Ultimate shoulder rides

Riding Attire

After defeating the incubus or the man, the victorious woman or succubus now wears sexy riding clothes that combine functionality with figure-enhancing details and project an elegant and confident image:

• Tight riding breeches (Jodhpurs or riding leggings): The breeches are tight-fitting, typically made of materials such as leather, suede, or high-quality stretch fabrics. In colors such as black, brown, or beige, these breeches follow the line of the body, accentuating the figure. They have subtle details such as seams or side zippers, which give them a more sophisticated and modern touch. The choice of stretch fabrics allows freedom of movement while staying firm to highlight the curves.

• Tall riding boots: Tall, low- or medium-heeled (also high-heeled) boots made of soft, high-quality leather are a must. These boots are not only functional for riding, but also add a touch of sensuality. Leather is black, brown or even with metallic details, such as buckles or decorative straps. The tight fit of the boots around the calves elegantly accentuates the leg, and their robust design evokes power and confidence.

• Tight-fitting riding top or blouse: A tight-fitting top or blouse, made of a stretchy fabric or a blend of materials such as cotton and lycra, helps to shape the figure. A top with a high collar or a discreet neckline that gives way to a touch of sensuality without losing elegance is ideal. Typical colours are white, grey, or even metallic tones, and feature details such as gold buttons or equestrian-style decorations such as embroidery or piping.

• Slim-fitting riding jacket: To complement the look, a slim-fitting riding jacket is perfect. Made of a shaping material such as wool or high-performance technical materials, this jacket has details such as hidden zippers, elegant lapels or even flexible fabric panels that allow for comfort when moving while highlighting the female figure.

• Accessories: For a more attractive touch, riding gloves, made of leather or synthetic materials, add a sophisticated detail. Riding belts or a tight girdle are also added to highlight the waist. Metallic details, such as buckles or small chains, accentuate the outfit, as well as making the outfit functional for riding, but also sensual and eye-catching.

To complete the sexy riding outfit, the use of a whip and spur adds a distinctive and functional touch, as well as reinforcing the image of power and control that many female riders wish to project.

• Whip: The whip is a riding accessory used to give orders to the horse or emphasize control over the animal. In this case, the whip has an elegant and sophisticated design. It is thin, usually made of leather or synthetic materials, with a long handle that may be adorned with metallic details, such as a small silver ornament or braided leather. The end of the whip has a small bow or tip, which highlights its functionality. The riding crop in a woman's hand conveys confidence and authority while adding an element of sensuality at the same time, due to its elongated shape and the way it is held.

• Spurs: Spurs are a traditional riding accessory, placed on the heels of boots to give subtle signals to the horse. In a sexy riding outfit, spurs are often made of shiny metal, with fine details such as gold or silver trim. Some spurs have a small, decorative wheel at the end, which is both functional and ornamental. The movement of the spurs as she walks accentuates the posture and rhythm of the rider, while the accompanying fitted riding boots ensure that the spurs are visible and add a touch of sophistication.

Both accessories reinforce the image of a woman who is confident, powerful and skilled in her riding skills, while maintaining an atmosphere of elegance and grace. The whip in her hand and the spurs on her boots are elements that, combined with the fitted riding outfit, help to create a complete look that is not only practical but also attractive and full of character.

This style not only highlights the elegance and skill of the woman when riding, but also has an air of sophistication and power, which highlights her figure and makes her look confident and attractive.

The Bit

The defeated incubus or man does not know if the woman or Succubus transformed him into an equine horse or kept him in his human form, because his eyes are fixed on her, admiring her and wanting to be subdued by her.

The dynamic follows a pattern of deep submission, where the defeater uses both gentleness and firmness to continue exerting her total control over the defeated, calming him with sweet words and caresses.

By bringing the bit closer to his mouth/snout, she guides him further into her domain. The bit, a symbol of submission and restriction, represents his total lack of autonomy, since, by opening his mouth/snout, he is giving in to her will completely.

The gentleness with which she acts reinforces the complexity of the situation. There is no explicit aggression or violence; instead, control is exercised in a subtle and emotional manner. She is carrying out a process of domestication, where every action, every word, has a clear purpose of subduing him without resorting to brute force.

This gesture of placing the bit in his mouth/snout reinforces the transformation of the defeated into a completely subordinate figure, who no longer has power over himself or his own actions. By opening his mouth/snout, he is not only physically accepting the bit, but also accepting the total control of the defeater, who, with this gesture, demonstrates that she has the ability to shape him as she wishes.

The action of placing a bit, traditionally used for horses and other domesticated animals, reinforces the image of the defeated as a creature completely under her domination, a being who has no choice but to yield to the authority of his defeater.

This is another step in his submission, in which the defeater demonstrates her absolute power over him.

He looks at her, as he voluntarily opens his mouth/snout, she smiles and puts the bit inside his mouth. This scene is charged with a complex mix of submission and acceptance, where the defeated, although dominated, seems to recognize his role in this dynamic. As he looks at the defeater while he voluntarily opens his mouth/snout, he shows a mix of obedience and desire, as if he has been completely hypnotized by her power and beauty. The action of opening his mouth/snout of his own free will reflects his total surrender, not only physically, but also emotionally and psychologically. There is no resistance, which underlines that he has accepted his fate and her absolute control over him.

The defeater's smile, in this case, is a clear symbol of her triumph. She is not only dominating his body, but also his mind. The smile reflects satisfaction and control, as she is watching how he, without any direct pressure, submits to her with total docility. This is a moment in which her power has manifested itself in the most effective way, as she has managed not only to subdue him, but also to mold him to her will.

By placing the bit in his mouth/snout, the defeater not only imposes a physical object of control on him, but also marks him. The bit is more than a physical restriction; it is a constant reminder that he no longer has freedom of action, that his fate is sealed under her domination. It is as if she is telling him, in a tacit way, that he cannot speak, resist, or act outside of her control.

This moment has an intense emotional and psychological charge, for the defeated, although he is yielding, is also being completely transformed. She now has absolute power over him, and her will becomes the only one that matters.

The Walk (1)

By grabbing the reins firmly, she takes the next step in this dynamic of total control. The action of walking towards the stable or barn, while he follows her, one step back and one step to the right, further reinforces his subordinate role. It is a choreography of submission and obedience, where each of his movements is dictated by her, who controls the direction and rhythm of the step. He follows her every movement, like a completely dependent being, accepting his fate without question.

The fact that he follows her, one step back and to the right, is a clear sign of subordination, showing that he cannot advance on his own or act on his own initiative. He is conditioned to be at her side, but always in a position of inferiority. The rigidity and exactness of his movement suggests an imposed discipline, where each step is perfectly synchronized with the control she has over him.

The direction towards the stable or barn is significant because this place can be seen as a space of “confinement” or final transformation, a place where he could be “kept” or “bound,” figuratively or literally, to her will. The stable, traditionally a place for domesticated animals, reinforces the idea that he has been reduced to a creature-like position that is completely dependent on its caretaker.

As he follows her, his submission is clear, but a sense of acceptance can also be perceived, as he is following her lead without resistance. The more isolated and closed environment he is in could be a place where his fate is further sealed, as he is cut off from the outside world and completely subjected to the will of the defeater.

This is a high point in the power dynamic, where the border between the desire for control and the complete acceptance of submission become blurred.

The lady walks gracefully, firmly grabbing the reins of her “dog” or “horse,” while he obediently follows, always keeping his position one step behind and to the right.

On the way to the barn, they encounter a procession of equally striking figures: dominant succubi and women riding men and incubi, transformed into horses in both equine and human form.

The men being ridden in human form are found in various positions: some carry their riders on their shoulders, their arms bound tightly to prevent the use of their free hands. Another advances on all fours, hands and knees brushing the ground, while the succubus or woman directs him using reins or whips. Those who walked upright, with their backs at a 90-degree angle, held staffs that served as support to maintain stability, becoming a strange mix of human and functional quadruped.

The women, with their expressions of authority and confidence, exchanged knowing glances and smiles with each other as they guided their "horses." The succubi, with their supernatural and captivating aura, seemed to float among the crowd, watching every detail with a presence that commanded respect.

The lady, without altering her pace or her bearing, advanced while her eyes scanned the scene with interest, but without surprise. For her, this spectacle was as common as the rituals of everyday life.

The defeated man, with his head down but his eyes restless, could not help but observe the other men ridden and subdued, each with his own story inscribed in their expressions of resignation or determination. He knew that, although he now believed he was walking, his destiny could change at any moment if his Mistress so decided.

The Walk (3)

He looked around, observing the other "horses" closely. Some were clearly equine beasts, with manes stirring to the rhythm of their riders' steps. Others, however, retained their human form, but with straps, saddles and bindings that turned them into functional mounts. His mind filled with doubts. What had she turned him into?

He tried to move his hands... were they tied or free? Were they hands or hooves? He looked down, but his perspective did not help him to distinguish whether his legs were human or if he now had legs. His way of walking, following the lady a step behind and to the right, felt natural... but it was also common among men turned into human mounts. Finally, he looked up at her. Only she could give him the answer.

Without stopping walking, the lady smiled sideways, sensing his confusion. Then, with a calm but firm gaze, she spoke, “If you hesitate, then you are not yet a true horse.”

His heart pounded. Did that mean he was still human? Or just that his transformation was not yet complete?

He watched in awe as the centaurs moved forward with a steady gait, guided by the reins held by their riders. The ladies rode them confidently, mastering them with the same skill with which they handled the equine horses and the men transformed into human mounts. He felt a chill run down his spine. Was he one of them?

He looked down, but the perspective of his own body was still hazy. He tried to move his arms, but he didn’t know if they were free or if his mind simply couldn’t remember how to use them. Did he have hands or front legs? Did he walk on two legs or four?

He looked at his rider, waiting for an answer. She didn’t stop or turn to look at him, but her smile widened slightly. “If you keep wondering what you are…” she said, her voice soft but firm, “it’s because you no longer have the answer in your own hands. Did that mean I no longer had hands?”

Her mind was torn between uncertainty and submission. Only she knew the truth. Only she could tell him.

She stopped and commanded him to watch a lady holding the reins of a bridled and saddled man. He obeyed and watched in amazement as the man’s body, still human, shuddered under the domination of his rider. The lady held the reins firm and gently pulled on them. In that instant, his body began to change.

His skin lost its human texture and became covered in fur, his hands and feet lengthened and transformed into hooves. His face stretched into a snout, and his eyes reflected a mix of confusion and surrender. Within seconds, there was no trace of his former form left. He was a complete horse, a steed under the absolute command of his rider.

He felt a chill run down his spine. Was this what awaited him? He looked at his own rider with fear and expectation. Would she transform him as well?

She looked at him with an enigmatic smile and gently stroked his neck. “Now tell me,” she whispered, “what form are you in?”

She removed the bit from his mouth and said, “Now you may answer.” He tried to speak, but only neighs came out of his mouth. His eyes widened in wonder and despair as he moved his tongue around in his empty mouth, finding no words, only equine sounds.

She smiled in satisfaction. “It seems your answer is clear,” she said as she stroked his mane. “You are a horse.”

He looked at his reflection in a nearby puddle and confirmed the truth: his body was no longer human. She had transformed him completely.

The Barn (2)

The fact that the defeated are divided between those in equine form and those who maintain human form, but with their arms bound to prevent the use of their hands, further amplifies the idea of ​​absolute control over their bodies and their capabilities. Those in equine form experience a sense of being stripped of their humanity, as their bodies have been transformed into creatures normally associated with servitude or subjugation, while those in human form but without the ability to use their hands feel similarly restricted in their autonomy, unable to perform the slightest action on their own.

The reins tied to the hoop and the locked door are powerful symbols of their total subjection, such that they cannot escape or take the initiative. Everything is determined by the female riders, who have control not only over their bodies, but also over their fate.

The fact that the female riders walk around the barn observing the horses as if they were pieces in a controlled space further reinforces the atmosphere of dominance. Not only have they been defeated, but they are now inspecting them, as if evaluating their obedience or simply enjoying the feeling of power over them. The horses, being tied and restrained, are completely at the mercy of the riders, who have the absolute right to do whatever they wish with them.

The situation of being watched while remaining tied and immobile in the stall, generates an even deeper sense of humiliation in the defeated. They are completely on display, and their helplessness is aggravated by being treated like objects or animals, watched and controlled at all times.

The defeated are likely to feel torn between the desperation of their total submission and a possible sense of dependency, knowing that their only option is to wait for the riders to decide what to do with them. The atmosphere of constant observation and control makes the feeling of vulnerability even more palpable.

Thus, in the dream world, males between 12 and 30 years old take the place of horses, while ladies between 13 and 25 years old are the riders. The ladies rule with reins and saddles, leading the transformed males, who accepted their destiny within the dream. Some retained human features, others became completely equines, and some even centaurs.

Meanwhile, the lady who had transformed him approached him and looked at him with an enigmatic smile. “You were human, but now you are a steed. Will you accept your destiny or continue to fight against it?” she asked, stroking his muzzle.

He responded with grateful neighs. She smiled with satisfaction and stroked his mane. “Good answer. Now, show me how well you can trot.”

He obeyed immediately, moving with grace and energy, feeling how each step reinforced his new identity. His transformation was complete, and in the dream world, he was no longer a man… but a horse, a faithful steed for his rider.

She unlocked the door using the key, untied the reins from the hoop, led her horse out of the stall, and into the center of the barn. He walked docilely after her, feeling the weight of the bridle and the firmness of her grip on the reins. In the center of the barn, she watched him with a critical, satisfied gaze. “Time to saddle you,” she said in a calm but commanding voice.

She took the saddle and with precise movements placed it on his back, adjusting the girths with the same confidence with which he now accepted his fate. She slid her hand down his neck, caressing him before climbing into the saddle. “You are mine. Now, show me how well you can carry me.”

With a light tug on the reins and a touch with her boots, she set him in motion.

Riding the Human Horse

She said, "I now wish to ride my horse in its human form." She remained unmoved as her horse felt its form changing, from equine to human, along with its bit, bridle, and saddle.

The transformation was slow but inexorable. He felt his body change: his muzzle shortened, his front legs became arms, his hooves trembling hands. His hunched back straightened, and his skin became that of a man again. However, the bridle was still tight to his face, the bit still in his mouth, and the saddle had not disappeared: it now fit his human back, fastened with firm straps.

She, without moving an inch from her place on him, watched the transition with absolute calm. She continued to ride him. He, now in his human form but still on all fours, felt her weight on his back and the pressure of her thighs enveloping him in dominance.
The transformed reins were now leather ropes that she held securely, marking her absolute control.
The spurs of her boots rested gently against his sides, ready to urge him to move whenever she desired.
The whip rested in her hand, a silent reminder of who was in charge.

She tilted her face slightly, looking down at him with a serene smile. "This is how I wish to ride you now." Her words fell upon him with an inescapable weight. He had changed form, but his destiny remained the same.

He is on his hands and knees, his rider comfortably seated atop the saddle, she steps on the stirrups and shifts her spurs on his horse's thighs making him feel her presence, she grabs the reins and he begins to crawl on all fours obeying his rider's commands.

She leads and controls him using reins, whip and spurs, the spectacular dark-haired, curvy woman with generous breasts, a slim waist, wide hips, pronounced buttocks and thick thighs on top of her horse exerts her dominance over him. The other horses from 12 to 30 years old admire her and want to be in the horse's place, she knows this and plays with their desires.

At this, a man appears and stands at the door of the barn, the horse feels that he has no control over his body because an unstoppable force puts him on his feet and ties his arms and hands behind him while the saddle moves to his shoulders, the rider is always sitting on the saddle, the saddle changes shape, adjusting to be on the shoulders and neck of the horse.

The rider removes the bit from her horse's mouth and asks: "Are you ready?", he answers by nodding his head, the rider leads her horse towards the man who is at the door. She asks, “What do you want?” he replies, “To fight,” she says, “I’m sorry, I’m busy riding my horse.”

At this, a stunning woman appears and calls out to him, and he follows her. Shortly afterward, the stunning woman returns riding a bridled and saddled horse.

The rider leads her horse to his stall, without stopping riding, she ties the reins to the hoop, she dismounts and allows her horse to kiss her boots, she steps out of the stall and locks the door, she says to him, “See you when you dream again,” and she smiles, he wakes from his dream and finds himself in his bed.

This closure in the story reflects a return to the real world, where the dream experience seems to end, but the rider’s sense of power and control persists. The phrase “See you when you dream again” implies that the relationship between them is not over for good; the door is opened for a continuation of the dynamic in future dreams.

The fact that the horse wakes up in his bed, returning to reality, suggests that the experience he had in the dream has a lasting impact, that the lessons or control the victor exerted over him are still present in his mind, affecting his thoughts or desires.

The rider, by saying "see you when you dream again," is also implying that the power she has gained over him extends beyond the dream, influencing how he perceives reality and his desires in the future.

He and She (2)

At night he dreams of her and recognizes her, he knows who she is; meanwhile, she dreams of him, but does not recognize him, because for her all the horses in her herd are the same. This adds an interesting layer to the dynamic between them. For him, the dream is a personal and intense experience; he recognizes her, desires her and, at the same time, fears the power she exerts over him. On the other hand, for her, he is just one more in her herd, indistinguishable from the others.

This reinforces in him his feeling of submission and surrender: she is his owner; while, for her, he is not special, but simply another of her horses. This generates in him a mixture of pleasure and frustration, because, although he enjoys being dominated by her, he would also long to be unique in her eyes.

He wakes up within this dream, feeling the cold metal of the bit inside his mouth, the bridle fastened to his head and the reins tightly tied by her to the ring of the stall where she left him the night before. He finds himself in a dimly lit stable, permeated with the smell of leather and hay.

Turning his head, he sees others like him: some retaining their human form, wearing a bit, bridle, reins and saddle; others transformed completely into equine form, neighing softly or shaking their heads in impatience. They are all part of her herd, trapped in her dream world, awaiting their fate under her domination.

He feels a mixture of emotions: submission fills him with peace, but being just one among many unsettles him. He remembers her, he knows who she is, but will she remember him?

Then the sound of her boots and spurs echoing on the floor tells him that she has arrived.

She advances with a firm and elegant step, the sound of her high-heeled boots echoing in the stable with each step, accompanied by the soft clink of her spurs.

Her outfit is impeccable, made to dominate: the cowgirl hat projects her authority, the sunglasses hide her gaze, but intensify her aura of mystery, she is beautiful in face and hair.

Her white crop top highlights her confidence, highlighting her generous breasts and revealing her tanned skin and slim hourglass waist.

The short jeans hug her wide hips and prominent buttocks firmly, and highlight her thick tanned thighs, while the black leather gloves cover her hands, ready to take the reins and control her horses.

Her boots, kissable and kissed by her horses

She gracefully approaches each of the stalls, stopping before each horse, delicately caressing their hair or manes, and their bridled muzzles or bridled faces, assessing them with a satisfied smile. She knows, they are all hers, they all belong to her. They are her herd.

When she reaches him, his heart races. He feels the touch of her gloves on his hair or mane, on his muzzle or mouth, on his neck, she is the bride who caresses the bridle and the reins tied to the hoop, she pulls the reins checking that they are firmly tied to the hoop. A shiver of submission and pleasure runs through his body. For him, this moment is unique, special.

But for her, he is just another one of her horses.

He and She (4)

A cold chill ran through his body. His eyes opened wide, but he couldn't move. The bridle on his head, the reins tied to the ring of the stall, everything held him in place. She leaned in a little closer, her face inches from his. Through her sunglasses, he could feel the intensity of her gaze, that gleam of absolute dominance that kept him trapped. "Do you want to wake up?" her voice was an enveloping whisper, but charged with power.

He tried to respond, wanted to scream, but the bridle in his mouth only allowed him to let out a soft, muffled sound. She smiled with satisfaction. "I have control of your dreams and, if I wish, I will have control of your wakefulness! You will wake up when I decide!"

His chest rose and fell rapidly. Was it just a dream... or was it more than that? The feeling of being trapped, of having no control, was terrifying and, at the same time, strangely pleasurable.

She straightened up and with one last caress on his face, she turned gracefully, her boots clicking against the stable floor as she walked away. He tried to move. He tried to wake up. But he couldn’t. Because she hadn’t decided yet.

She rode on the shoulders of one of her bridled and saddled human-shaped horses. When she returned she tied him in the hoop of her stall, then she returned to her dad’s boss. She told him, “I give you permission to wake up.”

He found himself in his bed, lying on his back looking up at the sky, but he couldn’t move. When he opened his eyes he saw her on top of him, he stopped trying to move. She told him, “You like me on top of you because you offer no resistance when you see my weight on your chest. You know, I have control over you here too.”

She faded away and he was able to move. He felt a lump in his throat. His heart pounded as he tried to process what had just happened. Had it just been a dream? Or something else?

He turned slowly towards his wife, but her gaze caught him immediately. She was awake. She was there, watching him with those serious, expectant eyes, as if she knew something had happened. The silence between them became unbearable. “Who is she?” his wife asked, her voice firm.

He felt the room getting smaller. His mind tried to search for a logical answer, but he could still feel the sensation of the weight of that young lady on his chest, her voice echoing in his head: “I have control over you here too.”

His wife was still waiting. She didn’t look away. He swallowed. He knew her answer mattered.

He said to his wife: “I don’t know what you’re talking about, because I just woke up. What did you see or hear?”

His wife narrowed her eyes, not taking her intense gaze off of him. The silence stretched for a few seconds that seemed like an eternity. "You were moving… you were mumbling something…" he finally said "And suddenly you stood completely still, with your eyes open, as if someone was on top of you."

He felt a chill run down his spine. How far had that dream crossed the border of reality? "It was just a dream." he replied, trying to sound calm. "I don't remember anything."

She tilted her head slightly, still analyzing him. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. But his wife didn't seem convinced. Finally, she sighed, but her expression remained serious. "If it was just a dream… why are you still so nervous?"

He looked away, unable to answer. Because deep down, a disturbing truth was becoming increasingly clear: Maybe… she (the young lady) still had control over him.

He and She (6)

As he waited for his rider to return, he turned his face and looked at his wife. His wife was breathing calmly, deep in sleep. A sleep imposed by his lady rider.

He felt a chill run down his spine. She shouldn't be asleep. But there she was, motionless, unaware of what was happening beside her.

Then, he remembered his wife's question: "Why didn't you resist or try to move while she rode you like a horse on your chest? You seemed so happy!" The weight of his wife's question fell on him like a stone. Why hadn't he tried to resist? Why hadn't he even struggled?

He remembered the feeling of the rider on top of him, her absolute dominance, her undisputed control. The way she looked at him, as if he were hers, as if he had always been hers. And most disturbingly... the happiness he felt at that moment. But was it happiness… or submission?

The echo of his wife's voice reverberated in his mind: "You seemed very happy!" He couldn't deny it. He didn't want to deny it.

He brought a hand to his face, feeling her skin cold and clammy. He looked at his sleeping wife, trapped in a sleep induced by the rider. What would happen when she truly woke up? Would she remember anything? Would she ask him the same question again? Or worse yet… Would the rider keep coming back into his life, invading his dreams and his waking life, until he could no longer distinguish between the two?

He turned his gaze to the ceiling, waiting. Waiting for his rider to return.

The air felt heavier, the room darker. And then, without needing to see her, he knew she was back. "Did you miss me?"

Her voice was an enveloping whisper, a melody that etched itself into his mind. He swallowed. He didn't need to answer. She already knew the answer.

She climbed on top of him, the soles of her boots on the chest of her submissive human horse. He felt her weight pressing against his chest, a mix of dominance and fascination running through him. She posed with absolute confidence, like a professional model on a catwalk, as if his body was just a prop beneath her feet.

"He is my personal pedestal." Her voice echoed in the room, addressing his sleeping wife, as if she wanted those words to somehow be engraved in his subconscious.

He wanted to speak, but he couldn't. He didn't want to.

Because, deep down, he knew it was true.

She lowered herself down and made him sit on her bed, from her dominant position she rode on top of his shoulders, and commanded him to give her a tour of his house.

He obeyed without question or hesitation, feeling her firm, dominant weight on his shoulders. He didn't question it because he couldn't resist, but because he didn't want to. She rode him naturally, as if she had always been his rider and he her horse.

She, riding firmly on his shoulders, held him securely, as if she had been born to ride him. Her boots brushed his chest, her hands directed his path, her will was the only one that mattered.

"Show me your home," she ordered in a tone that left no room for negotiation, her voice firm, but with a playful tone that made it clear who was in control.

He rose slowly, standing with effort, feeling her weight on him, but not caring, making sure to hold her thighs tightly to keep her stable. She was his rider, his owner at that moment. He walked carefully, making sure his rider was comfortable.

Step by step, he walked through his own home with her on his shoulders, the halls, the rooms, seeing his house, his home, his refuge, his domain, from a different perspective: It no longer belongs to him, it is now hers.

He and She (8)

Opening the door to his son's bedroom to let him sleep, he found his wife asking, "Did he just come back from his party? He's coming home very late from his parties, when he wakes up you'll have to talk seriously with him." She then went to her son and wrapped him up and said, "He's dreaming, he's happy, look how he smiles. What? He's neighing like a horse! What is he dreaming about? Your son's neighing reminded me of the dream I had with you, let's go to bed. He walked to his bedroom and she demanded, 'Carry me on your shoulders, you're another's horse and you're not your wife's horse.'"

Silence filled the room as he stood still, feeling the weight of his wife's words. His mind was torn between reality and the echoes of the dream that still enveloped him. "What's wrong? Can't you carry me? Or do you just obey her?" His wife insisted, crossing her arms.

He swallowed and tried to regain control of his body, but the feeling of submission persisted. It wasn't just a dream.

From the other room, the son continued sleeping peacefully, letting out soft neighs in his breathing.

The wife stared at her husband. "If you're not my horse... then tell me, what are you to me?" she asked in a tone that mixed defiance and expectation. He, still paralyzed, didn't know what to answer. His life was changing... and he wasn't in control. He answered: "I'm your husband."

She looked at him closely, her eyes reflecting a mixture of disdain and defiance, as if she were evaluating his answer. "Your husband? You say you're my husband?" she repeated, as if the word sounded strange in her mouth.

She slowly approached him, without losing her gaze. "And what does that mean to you? Being the husband is being the one who commands, the one who makes the decisions?" She asked him, her tone soft but laden with palpable authority.

He, still caught in confusion and unease, tried to maintain his composure, but his body, scarred by recent experiences, was telling him otherwise. "Yes, I am your husband... but I have also... been... the one who obeys... all the time..." he replied, the last part of the sentence almost inaudible.

The wife watched him in silence for a moment, and then, with a subtle smile, said, "So... do you want me to decide what to do with you, like she does?"

He could not answer. The tension was palpable.

The rider appeared behind the wife, and touched her forehead, the wife vanished and the rider held her and said to the husband, "Carry her in your arms to your bed and sleep with your wife. Your son is happy with me."

The rider watched with satisfaction as the husband, still caught in the web of her control, took his wife in his arms and carried her docilely to their bed. As he settled in beside her, his mind remained tied to the figure of the rider, the one who controlled his every thought and desire. With his wife asleep, he closed his eyes, seeking rest, but he could not help but feel the rider's presence in his thoughts. She was in his mind, always dominating.

Elsewhere, the son remained under the rider's influence, enjoying her company and the sleep she guided him into. Everything was in her control, and he, like his other horses, could do nothing but surrender.

The rider, satisfied with her dominance over the family, retreated into the darkness of the night, knowing she had the power to shape the dreams and lives of those who adored her. In her world, she is always the Queen.

He and She (10)

She looked into his eyes, and a slight smile appeared on her lips, a smile that seemed to transcend reality itself, as if they both shared a bond that went beyond the tangible. He felt the pieces of the puzzle of his life intertwining in unexpected ways, as if everything that had happened so far was nothing more than a prelude to what was to come.

Immersed in the dizzying calm that surrounded them, he began to dive into the enigmatic sensation of his closeness to her, as if he were in a labyrinth of thoughts that called him to go deeper, to enter that crossroads of what was real and what belonged to the realm of the reimagined. The uncertainty of his dream, like a kaleidoscope of memories, merged with the present, creating a disconcerting but captivating vision.

Silence filled the room, heavy and filled with a tacit understanding that neither of them was willing to break. Something was happening, something beyond what either of them could fully control or understand.

Each beat of his heart was another note in the melody of their shared existence, a melody that would certainly take them to unfathomable places, through the currents of their connection, always ready to open new doors to what they had not yet fully understood.

A thick, tense air reigned as they continued to gaze at each other, each aware of the other in a deep way, as palpable as the beating of their hearts.

"This is just the beginning," she murmured, her voice soft as a promise, inviting him to embark on the unknown. The image of her, above him, seemed like a hypnotic song that called him to discover more, to follow the course of this enigmatic destiny that unfolded before him, like a path surrounded by greenery, guided by the light of a sun that was still slowly rising.

She, straddling him, maintained an air of serene dominance, but her eyes shone with a mix of complicity and defiance, as if she were revealing to him a secret they both knew, but had never dared to say out loud. Her body, resting gently on his, seemed to indicate that it was not only a place of physical rest, but also of power and control.

She smiled slightly, a gesture that seemed to contain a multitude of unspoken meanings. Her eyes, in particular, seemed to say much more than any words. He, feeling that look, began to understand, to perceive the depth of the moment. It was as if time had stopped to allow them to exist, simply, in the same vibration of the instant.

The sensation of her body on him, that mix of weight and heat, enveloped him in such a way that the lines between sleep and wakefulness blurred even more. Each breath synchronized, each small movement became part of a silent game, of an invisible dance that only the two of them understood.

She asked, “Are you happy?”

He stared at her, feeling the connection between them, as if their souls were speaking in a language only they could understand. He took a deep breath before answering, knowing his words had to be sincere and clear.

“Yes, I am happy,” he said calmly, his voice a little deep but soft, as if he was conveying his entire being in that statement. “Because I know that what I feel, what we share, is not just a dream or a fantasy. It is real to me. It is like a place I want to belong, where I can be myself without reservation, without doubts.”

His gaze softened as his eyes met hers, and he added, “It is a kind of happiness I never imagined I would find, but here we are, in this moment, together. And that… that makes me feel complete.”

He did not need to say more, because in his eyes she could see the truth of his words.

The atmosphere was broken by the voice of his teenage son, and for a moment, they both looked at each other in silence. The father, still a little stunned by the intimacy of the moment, slowly sat up, while the rider watched with a slight smile, as if this was all part of something bigger than just a dream.

The son, still sleepy-faced and unaware of the strange air that had been created in the room, seemed more interested in his own world. "Dad, mom said to go to the office, that you're late," he repeated, scratching his head and looking at his father with a half-confused expression.

The man nodded, quickly taking control of the situation, and stood up, trying to return to normal. "Thanks, son. I'll be right there," he replied, although his thoughts were still somewhat scattered.

He looked at his rider once more before leaving, saying nothing, but with a slight nod, as if he were acknowledging him, understanding deep down what had happened, but without words that could adequately express it.

He and She (12)

The Succubus sits on top of her sleeping victim, and she did.

She, with an enigmatic smile, sat gracefully on top of her sleeping victim's chest. Her weight was light but inescapable, a presence that enveloped him like a spell.

He, caught between sleep and wakefulness, felt her breathing ragged. Her body was unresponsive, as if an invisible force was holding him still.

She leaned her face towards him, her eyes shining with a hypnotic glow. "You're mine," she whispered in a seductive voice, gently caressing his cheek using the tips of her fingers.

The air in the room seemed to become thicker, charged with her power. Her victim tried to speak, to move, but all attempts were in vain. She had absolute control.

She settled better on top of him, crossing her legs naturally. "Don't fight it... just surrender," she said with a mischievous smile, enjoying her dominance.

He let out a ragged sigh. There was no escape. She ruled his dream… and perhaps his reality as well.

His father saw her riding down the hall and followed her.

The atmosphere was permeated with a hypnotic and submissive aura. While she sat dominantly on her victim's chest, his father, without hesitation, leaned down and devotedly kissed the lady's shiny boots.

Each kiss was an act of reverence, a symbol of surrender to his absolute power. She, with a satisfied smile, watched the scene, enjoying the submission of both.

"This is how it should be," she murmured in a melodious voice, caressing the face of her young mount, while her father continued to kiss her boots with fervor.

"It's getting late!" cried the wife. He reacted immediately upon hearing his wife's cry. The rider, with a mischievous smile, gave him a gentle kick with the toe of her boot and ordered him: "Go to work, and be nice to my dad."

He nodded, still feeling the intensity of the night, not knowing exactly how much of it had been a dream and how much had been real. He stood up hastily, trying to compose himself while the rider watched him with a satisfied expression.

When he left the house, his wife was waiting for him with her arms crossed and an inquisitive look. "Why did you take so long to get up?" she asked with suspicion in her voice.

He could only sketch a nervous smile while, still stunned by what had happened, he tried to assimilate the strange experience, still feeling the weight of that night on his chest, he hurried to get ready for work. His wife, without suspecting what had occurred in his mind during the night, reminded him: "Don't forget to talk to our son about the time he gets home after the holidays."

He nodded mechanically, but his mind was still stuck on the memory of the rider.

The young rider thought, "Any minute now my mom will wake me up to go to school, see you, horsey," and faded away. From this moment on, he slept with an expression of absolute peace, as if in his dream he was still being ridden by the mysterious rider. And somewhere else, she smiled, knowing that she would return whenever she wanted.

He and She (14)

"Wait!" said the boss, "I will be ridden by your daughter to school, please run to the office."

The young girl looked at the boss with a raised eyebrow and an amused smile. "Will you be my horse?" she asked, leaning forward slightly without getting off her father's shoulders.

The boss nodded seriously. "Yes, your father has urgent work. I don't want him to be late because of being ridden by you."

She turned her face to her father and patted his head. "Okay, daddy. Go to the office. Your boss will be my horse."

The father, with some hesitation, helped her down carefully. As soon as her boots touched the ground, she crossed her arms and looked at the boss with a defiant smile. "Well, Mr. Boss, if you're going to take me, do it properly."

The boss frowned. "What do you mean?"

She smiled even wider and pointed at his shoulders. "I want you to bend over so I can climb on top of you to ride you. I don't walk to school."

The boss opened his eyes in surprise, but at the young woman's firm gaze and his employee's impatience, he sighed. Slowly, he crouched down in front of her. "Get on."

It didn't take her a second to settle on his shoulders, crossing her legs elegantly and adjusting her grip. "Alright, horsey. Now, take me to school."

The boss struggled to his feet, feeling the young woman's light but firm weight on him. As they walked out, her father looked at them with a mix of relief and amazement before hurrying to the office.

The boss was walking to school while the young rider was video calling her friends.

As they walked to school, the young rider settled on the boss's shoulders, taking out her mobile phone. With a playful smile, she began video calling her friends, each of whom seemed to be waiting for her call. The friends greeted her enthusiastically upon seeing her on the screen, and she relaxed as she began talking to them with a mix of confidence and amusement. “What’s up guys? I’m being driven to school by… you know who. My dad’s boss offered to give me a ride today. I didn’t even bother walking!” she laughed as she gestured toward the boss, who walked steadily, showing no signs of discomfort.

On the other side of the screen, the friends laughed, some commenting, “Wow! That’s some style! What do you call your human horse?” one of them joked.

She, without missing a beat, responded with a confident smile, “Yeah, that’s right. My personal horse for the day.”

The boss, though somewhat serious, couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable about the situation, but he continued to walk in a professional manner, as if carrying her on his shoulders was the most natural thing in the world. She, for her part, seemed delighted with the attention she was receiving from her friends, enjoying the moment. "I don't have to worry about anything today. My transportation is guaranteed, and my dad's boss has to do what I say.

Anybody else up for a ride?" she joked, looking at the camera.

The friends couldn't help but laugh, and one of them replied: "Of course! I also want to be ridden by someone as impressive as you."

He and She (16)

The chief nodded, unable to help but feel a little more relaxed. Although it was still an unusual scene, the normality with which everyone carried it gave him a sense of calm, as if this was all part of a tradition or custom deeply rooted in this community.

They realized that this activity, although disconcerting to an outsider, was a ritual or custom well accepted by all involved. The men who carried the ladies, whether they were mothers, teachers or classmates, did so with a mixture of respect and pride. The atmosphere was more one of camaraderie than obligation, and everyone seemed to enjoy the moment.

The chief, although still somewhat curious, began to realize that he himself was probably being part of a local tradition that, although strange to outsiders' eyes, was part of the social fabric of that community. "It seems there is more to all this than I thought," he thought, as he continued on his way to school with the young rider on his shoulders.

It seems that in this community there is a particular dynamic in which power and respect relations are expressed through this type of interaction. The young rider, in explaining how different people participate in this custom, revealed a complex structure in which not only parents and children are involved, but also authority figures such as teachers and other members of the community.

As she spoke, the chief watched with increasing amazement. What seemed like an isolated or unusual practice to an outsider, actually seemed to be a widespread and accepted cultural norm. The idea of ​​riding on others was not seen as a sign of submission, but as an act of respect, trust, and in some cases, even fun. “So, it is not just a matter of parents and children, but it involves everyone in the community,” said the chief, trying to better understand what was happening.

The young rider smiled, noticing his confusion, and nodded. "Exactly. Here, everything is based on mutual respect. It's not a way to humiliate anyone, but rather a symbolic way to show that one trusts the other person, and sometimes, it's also just a fun way to interact."

The chief, now with a mix of wonder and curiosity, slowly took in what she was telling him. "It's... very different from what I'm used to, but it seems that it has a much deeper meaning here."

Upon arriving at the school, the young rider gracefully jumped off the chief's shoulders, and he watched as she entered the building, still thinking about everything he had witnessed. Although he didn't fully understand the context or logic of the tradition, he could sense that in this community everything had a purpose that went beyond what the eyes could see at first.

The young rider, as she said goodbye, said with a smile: "It's an honor to be part of this tradition. But, like everything in life, it's more than what meets the eye."

He and She (18)

The boss arrived unarmed at his office, being attended to by the young rider's father. The boss complained: "Your daughter is thin and light, but your friend is a great woman."

The young rider's father, who received him in his office, looked at him with an expression that reflected a mixture of seriousness and understanding. He knew that the boss was used to handling various situations, but what he had just experienced had been something out of the ordinary for him.

"That's right," the father replied, without flinching too much. "My daughter is very light and agile, but her friend... yes, she has an imposing presence, a woman with a lot of strength and character."

The boss, still somewhat surprised by what he had experienced, sat in the chair in front of his father, crossing his arms as he tried to order his thoughts. "I don't know what to think of all this," he confessed. "It's... something I've never seen before. Things are so different here."

The young rider's father nodded slowly, acknowledging the boss's bewilderment. "This is our way of life," he said calmly. "You may not fully understand it at first, but it is a reflection of the trust, respect, and balance we seek among ourselves. Everyone has their place and role, and we all respect each other in our own unique way."

The boss looked around, noticing how the rider's father's office was decorated in an orderly fashion, but also with details that reflected the local culture. It was clear that it was not just a workspace, but also a place where customs were kept alive.

"I don't know if I'll ever fully understand," the boss murmured, "but I guess I'll try."

The young rider's father smiled softly. "The important thing is that you respect and follow the rules here, just like anywhere else in the world. In time, perhaps everything will make more sense."

The boss nodded, knowing that he would have to adapt to these rules, even if he didn't yet understand all the implications of them. Meanwhile, his mind continued to process everything he had seen and experienced that morning. The day had certainly been a challenge to his understanding of social norms, but also something that had left him intrigued and eager to learn more.

He and She (20)

They entered the school and then a classroom, the 2 ladies sat on chairs while the boss knelt before the young rider. The young rider crossed her legs elegantly as she looked at him with a satisfied smile. Her mother, at her side, watched the scene with interest, enjoying the exchange. The boss, kneeling before the young girl, felt that the dynamic in this place was completely different than any other he had ever experienced. "Well, boss," the young rider began with a playful but firm tone, "it seems that you are willing to learn more about our way of doing things."

The boss nodded, unable to help but feel a little out of place. "Yes, I admit that this is... different from what I am used to. But I am curious."

The young rider's mother intervened with a smile. "Here, respect and harmony are built on the acceptance of roles. We lead, you follow. Does that seem strange to you?"

The boss pondered for a moment before answering. "More than strange, I'd say it's unexpected. But I notice that everyone seems to be in balance with this dynamic."

The young rider rested her hands on her knees and stared at him. "That's because we understand our positions and accept them naturally. You, for example, could be part of this... but tell me, are you ready to take on your role?"

The boss gulped. He wasn't sure what to answer, but something inside him told him that, by crossing that door, he had agreed to enter a world where his own rules no longer carried as much weight. "I'm here to learn," he finally said.

The young rider smiled, satisfied with his answer. "That's what I wanted to hear."

The young rider said, "First it's your family and then it's your job, and you have to talk to your son about not coming home late when he goes to parties, he didn't go to school today."

The boss nodded slowly, feeling the weight of the young rider's words. He knew she was right. In his effort to fulfill his work responsibilities, he had neglected an important matter at home.

"I know," he replied seriously. "I've been busy and haven't paid enough attention to it."

The young rider's mother intervened gently, but firmly. "A leader doesn't just lead at work, but in his family as well. You can't expect your son to make good decisions if you don't have time to guide him."

The boss sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "They're right. I'll talk to him today."

The young rider smiled with satisfaction. "Good. But don't just talk to him, listen to him. Ask why he's late, what he likes about those parties, and what he's looking for by being out of the house so late."

The boss looked at her in surprise. "You have impressive maturity for your age."

She shrugged with a confident smile. "Here, we learn to take control of things from a young age. Now go to your son, before you keep delaying everything."

The chief slowly stood up and nodded. "Thank you... for the lesson."

The young rider waved her hand in dismissal. "Go on, chief. And remember that there is always someone to answer to, even you."

He and She (22)

The chief's son told his father's rider: "In the morning I dreamed that I was ridden by a rider like you but 3 to 5 years older." The boy's father shuddered.

The young rider looked at the chief's son with an intriguing smile and asked: "And how was that dream? Did you like it?"

The chief's son nodded, a little embarrassed. "It was... strange, but not unpleasant. The rider was leading me very confidently, and I just followed her. I felt light, as if it were natural."

The chief, still shuddering, looked at his son with concern. "Do you remember anything else from that dream? Did the rider say anything to you?"

The boy thought for a moment. "Yes... before she faded away, she told me: 'We will meet again.'"

The young rider exchanged a meaningful glance with the chief and then commented in an enigmatic tone:

"Maybe dreams are messages… or maybe, they are just memories of something that hasn't happened yet."

The atmosphere was silent for a few moments, while the chief and his son reflected on those words.

The young rider asked: "Were you ridden when you came home late?"

The chief's son looked at her in surprise and replied: "No… at least, not that I remember. I just came home, went to bed and then dreamed about the rider."

The young rider smiled with a mysterious glint in her eyes. "So, maybe it wasn't just a dream…"

The chief, still uneasy, intervened: "Don't give my son any strange ideas. The important thing here is that he understands that he can't be late without warning."

The chief's son nodded. "I understand, Dad. I'll talk to you before I leave and I'll let you know if I'm going to be late."

The young rider crossed her arms and said, "Fine, but keep thinking about that dream. Maybe it has more meaning than you think."

The chief's son remained thoughtful while his father looked at him with concern.

The Barn (1)

It was a pleasant evening, in which the son promised the young rider not to come home and to sleep at least 8 hours a day, and the father promised to prioritize his family over his work.

That same night, father and son went to bed early, and dreaming they appeared in the barn, the atmosphere in the barn was intense. The dim light of the hanging lamps cast long and mysterious shadows on the aged wood. The sound of her boots and spurs resonated with each step of the rider, who approached calmly, but with absolute certainty, while the nervous horses made their hooves click.

The boss's son tried to move, but the bridle and reins held him firmly in place. At his side, his father was in the same situation (biting the bridle, tightly bridled, properly saddled and his reins firmly tied to the ring of his stall). They could both see the other “horses,” some in their human form, others completely transformed into majestic steeds.

The female rider stood before them wearing riding attire that included gloves and high-heeled leather boots. Her boots lightly tapped the ground as she crossed her arms and watched them with a mix of authority and amusement. “I see that you both have learned your lesson tonight,” she said with a satisfied smile. “From now on, you both will know what discipline and commitment mean.”

The chief’s son gulped as he felt his heart pound. The father, though more accustomed to the situation, couldn’t help but feel awed.

She uncoiled a riding whip and gently cracked it in the air. “Tonight I will ride one of you,” she announced. “The other will wait his turn.”

Their eyes met. There was no escape, only acceptance of their fate.

The rider moved gracefully between her horses, her firm but gentle touch tracing every inch of their bodies. Her fingers glided through their manes and hair, massaging their necks and backs, tracing their faces tenderly. “You are a good horse…” she whispered in a soft but commanding voice, while her hand slid along the muzzle of one of them, caressing their lips, making sure they bit the bit well. “All my horses are special to me.”

Each caress was a reward, but also a reminder of who was in control. Between her caresses, her whip cracked in the air before giving small lashes that made them shudder and jump. “That’s it… good horses” she said with satisfaction at seeing their reactions.

The horses, human and equine alike, responded to her touch, her voice and her presence. They knew that they belonged to her, that she was their rider, their owner, their Mistress. The night was just beginning, and she had plenty of time to enjoy her stable full of faithful steeds.

The cracks of the whip echoed through the barn as she disciplined her more unruly horses. “This is for neglecting your family,” she said, applying a firm lash to the father, who flinched but accepted her punishment without protest.

She then turned to the son, who, with the bit in his mouth and the reins tied, could barely move. “And this is for being late and skipping school,” she said firmly, bringing the whip down on him.

They both knew this was not just punishment, but a lesson as well. Each blow was a reminder of their commitment. “Promise you’ll be better during the vigil,” she ordered, leaning over them, her piercing gaze dominating them.

Between gasps and with their foreheads resting against the wood of the stable, they both responded with a weak but determined: “We promise, Mistress.”

She smiled contentedly, gently stroking them where the whip had once marked its warning. “Good horses. Now sleep well… tomorrow I want to see you fulfilling your promise.”

And with that, she vanished into the mist of their dreams, leaving behind in their bodies the sensation of her caresses and the firmness of her dominance.

The Barn (3)

Suddenly they were tied back to their stalls in the barn. She opened the door to the son's stall, entered, untied his reins from the hoop and walked to the center of the barn while the son followed her, one step behind and one step to the right of his Owner.

The son walked with his head down, feeling the weight of the bridle and the bit in his mouth. His heart was pounding as he followed his rider, feeling the echo of her boots and spurs resonating in the barn.

She stopped in the center of the place, turned on her heels and stared at him. With a slight movement of her hand, she indicated for him to kneel. He obeyed immediately. “You know why you are here,” she whispered, stroking his hair as if it were a mane.

He nodded, not daring to look up. “Today you showed that you can improve. But I want to make sure that you do not forget your place.”

She took a firm hold of his reins and pulled gently, forcing him to raise his head to look into her eyes. “You are my horse, and horses do not disobey. Do you understand?”

The son swallowed and, with the bit in his mouth, nodded.

She smiled in satisfaction, then stepped back and snapped her fingers. “Then let’s take a ride.”

She stood behind him and secured the bindings on his arms and hands saying, “Horses do not have hands, this is why I am tying your hands and arms, so that you will remember who you are before me.” Once her horse’s trunk and arms formed a single unit, she smiled, she caressed his back and slid her hand over his shoulders, making sure the bindings were firm. “That’s better,” she whispered with a satisfied smile. “Now you do look like a real horse.”

He felt the warmth of her voice mixed with the authority she always imposed. Her breathing quickened as she heard the clink of his spurs as he moved. “Horses don’t decide where to go,” she continued. “They only obey the commands of their rider.”

She took the reins firmly, pulling gently so that he felt her total dominance. “Come on, it’s time to ride.”

She placed her foot on his back, where the stirrup was, and with the grace and confidence of an expert rider, she climbed onto him. From her elevated position, she took a dominant and relaxed stance, enjoying her absolute control, and grabbed the reins. “Now, let’s gallop,” she ordered with a light pressure of her legs and spurs on his sides.

Ages of Horses in the Dream World (1)

During dreams, horses not only transform their bodies and souls, but they also receive visions of their past and future lives, allowing them to see clearly the decisions that brought them here. They have the opportunity to correct their mistakes, to understand the reasons for their failures, and to forge a destiny that reflects the best in themselves. This process is what makes them more complete, wiser, and more aware of their purpose in life.

Riding the son, she led her horse to the father's stall, she opened the gate, entered the stall, untied the reins from the hoop, grabbed the reins and led her 2 horses out, she closed the stall gate and headed towards the main door of the barn.

They left the barn, she holding the reins of father and son, she riding atop the son’s shoulders as the father followed, one step back and one step to the right, she led her horses into the center of an amphitheater. The entire amphitheater seemed to resonate with an ancient and powerful energy. The rider teleported her horses there in human and equine form, who watched in silence, sensing the magnitude of the moment. The rider, serene and dominant on her mount, watched the process with a satisfied smile.

She said, “The balance must not be broken, it will lower the age of the son at the same time that it will increase the age of the father.”

As she rode the son, changes began to manifest immediately. The son’s hair, once youthful and vibrant, shortened and softened, his face lost adult definition and his body shrank. Being ridden by the rider, he felt smaller and smaller. His mind was still that of a young man, but his body was that of a child being ridden by the rider.

At the same time, the father felt his back hunch, his muscles weaken, and his hair turn silvery. The father felt the weight of the years on his shoulders, realizing what it meant to have missed the time he didn't spend with his family.

As the son's age decreased while being ridden by her, his appearance gradually changed. First, he looked about 16, then 14, and finally, when she decided to stop the transformation, his body reflected the age of 12. Now smaller and lighter, his strength was reduced, but his docility increased. His rider, satisfied with the result, stroked his hair and said, “That's better… Now you'll be a young, energetic, obedient horse.”

Meanwhile, the father, who had aged proportionally, watched in wonder and concern. His body felt heavier, slower. Now, he looked to be eighty years old, his back hunched and his stamina diminished.

“This is how balance is restored,” she declared firmly. “Youth is not just a privilege, and old age is not just a burden. Every stage of life has a purpose, and now you will know the value of both.”

She spun them around the amphitheater, showing everyone the power she had over their mounts. Then, with a slight tug on the reins, she stopped them in the center.

“And now,” she continued, “the time has come to decide: have you learned your lesson? Or do you need more time to understand what it means to value every moment of your lives?”

The father, in a trembling voice, replied, “I have learned… I have felt the years slip through my fingers… I do not want to waste any more time.”

The son, in his childlike voice, added, “Now I understand what it means to be young again… I want to take advantage of my youth responsibly.”

She smiled, pleased. “Very well, but remember this: if you ever break the balance again, I will re-adjust whatever is necessary.”

Ages of horses in the Dream World (3)

She, 18 years old, rides on the shoulders of her 75 year old horse, she firmly holds the reins of the horse she is riding and the reins of the 12 year old horse who follows her one step behind and one step to the right, her 2 horses are bridled and saddled, she is sitting on the saddle, steps on the stirrups and uses the spurs, whip and reins to lead her horse.

The 75 year old horse moves using a walker because the cane is uncomfortable for him, she tells him: “I am tempted to order you to lean more on your walker so that your back is horizontal, so I stop riding on your shoulders to ride on your back, like someone riding on an equine horse.”

She settled herself on her aging horse, maintaining absolute control with her hands firm on the reins. The crowd of horses—both human and equine—watched in absolute silence, knowing they were witnessing a momentous moment.

“Age is not a limit, only a condition that I control,” she declared as her spurs jingled with each movement.

The aged horse beneath her was breathing heavily, but his resolve was unwavering. “I will take you… I will take you wherever you command.”

She smiled. “Then let us take ourselves to the limit.”

With a slight shift of her hips, a crack of her whip, and a spur of her spurs, she urged her mount forward, breaking into a solemn trot. The sand of the amphitheater crunched beneath her old steed’s steps, and the crowd held its breath.

But then, in an unexpected twist, she pulled back on the reins and said in a soft voice, “Now, let us trade.”

The rejuvenated son looked at his father in wonder. What did that mean?

"Get on," she ordered, looking at the son.

The old horse understood... Now he would be a rider too.

She dismounted, prepared the old horse by placing his back horizontally while he leaned on his walker, she took out the saddle and had the son climb on top of her horse, she transformed the son into a girthed saddle, she stepped on the stirrup (hand) of the saddle, sat on the seat (back or shoulders) of the saddle and stepped on the other stirrup (hand) of the saddle, she grabbed the reins and ordered: "Get on!"

The old horse whinnied loudly as he felt the weight of his rider and the new saddle on his back. Now he was carrying not only his Owner, but also his own son, turned into an extension of his mount, into a saddle.

The crowd of horses—both human and equine—watched in reverent silence. Hooves echoed in the sand of the amphitheater as she led them in a controlled trot. “Time is but an illusion,” she said, “and now you are one under my rule.”

The old horse panted, feeling the burden and at the same time the honor of being his Owner’s bearer. Meanwhile, the son, turned into an object, a saddle beneath her, felt every movement, understanding in his new form the importance of obedience and loyalty.

But then, she smiled and whispered, “What if we take it one step further?”

The crowd held its breath. What would be the next twist in their fate?

Age of Horses in the Dream World (5)

The son commented as he kissed the young rider's boots: “I liked seeing you riding on my dad's horizontal back, he was like an equine.” She asked: “Would you like to use the walker or crawl on all fours?”

The young horse said: “I can't decide.”

The young rider smiled at her young horse's doubt. With an elegant movement, she lifted her boot and gently slid it across his face, making his cheek feel the touch of the leather. “Then I will decide for you,” she said sweetly, but firmly. “And you know that my decision is always the right one.”

She stepped back, crossed her arms, and looked at him with an appraising look. “First, you will crawl on all fours. I want to see you move naturally, without forgetting who you are. Then I will decide if you deserve the walker.”

The young horse gulped, felt a shiver of excitement run down his spine, and slowly lowered himself to his hands and knees on the ground, ready to obey.

She transformed the father into a saddle and placed him on the back of her horse. She sat on the saddle and stepped into the stirrups. Once on the horse, she put the bit on, bridled him, and grabbed the reins. Then she lowered her horse's age until it could resist and crawl under her weight.

As her horse grew younger under her command, its body became stronger, but also lighter and more agile. The young rider watched with satisfaction as her mount, now at the height of its strength, accommodated itself under her weight, ready to move at her will.

She gently shook the reins and ordered, “Now, crawl.”

The horse, with the saddle fastened tightly on its back and the bit snug in its mouth, obeyed immediately. Her hands and knees slid across the ground as her rider kept his back straight, expertly mastering every movement.

The other horses, both human and equine in form, looked on in reverence at the scene. The young rider knew her authority was unquestionable, and with each step her mount took, she felt her control over time, form, and obedience grow even stronger.

“How far do you want me to take you, my rider?” was the horse’s question that the rider received telepathically because the bit does not allow her to speak.

She smiled and gently pulled on the reins. “That will be up to me to decide. But tell me… Are you strong enough to take me further this time?” Her horse whinnied.

The young rider, atop her mount, looked with a smile at the young horse beneath her. Sitting on her saddle, she ran her fingers through his mane, closed her eyes, and extended one of her hands over his head. His lips curved into a smile as he said softly, “I will mold you until you are perfect for me. You will descend in time until you reach the ideal age to serve me…”

The teenager felt a shiver run through his body as his rider’s magic began to act. The horse’s body began to tremble. His muscles contracted and then relaxed, his skin became smoother, his complexion lighter, and his youthful energy transformed into a more docile, more resilient strength.

The rider watched the change with satisfaction. The process was fast, but perfectly controlled. Her horse gradually rejuvenated, his age that previously ended in …teen began to decrease little by little: from sixteen it went down to fifteen, fourteen, … until his rider decided that thirteen years was the ideal age for him.

The horse, sensing his new vitality, neighed loudly. He knew that it was his destiny to be ridden by her, and with his adjusted age, his new form, his body had the perfect combination of youth and endurance, and the optimal capacity to fulfill his duty.

The rider gently pulled on the reins and smiled: “You are now strong, resilient, and completely mine,” she whispered, leaning slightly as she stroked her mount’s mane. “Now, you are ready to carry me properly. Move!”

The adolescent horse, with his new age perfectly adjusted, obeyed without hesitation.

Life Lessons (1)

Father and son woke up and left their bedrooms, finding themselves in the living room. Their rider appeared behind them. She was wearing her imposing riding outfit: tight black riding pants that highlighted the curves below her waist (wide hips, prominent buttocks and wide thighs), accompanied by a white long-sleeved blouse tucked into the pants, which highlighted her thin waist and her curves above her waist (generous breasts), with a tight leather vest that highlighted her dominant bearing.

On her head, an elegant black cowboy hat cast a shadow over her enigmatic gaze. Her hands, covered with leather gloves, held a short whip that she played with between her fingers.

But the most imposing part of her outfit was her tall riding boots, made of shiny black leather with silver spurs that clinked with each movement. The sun's reflections on the golden buckles of his boots and vest gave him an even more imposing presence.

They knelt down and greeted her by kissing her boots, then she caressed their heads and scratched their hair. She transformed the father into a 50-year-old man and the son into a 7-year-old boy.

She turned around and walked to the large backyard of her horses' house, followed by them crawling on all fours, and she sat on a seat located in the center of the yard, crossing her long, elegant legs.

She asked the father: "How many times did you play like this with your son when he was a child?" The father remained silent, she continued: "Your silence is the answer, not once, this is why your son is moving away from his parents and at parties he finds what he does not have at home, you must be a better father so that your son does not get lost.

She commanded, “Move on all fours with your son riding you, that way you’ll try to make up for lost time,” the father began to move, wishing it was she, and not his son, on top of him, riding him.

As the father moves forward on all fours with his son on his back, the rider watches them with an enigmatic expression. Then, she slowly stands up and approaches with slow steps, letting the sound of her boots echo in the yard. “Fine,” she says, “but this isn’t enough.”

The two of them stop, expectant. “Do you want your son to trust you?” she continues, leaning slightly to look the father in the eyes. “Then you must learn what it’s like to be ridden by someone you trust.”

The father looks at her, confused. “What do you mean?” She smiles confidently at him and then sits back on the seat where she was before. “Your son mounted you,” she explains. “Now, it’s your turn.”

Life Lessons (3)

The following night, in her dreams, the mother entered a dark and spacious barn, where the horses remained motionless in their stalls, as if waiting for something. The darkness was occasionally illuminated by the light of hanging lanterns, and the silence was only interrupted by the soft sound of breathing and the murmur of the wind.

Suddenly, the rumble of footsteps and the jingling of spurs broke the stillness of the environment. The mother looked up and, with her heart racing, observed how an imposing figure approached through the shadows. It was the same rider who had marked the lives of her husband and son in previous dreams. Her presence dominated the space: the shiny cowboy hat, the tight leather vest, and above all, those high boots that made each step resonate with authority.

The figure of the rider advanced confidently, and as she approached, the mother noticed that she was not alone. All around her, the horses—both human and equine—lined up in perfect synchronicity, as if obeying an invisible command. The rider stopped in the center of the barn and, with her gaze fixed on the mother, slowly raised her gloved hand.

“Welcome,” the rider’s voice whispered, seeming to echo in every corner of the dreamlike space. “You have come to discover what lies beyond the boundaries of silence and routine.”

The mother, feeling a mixture of fear and curiosity, took a step forward. The echo of the footsteps grew louder, and in the distance, flashes of light could be distinguished that partially illuminated the faces of other horses in their stalls. Each neigh, each sigh, seemed to be an invitation to explore forgotten secrets.

The rider continued:

“This barn is the portal of transformation, where old wounds are healed and bonds are reconfigured.” Those who have been asleep in routine, forgetting the essential, find here an opportunity to be reborn.

The mother, with unnoticed tears running down her face, felt her own barriers vanish. The vision of her family, her husband and her son, woven into the memories of dreams and desires, appeared to her in a new light. The rider, with an enigmatic and compassionate look, seemed to tell her that pain and distance could be transformed into understanding and closeness.

At that moment, the barn was filled with a subtle vibration, an energy that promised profound changes. The mother, still trembling, knew that she had to face the reality of her feelings: the longing to recover what was lost, to rebuild family ties, and to find a path to healing.

The rider, with a last look that combined firmness and tenderness, said:

—Go, wake up. May awakening bring with it the truth and the opportunity for a new beginning.

And with those words, the vision dissipated, leaving Mom with the feeling that she had seen something beyond the visible, a revelation of what her family could be if they dared to face their fears and embrace change.

As she awoke, Mom sat in silence for a few moments, staring at the ceiling of the room with a mixture of wonder and melancholy. The images from the dream were still vivid in her mind: the barn, the horses in their stalls, the footsteps, the clink of spurs, and, above all, the imposing figure of the rider who seemed to carry with her a promise of redemption and transformation.

As she slowly stretched, her heart pounded as she recalled the words and scenes she had witnessed. She reflected deeply on what that dream had meant to her family. In her vision, the rider was not only a dominant figure, but also a guide who invited each person to find themselves and rediscover the true essence of their family ties.

She remembered the feeling of watching her husband and son give themselves away, of watching them in such symbolic and yet vulnerable roles. She, who had been on the sidelines of that scene, understood that she had a role to play as well. She thought of how, over the years, tensions and unresolved wounds had driven her family apart. But the dream offered her a new opportunity: the chance to heal, to reunite on common ground where trust and love could blossom again.

With the soft glow of dawn filtering through the window, the mother slowly rose. Her mind ran through every detail of the dream: the imposing horsewoman riding the male members, the symbolism of transformation, the force of punishment and teaching, and her own possible involvement, riding alongside those who represented the family legacy.

—Maybe it's time for us all to meet again —she whispered to herself—. To open our hearts, acknowledge our faults and learn to be better, not only for ourselves, but for the well-being of our family.

The reflection filled her with renewed determination. She decided that, although the dream had been a mixture of symbolism and repressed desire, it was a clear message: the time had come to act, to seek unity and personal transformation for each member of the family. That night, as the echo of the dreams dissipated, the mother felt that a new stage was beginning, a stage in which she too would become an active part of the healing process, guided by the mysterious wisdom of the horsewoman and the conviction that, in the end, family unity was the path to true freedom.

With that thought in her heart, she prepared to face the new day, determined to reach out and open her soul to transform the present and build, step by step, a future in which each member could reconnect with themselves and with each other.

Life Lessons (5)

The wife looked at the rider, her face reflecting a mixture of anxiety and understanding, as if her words had finally shown her something that had been hidden.

The atmosphere in the room was permeated by a subtle tension, as if the rider's words still vibrated in the air, but at the same time, a new clarity was beginning to form in the wife's mind. — I have been blind, or perhaps I have simply let myself be carried away by the routine and distractions of everyday life —she said, in a low voice, while fixing her gaze on the rider.

The rider stared at her, not rushing to speak, as if being silent was a vital part of the process.

Finally, the wife continued: — My husband has dedicated his life to work, always thinking that it would be the best for our family. But I have seen how our relationship has worn out, how our son has lost himself in parties and distractions, looking elsewhere for what he cannot find at home.

The rider nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth in her words: —Your home was based on a false balance, one that you thought existed only because it seemed to work, but silence and long-term disconnection cannot be ignored.

With a deep breath, the wife added, determined: —I commit to being more present, to not letting work or distractions continue to be excuses. I will work with my husband to change our dynamic, and together we will help our son find his way.

The rider, with a paternalistic but firm smile, lightly patted her hand. —That is all that is needed: commitment. But not just talking about change, but living it, feeling it with yourself. Transformation begins with actions and example, not just words.

The wife nodded, feeling a rebirth of energy and purpose that had been absent for a long time. —Together we can find our way —the wife finished with a more confident tone lately.

The rider, watching with a quiet respect, stood up after a brief, momentous silence, pointing towards the door as if inviting the change to follow. The wife, well understanding the wisdom in the rider's words, was ready to move forward with determination, knowing that the strength to heal her family was in her hands

The scene was permeated with an atmosphere of change. As the rider stood up, the husband, still asleep, began to move in bed, as if in his sleep old habits were reactivated or the possibility of an awakening was glimpsed.

Meanwhile, the rider and the wife left the room in silence and went to the living room. Once in the living room, they sat in a pair of armchairs that seemed to have witnessed many nights gone by. The soft light of the sunset filtered through the curtains caressed their faces, creating shadows that suggested both restlessness and hope.

The wife, with a calm but determined voice, began to speak:
—I have noticed that our husband is becoming more and more immersed in work, and our son is getting lost in parties, games and distractions. I feel that we are losing contact with each other, and I fear that this disconnection is taking us away from what really matters.

The rider nodded, her deep and enigmatic gaze softened upon hearing the wife's words. In a firm tone, she answered:
—Change is possible, but for balance to be restored, it is necessary that we all face our weaknesses and embrace the path to transformation. I am here to guide you, to help you reconnect with what is essential and to be better versions of yourselves.

The wife sighed and added:
—I want to be part of that process. I want my husband and my son to find within themselves the strength to reconnect with the family, to leave behind the distractions that distance them from us. We need a new beginning, an opportunity to heal the wounds of the past.

The rider placed a hand on the wife's and, in a soft voice, said:
—Healing begins when we are able to look within, to recognize our faults and to open ourselves to transformation. Tonight, when we are all on the threshold of our dreams, I will show them what is possible. They must learn to trust the process, to recognize that each one has a role in this journey of rebirth.

They both looked towards the hallway that led to the bedrooms, where the husband and son still slept, each immersed in their own dreams and realities. The wife was filled with a renewed determination; she knew that, although the road would be hard, family unity and personal transformation were within her reach.

The rider, with the calm authority that characterized her, concluded:
—Tomorrow, when the new day dawns, we will see a family that has learned to value every moment, that has found in pain and humiliation the seed to grow and reconnect. Now, rest. Tomorrow begins the true journey toward healing.

With those words echoing through the room, the wife and the rider fell silent, each absorbed in their thoughts about what was to come. The promise of a new beginning was in the air, and, as dusk gave way to night, the family, in their different dream worlds, prepared for the challenge of reconnecting with themselves and with each other.