Madame Marissa's Saddle Training: Transforming You Into the Perfect Face Mount
Madame Marissa's slapping sound resonated through the air as she walked into the room, wearing her tight riding pants and a skintight shirt. She smirked, knowing you were expecting her to mount you as usual, but this time, things would be different. She had other plans for you. She sat down on a chair and looked at you, bound and restrained with only a thin strip of cloth covering your eyes. "Today," she began, her voice low and husky, "you will not be ridden like my horse. You will be trained to be a saddle, and you will endure my weight and harshness like a true saddle should."
She stood up, grabbing a pillow and placed it under her shapely buttocks before sitting back down. She placed her hands on your head, holding it still as she slowly lowered herself onto your face. The weight of her body crushed against your nose and mouth, making it hard to breathe. The fabric of her tight riding pants rubbed against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "This," she said, grinding her hips into your face, "is how it feels to be sat on by a rider."
She began to shift her weight from side to side, forcing your head to move along with hers. The pressure on your face increased as she leaned forward, making it difficult for air to pass through your nostrils. Tears welled up in your eyes as you struggled to endure the discomfort, but Madame Marissa didn't seem to mind. In fact, she enjoyed seeing you suffer.
"A good saddle must be able to withstand the movements of the horse," she explained as she rocked back and forth, "and so must you. You'll learn to adapt to the different paces, from the gentle walk to the powerful gallop." She grabbed the pillow and lifted it off her bottom, exposing her bare skin. "First, we'll start with the walk." She placed the pillow back underneath her, leaning forward to give you a clearer view of what was to come.
As she began to move, the pressure on your face increased. The sensation of her skin rubbing against yours was almost unbearable, and her hips swayed from side to side, grinding against your cheeks. You could feel her heat and the softness of her skin, contrasting with the harshness of the riding pants against your own. Each step was a test of endurance as you tried not to gasp for air or squirm under her weight.
Next, she increased the speed, mimicking a trot. The rhythmic bouncing up and down caused your head to jolt back and forth, making it difficult to focus on anything but the pain. Your face felt like it was being crushed between two heavy stones. Yet, somehow, you managed to stay still, not daring to move an inch under her control.
Finally, she stood up, taking a moment to catch her breath before announcing, "Now we'll see if you can handle the gallop." She circled around you, her hips swaying in anticipation. Then, with a sudden thrust, she lowered herself onto your face again, this time harder than before. The force of the impact knocked the wind out of you, and your vision blurred for a moment. The room spun as she repeated the motion over and over again, each time slamming into you like a runaway horse.
After what seemed like an eternity, she finally stopped, standing up and pulling the gag from your mouth. You struggled to catch your breath, your face red and flushed from the pressure. "Well, slave," she said, smirking, "did you learn anything today?"
You nodded weakly, trying to regain your senses. She smiled, satisfied with your response. "Good. Because tomorrow, we'll start all over again." And with that, she left the room, leaving you to nurse your sore, aching face and wonder what new form of training she had in store for you next.
