed: she was the rider, the Mistress of the scene, the one whose mere presence set the rhythm of that ancient game of power and surrender.

She pushed her son's head, he yielded, and his forehead touched the back of his uncle's neck, his chest and his abdomen touched the steed's back, he hugged him and said: "That's how we play with my father too."

United by the boy's warm embrace, uncle and nephew seemed to merge into a single being, a perfect unity of trust and devotion. The nephew's forehead rested on the back of his uncle's neck, his soft breath mingling with the slow heartbeat of the man who held him without words. His chest and abdomen molded to the firm back on which he rested, while his arms wrapped around him with the tenderness of someone who finds refuge in another.

The uncle, still in his steed-like posture, felt that embrace like a silent bond, an invisible tie that bound him not only to his nephew, but also to his own history, to the blood they shared, and to the destiny that united them at that moment. It wasn't just a game; it was a ritual of trust, a mutual surrender where there was no hierarchy, but harmony.

The mother, with the reins still attached to her belt, contemplated the scene with the satisfaction of someone who sees the bonds she has forged strengthened. Her son wasn't just playing, he was reaffirming his belonging to a world where unity was stronger than individuality.

The husband, silently, understood this moment transcended the simplicity of play. It was the symbol of something deeper, a lesson passed from one generation to the next without words.

Time seemed to stand still, encapsulating this moment in the eternity of memory. They weren't three separate individuals, but one, woven by affection, trust, and commitment.

The Dressage / Breaking / Break-In (5)

The Hierarchy (3)

The image was perfect and symbolic: the mother, upright and dominant, occupied the highest place, the pinnacle of everything and everyone. From there, with the reins in her hands and the stirrups securing her posture, she ruled the scene with the natural authority of an accomplished rider.

Beneath her, her son nestled between her embrace and the body of his mount, protected, wrapped in maternal warmth. His heart beat in time with the rhythmic movements of the horse that supported them, feeling the absolute security that only his mother could give him.

And at the base, her brother-in-law, the firm and obedient mount, was the foundation of this perfect structure. With each order from the rider, he responded without hesitation, guided by the firm signals of the reins, the touch of the spurs that marked the rhythm, and the certainty that he must advance under her command.

She smiled with satisfaction, feeling in absolute control of the situation. Her mount moved forward docilely, her son was secure, and she, from her height, enjoyed the dominance she naturally exercised. In that instant, the world was ordered according to her will, and each person occupied their rightful place.

The husband said: "I'm glad. When I'm gone, my brother will take my place, being the support on which my wife and son will stand, being the horse, while my wife will continue to take care of everything, controlling everything."

She smiled with the confidence of someone who has always known her place in the world. From her elevated position, she observed her husband with a serene gaze, as if his declaration were a confirmation of what she already sensed.

Beneath her, her brother-in-law, docile and obedient, felt the weight of those words as much as that of his rider. He would be the support, the foundation, the horse ready to carry the balance of that family on his back. He didn't protest or resist; Deep down, she understood that her destiny was set and that her place would be where she decided.

The son, nestled between the warmth of his mother and the firmness of his uncle, smiled with the innocence of someone who feels that everything is as it should be. For him, his mother would always be the rider who directed masterfully, his father the man who understood the natural order of things, and his uncle, the strong steed who would sustain them if his father ever couldn't.

From above, she gently stroked the reins and barely moved her heels to dig her spurs into her horse's sides, feeling how her mount reacted to her subtle command. With the same firmness with which she had directed her husband, she would now do so with her brother-in-law. Because she rode not only bodies, but destinies. And in her world, everything was, and always would be, under her control.

The father continued: "I am the horse, my son is the saddle, and my wife is the rider. When I'm gone, my brother will be the horse," he said, tears streaming down his face.

She looked up at him from her elevated position, with a mixture of tenderness and determination. She knew her husband spoke from the heart, from a deep understanding of his role in the family. His tears were not of sadness, but of surrender, of absolute love for those who made up his world.

The son, still wrapped in his mother's warmth and supported by his uncle's strong back, didn't fully understand the weight of those words, but he felt his father's emotion. He looked up at his mother, searching her eyes for the reassurance that all was well. And there he found what he always found: security, dominance, unwavering love.

The brother-in-law, with the bridle in his mouth and the weight of his family on his back, lowered his head in acceptance. He knew his destiny was sealed. He would be the horse when his brother could not be, and in his silent obedience he found his purpose.

She, imposing, held the reins firmly and spoke with the serene voice of one who rules all: "All takes its course. My horse has been strong, my saddle has supported me, and my new steed has learned his place. There is nothing to fear."

And with a touch of her spurs, she urged her mount forward, guiding everyone's destiny with the same mastery she always had.

The Party (1)

Moving Toward the Party (1)

After the husband's brother left, Dad, Mom, and son prepared for the party.

The lady dressed with imposing elegance, radiating confidence and dominance. Her outfit, designed for both sophistication and riding practicality, consisted of a beautiful, fitted black silk blouse with long sleeves and a discreet yet seductive V-neckline, gracefully highlighting her figure. A thin leather belt hugged her wasp waist, emphasizing her shape with authority.

To ensure comfort and absolute control over any steed she encountered, she opted for tight-fitting leather riding pants in a deep burgundy shade that contrasted with the darkness of her blouse. The flexibility of the material would allow her to move with agility, whether riding or imposing her presence at the party.

On her feet, tall, black riding boots with sturdy heels reached her knees, adorned with fine gold buckles. The spurs, discreet but present, were a reminder of her dominance. Her hands, gloved in soft leather, held the reins hanging from her belt, ready to be used at the opportune moment.

To complete her imposing image, she placed a cowboy hat, tilting it slightly to one side, giving her an air of bold mystery. Her long, dark hair fell in a neat braid over her back, like the mane of a rider ready to conquer.

Tonight, she would not only attend the party, but she would also assert her position, ensuring that every horse at her disposal knew exactly its place.

When the clock struck the expected hour, she, impeccably dressed for the occasion, stood with the same elegance and command as always. Her sister was celebrating her birthday, and soon her brother-in-law, her sister's husband, would arrive exclusively to carry her, to be ridden by her, as it should be.

Her husband and son were at her side, ready to accompany her, but everyone knew she was the central figure in this journey. She wasn't simply a guest; she was a presence to be carried with the respect and reverence she deserved, atop her mount, dominating it, riding it while her companions walked.

The sound of footsteps was heard approaching. The door would soon open, and with it, the moment when her brother-in-law would demonstrate his willingness. How would he arrive? Would he present himself with the right attitude? Would he be worthy of bearing the responsibility of being ridden by her to the celebration?

She smiled with the certainty that, no matter the circumstances, his path would always be traced according to her will.

Her husband politely opened the door and invited him in. Her brother-in-law crossed the threshold with a respectful attitude, exchanging words with him in a brief, meaningful conversation.

Then she appeared.

Dazzling.

Accompanied by her son, her mere presence made the air in the room thick, charged with an energy that only she could radiate. Every detail of her attire spoke of authority and grace, beauty and dominance.

Her eyes, deep and aware of their power, scanned the scene with the confidence of someone who knows everything is in its place.

And then the inevitable happened.

Both men, subdued by her beauty, felt a tremor run through their bodies, as if an invisible weight had fallen upon them, bending them. Their treacherous knees weakened irremediably, yielding to the divine vision before them.

She smiled with the tranquility of someone who knows that her will is law. Her son, at her side, observed the scene naturally, instinctively understanding its meaning.

The night was just beginning, and the journey to the celebration would be a sight to behold.

She remained motionless, watching with a satisfied smile as both men, on their elbows and knees, reverently crawled toward her on their bellies. Their gait was slow, almost ceremonious, as if each movement were part of an established ritual.

When they reached their destination, they bowed their heads and, with the deepest devotion, kissed the toes of her elegant boots, then moved on to the rest of the leather. The first contact was light, but charged with meaning. She let them remain in that position for a few moments, enjoying the silent tribute they paid to her.

Her son, at her side, gazed at her in admiration, understanding more and more her place in the world and the respect she commanded without words.

Finally, she raised an eyebrow and with a subtle movement of her foot indicated that it was time to get going. The night still had many things to happen, and the path had to be traveled under her command.

The Party (3)

Moving Toward the Party (3)

Night enveloped the road in its starry mantle, and the moonlight bathed the scene unfolding with solemn majesty in its silvery glow.

The rider advanced with an imposing presence, radiating elegance and authority with every movement. Her dress, a deep, rich color, hued her figure with the precision of a custom-made design, highlighting her perfect shape. The long lace sleeves suggested refinement, while the tight corset defined her wasp waist, accentuating her generous hips. The strategically divided skirt allowed her to ride comfortably without losing an ounce of her distinguished bearing.

The spurs of her high-heeled black leather boots clicked firmly on the ground whenever she paused, reflecting her absolute command of the situation. She wore leather gloves that allowed her to deftly grip the reins of her mount, a tangible symbol of her total control. Her hair, elegantly tied back, revealed her slender neck and the natural grace of her bearing. Her lips, painted a deep red, outlined a slight smile, confident in her position of power.

Erect and dominant, she rode with regal bearing over her brother-in-law, who advanced with a firm stride, obedient to every instruction from the reins she skillfully held. The spurs of the rider's boots touched the sides of her horse when it was necessary to accelerate the pace, and her posture in the saddle denoted absolute control.

Beneath her, her human horse advanced with obedience and determination. Her brother-in-law, prostrate on his hands and knees, maintained perfect balance to support her with stability and comfort. His back served as the rider's throne, and each tug on the reins indicated the direction she should follow. The bit in her mouth, a symbol of her domestication, reminded him that his sole mission was to lead her submissively and efficiently.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, not from exhaustion, but from the intensity of the experience. His heart pounded as he felt the pressure of his sister-in-law's boot spurs against him, a constant reminder of his role. Despite the weight, his will did not waver; his desire to serve her was absolute.

The brother-in-law, advancing on his hands and knees, felt his sister-in-law's weight on his back like a mark of honor. Each tug on the reins was a reminder that he must follow her direction without question. He felt tamed, but not humiliated; on the contrary, there was a kind of satisfaction in his obedience, a clear purpose: to take her to her destination the way she desired.

Rider and mount moved forward as a single entity, perfectly synchronized. She, with the confidence and skill of someone accustomed to leading, He, with the devotion of someone who has accepted his place. Together, in perfect harmony, they headed toward their destiny, a picture of dominance, control, and absolute submission.

Her husband walked beside her, watching with a mixture of admiration and pride. In his mind, the words of his brother echoed when he confessed that he felt honored to carry her, to serve as her steed on that special night. For him, everything was in order: his wife guided the situation naturally, his brother fulfilled his role without objection, and his son witnessed, with attentive eyes, the balance of authority and harmony that his mother represented.

The boy, held by his mother's side, watched his mother with fascination. For as long as he could remember, he understood that she was always in control, that she knew how to lead, and that others followed her without question. "Mom always knows what to do," he thought proudly, feeling that the security she conveyed was unshakeable.

She closed her eyes, the sound of her husband's and son's footsteps mingling with the gentle creaking of the floor beneath her brother-in-law's knees and hands. Everything was in perfect sync.

And so, the mother in charge, the husband as witness, and the son as apprentice, they walked together toward the party, a picture of order, hierarchy, and absolute harmony.

The Party (5)

The Arrival (2)

The older sister smiled proudly, placing a foot on her horse's head with a possessive touch. "I always knew our paths would cross like this," she whispered to her sister, with a hint of complicity in her tone.

The younger sister, with the same grace and firmness, took the reins of the conversation: "Our bond is eternal, and our horses know it." Then she commented with a hint of amusement: "I see you enjoy the party properly."

"Always," replied the older sister with a slight nod. "As it should be."

Meanwhile, the companions remained in their respectful position, awaiting further orders, certain that that evening they would guide every step and every destination. The atmosphere was filled with respect, admiration, and a tacit understanding between the two. There was no competition, only the certainty that each knew her place and occupied it with dignity.

The younger sister, seeing her sister riding with such grace and ease, knew it was time to reassert her own position. With a firm gaze and a slight movement of her hand, she called her designated mount: her brother-in-law, her sister's husband.

Hearing her, he approached without hesitation, aware of what he must do. Without needing to say a word, he descended to his knees, then placed his hands on the ground in a gesture of absolute submission and willingness. She, with the same elegance that distinguished her, approached and gently ran a hand through his hair before securely grasping the reins.

Dressed in her impeccable attire designed for the occasion—a white silk blouse fitted to her slender figure, combined with black riding pants that highlighted her long legs and high, shiny leather boots—she deftly settled herself on her brother-in-law's shoulders. Her posture was impeccable: her back straight, her chin slightly raised, and her hands firmly holding the reins she had arranged moments before.

Her sister's husband, feeling her weight and presence, exhaled deeply and prepared to lead her through the party. Then, with sure and measured steps, he began to move as she rode on his shoulders, while the guests watched with admiration and respect.

Her husband and son accompanied her, walking at her side, like guardians of her dignity. Her sister, still on her own mount, her cousin, watched the scene with an approving smile. "Perfect," she murmured with satisfaction. "That's how it should be."

Thus, both sisters, one on her husband and the other on her cousin, dominated the evening, making it clear that they were the ones who led, guided, and decided.

The older sister was allowed to ride her younger brother, her father-in-law, a cousin, or another male present at the party worthy of carrying her. She chose her cousin, demonstrating that both sisters have mastery and control over several horses and can choose according to the occasion. It would also reflect the diversity in their domain, showing that they are not dependent on a single horse, but have multiple options at their disposal.

The Party (7)

The Sisters and Their Horses (2)

The sisters' husbands observe the scene with a mixture of acceptance, admiration, and resignation.

The older sister's husband understands his wife's dynamic and respects her. He knows she is a strong woman, accustomed to leading and being in control. Although at one point he may have felt jealousy or discomfort at seeing her riding another man, he has learned that this is part of her essence and the power relationship she exerts over those around her. He himself, on more than one occasion, has felt the weight of her authority, and although at times she may seem defiant, deep down it comes naturally to him.

The younger sister's husband, for his part, remembers that his wife was the one who broke his cousin, who taught him to bow, to obey, and to be ridden. He finds it curious to see how his cousin, whom he considers his brother, is now ridden by his sister-in-law, but he understands that this is an extension of what his wife had already begun. He isn't surprised, but rather accepts it with the same serenity with which he has accepted other expressions of his wife's dominance.

Both husbands know that their wives are powerful, and that the submission of others to them is inevitable. Perhaps deep down, they feel a slight unease, but they don't express it, because they have also learned that, in the end, they are always in control.

The night continued to progress, while the two sisters shared their triumph with ease and complicity.

After the games and music, it was time to toast. The sisters, still with the air of majesty surrounding them, stood in the center of the room with glasses in hand. Their boots, shining in the light, caught the attention of some of the men nearby, especially those who had shown their admiration and loyalty in the past.

One of them, the now-tamed cousin, took a step forward, lowered his gaze, and knelt without being asked. Silently, he bows his head and places soft kisses on the toe and leather of the younger sister's boots. His gesture is imitated by the sisters' younger brother, who does the same with the older sister.

The ladies present exchange knowing glances, some with curiosity, others with approving smiles. There are no words, but the gesture says it all: an act of absolute devotion and admiration.

As the party progresses and the sisters decide to retreat to the backyard for a few minutes, the cousin, still kneeling, lowers himself even further, stretching out on the ground before them. Without any prompting, he becomes a human carpet, a gesture of total surrender.

The younger sister, with a look of amusement, places her feet on his back while she continues conversing with her sister. The older sister does the same for a moment, then elegantly continues on her way.

After a while of dancing and conversation, the sisters decide to sit on the wide armchairs in the living room. Without saying a word, two of their most devoted admirers, the now-tamed cousin and the younger brother, lie face down on the ground in front of them, forming a perfect human carpet.

The younger sister elegantly crosses her legs and, with a slight smile, places her boots on her cousin's back. The older sister, without hesitation, does the same with her younger brother, who, with a small sigh of satisfaction, remains still under her weight.

The ladies present watch approvingly, some with amused smiles. "I see you still know how to make things comfortable for yourselves," one of them says with a laugh.

As the evening draws on, the sisters decide it's time to retreat for a moment to get some fresh air in the courtyard. As soon as they stand, their two horses immediately kneel.

With the ease of someone already accustomed to riding, the younger sister rides on her cousin's shoulders, while the older sister rides atop her younger brother, her faithful horse of the night. Both men rise with difficulty, but with pride, carrying them with a firm step through the living room and to the patio door.

The guests watch the scene without surprise; rather, with the certainty that this is how it should be.

The Party (9)

Other Games (2)

In the backyard, several other youngsters had joined the game, forming a group of human riders and horses. Some of the older ones took on the role of steeds, crawling with difficulty while their cousins, sisters, or friends climbed on top of them with laughter and joy.

A curly-haired girl, wearing a pink jumpsuit and white sneakers, rode her older brother, who struggled forward while she laughed and waved her arms as if riding at full speed. "Faster, horse!" she shouted, holding the reins.

Another boy, wearing a red T-shirt and blue shorts, struggled to move forward with his cousin on his back. She, wearing a light blue skirt and sandals, laughed as she encouraged him: "Come on, we're almost catching up with the others!"

The atmosphere was filled with laughter and shouts of excitement. Each rider had fun giving orders, while the "horses" tried not to tire too quickly. Some took turns, swapping roles, although in most cases the girls preferred to be the riders and the boys the horses.

In one corner of the courtyard, the eldest sister's daughter remained mounted on her cousin, proudly watching the others. "Look everyone, my horse is the strongest!" she said with a big smile, gently patting her cousin on the head.

He, although exhausted, smiled and continued crawling, determined to be the best "horse" of the night.

In the living room, the lights flickered warmly, illuminating the celebration with a golden glow. Laughter and music filled the air as the festivities reached their climax.

The sisters, with their natural elegance and commanding bearing, decided to ride. With fluid and confident movements, they rode on the shoulders of their two-legged horses, who, upright and obedient, lifted them up with devotion. The ladies' skirts billowed with each firm step of their human mounts, while they skillfully held the reins, guiding them with firm commands of reins, whip, and spurs.

Not content with this, they also brought the excitement to the ground, where their four-legged horses waited (on their hands and knees). Gently but with authority, they rode atop their backs, settling in elegantly. The two-legged horses advanced with measured and ceremonious steps, while the four-legged horses crawled with effort and dedication on their hands and knees.

The audience watched the spectacle with admiration and reverence, aware of the grace and mastery with which the sisters dominated the scene.

Later, as the guests settled down to share stories, the sisters' mother proudly recalled her own youth. "We rode from town to town, always together, confident in our strength and confidence. Now I see in you the same spirit that drove us." Her sister, the cousin's mother, nodded with a smile, seeing in her daughters the same determination and leadership they themselves had displayed years before.

The cousin, who years before had been tamed and guided by the younger sister, smiled knowingly as he remembered how she had taught him to be more disciplined and strong. "I can't deny that I learned a lot from you. You taught me to be resilient, and that has served me well to this day." The younger sister nodded gratefully, acknowledging her cousin's personal growth and the positive impact they all had on each other.

The older sister, meanwhile, leaned lovingly on her husband's shoulder, enjoying the moment. "The important thing is that we're still together, as a family. Each of us playing our part, but always supporting each other." The men of the family nodded, aware that the admiration they felt for them was not only for their presence, but for the confidence and leadership they radiated.

As the night wore on, the sisters, surrounded by their loved ones, shared one last dance. It wasn't just a party; it was a celebration of the unity, respect, and mutual admiration that strengthened the family. And so, amid laughter and applause, the evening became an unforgettable memory for everyone present.

The Wife, the Husband, and the Cousin (1)

Upon arriving at the younger sister's house, the husband carefully carried his son to his bedroom, tucking him in tenderly before silently leaving.

Meanwhile, she dismounted, and her cousin kissed her boots.

When the husband returned to the courtyard, his wife was still there, standing with her arms crossed, her figure illuminated by the dim moonlight.

In front of her, her cousin, kneeling, continued to kiss her boots, his head bowed and his hands resting on the ground in a posture of absolute submission.

The husband stopped a few steps away, silently observing the scene.

The wife looked at him with an amused smile before sliding the toe of her boot along the ground, tracing slow circles on the ground while her cousin continued to kiss her boots.

The wife and husband conversed: "Where shall we invite him to sleep?" The husband asked, "We have a spot in the barn. One of us sleeps there, and the other sleeps with me," the wife replied with a smile.

The husband smiled with resignation, understanding his wife's tone. Her cousin, kneeling before her, now with his forehead touching the ground after kissing her boots, maintained a posture of total submission, awaiting his fate without daring to look up.

The wife, with a satisfied expression on her face, slipped the toe of her boot under her cousin's chin and forced him to raise his head. Their eyes met, and she, with a serene but dominant smile, asked him, "Are you willing to sleep in the barn, or would you prefer to stay with me tonight?"

The cousin swallowed. She, with her arms crossed, watched the scene with interest. The night air carried the scent of the countryside, and a silent expectation hung in the air. "I'll do whatever you say," he replied in a firm but submissive voice.

The husband gave a light laugh. “It seems the decision has been made,” he said, turning to his wife. “So tell me, love, who sleeps in the barn and who with you?”

The wife walked calmly to the door, her figure standing out in the dim light of the entryway. Then she turned, observing both men with a mixture of amusement and authority. “I’ll see how I feel,” she said with a wink. “But one of you will sleep comfortably, and the other will experience what it’s like to be a real horse.”

“Have you decided yet?” the husband asked with a mixture of resignation and curiosity.

She tilted her head slightly, enjoying the anticipation. “My cousin has been a good horse tonight,” she said in a soft but firm voice, “and as a reward, he will sleep with me in a comfortable bed.”

Then, turning to her cousin, she added, “And you, go make my bed.”

Her cousin, without hesitation, immediately stood up and entered her bedroom, ready to obey her command.

Her husband raised an eyebrow. "Then…"

"You'll sleep in the barn."

The Wife, the Husband, and the Cousin (3)

As she entered her bedroom, the softness of the dim light highlighted the impeccable order of the bed, with fresh, quilted sheets ready to receive her. Her cousin, still standing on the threshold, bowed devoutly, placing his lips on the boots that had brought her there, in a gesture of silent reverence.

With slow, graceful movements, she shed her previous attire, casting aside each garment with a naturalness that did not seek to show off, but simply to assert her authority without the need for words. She slid gracefully onto the soft bed, settling in with the serenity of someone who knows everything is in its place, her figure wrapped in the delicacy of a babydoll that enhanced her natural charm. Her eyes, warm and bright, rested on him with a mixture of sweetness and determination.

He, kneeling beside the bed, bowed his head and placed reverent kisses on her bare feet, a silent tribute to the woman who held the power of his will and his heart. With a subtle gesture of her hand, she beckoned him to come closer.

Without hesitation, he obeyed, sliding beside her with a devotion implicit in every movement.

Under the soft light that filtered through the night, their gazes met with the intensity of those who have longed for each other from a distance. Two souls reunited, two hearts beating in sync, recognizing each other beyond time and absence. Their bodies met in an embrace that was more than physical; it was the language of two souls that understood each other without words.

Her lips brushed his with the softness of a whisper, and in that instant, everything else ceased to exist. It was a warm, slow kiss, filled with deep feelings, as if time had stopped just for them. Her hands explored tenderly, her caresses an echo of trust and surrender.

The night advanced, wrapped in the magical veil of complicity. Outside, the wind whispered through the leaves, while inside, two hearts beat in unison, sharing an intimacy that needed no words, only the sweet understanding of being exactly where they were meant to be.

In the dimness of the room, illuminated only by the soft moonlight filtering through the window, their gazes met, filled with longing and surrender. She, wrapped in an air of dominance and sweetness, settled herself over him with the confidence of someone who knows her power and the affection of someone who values ​​what she possesses.

Her hands gently ran over his face, as if each caress were an unspoken promise. Beneath her, he accepted her presence with a mixture of devotion and desire, reciprocating each gesture with absolute surrender. Their lips sought each other, first timidly, then with a passion that ignited the atmosphere.

He, lying beneath her, gazed at her with devotion, as if her mere presence were the answer to all the questions he'd ever had. She, with a smile that blended tenderness and certainty, leaned over him, whispering his name with the sweetness of someone returning home. Their bodies sought each other with the patience of those who know the moment is eternal.

In the intimacy of the night, their bodies intertwined with the harmony of two souls recognizing each other. She straddled his crotch, her female organ atop his erect male organ, she slowly took possession of his masculinity, and they joined in copulation.

She, on top of him, her female organ taking hold of his male organ, she kept time with a perfect cadence, directing each movement with the cadence of an intimate dance, marking the rhythm with the certainty of one who guides and possesses.

Her every movement marked the rhythm of her surrender, each caress drew stories that only they understood. In a back-and-forth of sighs and deep gazes, they merged into one being, intertwining souls and bodies in an ancient dance, where love guided and passion responded.

He responded to her every movement with absolute surrender, letting her dictate the intensity of that encounter. In every touch, in every shared sigh, a deep bond was sealed, where tenderness and passion intertwined in perfect harmony.

Their lips met again and again, wordlessly pronouncing what their hearts already screamed. Clinging to each other, they breathed in unison, feeling in each shudder the fullness of reunion. That night, under the cloak of fate, two souls became one again.

Time seemed to blur in that back-and-forth of caresses and breathy sighs. The night became witness to a union where complicity stood like an unbreakable bond, and at the heart of that encounter was engraved a feeling that transcended the moment: the certainty that, in that embrace, she and he belonged to each other.

The Wife, the Husband, and the Cousin (5)

The first rays of sunlight filtered through the window, bathing the room in a warm, golden light. She woke up first, tenderly observing her cousin, still asleep, his breathing slow and calm. With a soft smile, she delicately got up, covered herself with a light robe, and headed to the kitchen.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bread filled the house, announcing the beginning of a new day. When he awoke, he saw her moving gracefully, serving breakfast with that blend of sweetness and authority that characterized her.

"Good morning," she said with a radiant smile.

"Good morning..." he replied, gazing at her with admiration.

They sat together at the table, enjoying the warmth of breakfast and each other's company. There was something special about that moment, a silent complicity, a deep understanding without the need for words.

Between bites and knowing glances, the day began with the promise of new shared moments.

She entered her bedroom to change and returned with a firm and elegant stride, dressed in an outfit that enhanced her majestic bearing. She wore a long-sleeved white blouse, fitted to her figure, with the top button undone, revealing the softness of her collar. A brown leather vest cinched her waist, highlighting her curves with distinction.

Her fitted, dark riding pants hugged her long, shapely legs, outlining her silhouette with impeccable perfection. Over them, tall black leather equestrian boots shone in the morning light, their firm heels marking each of her steps with authority and grace.

Her silky brown hair fell in an elegant low ponytail, allowing a few loose strands to frame her determined face. Her lips, curved in a slight smile, exuded confidence, and in her hands she casually held a pair of leather gloves, a symbol of control and dominance.

With an aura of confidence and determination, her gaze scanned the room before settling on her cousin. "It's time," she said in a soft but firm voice, as she bridled, saddled, and took the reins from her cousin, preparing to ride him.

Under the morning sun, the young married woman rode gracefully and confidently over her cousin, who knelt docilely to welcome her. With fluid, natural movements, she placed a foot on his back and, with a slight push, she gracefully settled herself upon him, allowing her weight to settle with balance and dominance.

The reins in her hands were a symbol of absolute control, and with a squeeze of her thighs and a dig of her spurs, she signaled for him to begin moving.

He advanced with a firm, steady pace, feeling the warmth of his rider, who maintained an upright and majestic posture, her hair gently blowing in the breeze.

The sound of boots and spurs hitting his sides marked the rhythm of their gait. Occasionally, she tugged on the reins, guiding him with precision and certainty, demanding obedience without words.

The Wife, the Husband, and the Cousin (7)

From a small window in the barn stall, the husband watched silently, captivated by the scene unfolding before his eyes. The morning breeze gently ruffled his wife's hair as she rode gracefully and authoritatively in the spacious yard.

Her bearing was majestic, her riding attire enhancing every feature of her slender and commanding figure. With the reins firmly gripped in her hands, she directed her mount with precise movements, establishing the rhythm with the ease of one born to ride.

Each footstep resonated heavily on the damp earth, and the husband couldn't help but feel a mixture of admiration and devotion. There was devotion in her gaze, and an unspeakable pride in his chest. She was the master of herself and the world around her, and from his post in the barn, he could only gaze at her, surrendering to her elegance and absolute dominance.

With a satisfied nod, she gracefully dismounted, gently stroking her cousin's back before proceeding to unsaddle and untackle him. Her hands, firm yet gentle, released each buckle and strap with the same skill with which she had mastered it during the ride.

When she finished, their gazes met in silent understanding, a deep bond woven between them. They approached slowly, and in a final gesture of farewell, they embraced tightly. Their lips and tongues met in a long, passionate kiss, a wordless whisper sealing the shared moment.

Then, with a determined stride, she headed toward the barn. The sound of her boots and spurs echoed on the earth as she moved forward, ready to free her husband, who was still waiting for her in his stall, the bridle tied around his head and the reins secured in the ring on the wall.

She approached with a serene smile, her eyes reflecting a mischievous gleam as she untied the reins from the ring. Gently, she slid her fingers through the reins attached to the ring, taking control from her husband, who watched her silently, expectantly.

Then, in a soft but firm voice, she spoke to him: “If you wish me to ride you, stamp your paw once. But if you don't, stamp your paw twice.”

A brief silence fell, broken only by the gentle morning breeze. Her husband looked at her, took a deep breath, and with a determined movement, slightly lifted his foot and then let it fall with a single thud against the ground.

She smiled contentedly.

She gently stroked his hair before skillfully inserting the bit into his mouth. With firm, confident movements, she placed the saddle over his back and shoulders, securing it carefully. Her husband, docile and willing, lowered his head slightly in a sign of surrender as she adjusted the stirrups and took the reins.

With grace and elegance, she rode on his shoulders, her legs firmly planted on the sides of her human mount. Her haughty bearing and upright posture reflected dominance and confidence. "Move forward," she commanded in a soft but uncompromising voice as she whipped and spurred him.

He obeyed immediately, holding her firmly as she handled the reins with precision, directing him with smooth movements. Her boots touched his torso with each step, marking the rhythm of their gait.

The sun illuminated the scene, while the rhythmic footsteps of her mount echoed in the courtyard, proudly leading its rider.

The boy came out into the courtyard, curiously rubbing his eyes in the morning light. He looked up and saw his mother, upright and majestic, riding naturally on his father's shoulders.

The man advanced with firm, careful steps, making sure to maintain his balance as his wife guided him using the control of the reins, the caresses of the whip, and the pressure of her legs and spurs. She, with a serene and confident expression, maintained her upright posture, her hands resting confidently on the reins of a steed.

The boy watched the scene with amazement and a mischievous smile, watching his mother dominate gracefully and his father obey without resistance. The morning breeze played with his hair as they advanced together, a picture of perfect synchronicity.