Ultimate shoulder rides

Hi all, I finally decided to write a story. It started as a short vignette, but one thing led to another and now here it is.

Let me know if you like it.


(Part 1)

Lala stood before the tribe, ready for her rite. Padded collar chafed her shoulders, and straps of water skins dug into her back. A strip of loincloth barely covered her modesty but left her muscles free to show their strength. Only her sturdy sandals offered comfort. She felt exposed, yet her focus was on the other side of the plateau.



There, her rider waited. A blonde woman sat atop a shield borne by two of Lala's tribesmen, bare legs folded beneath her. Loose silk shifted around her body, a sharp contrast to the carriers' heavy boots and trousers. To the rhythm of slow drumming, the men carried her toward the center stone.



The Eldresses took Lala's hands and walked with her to meet the highlander woman. Her heart raced. "At least it's a woman," she thought with some relief. "Women are easier to carry. They sit deeper and their thighs are softer." But unease crept in. As they drew close, the woman's presence dominated her view.



Her features were soft, skin pale, lips full and red: a highlander's beauty. A strip of silk crossed her chest, covering full breasts that held firm without support. Below, her torso was soft, with faint creases at her sides. Thick and powerful thighs under another length of silk made Lala swallow. Warmth spread in her chest when they stopped in front of her. She drew a breath and surrendered her shoulders.



Heavy steps shifted behind her. The shield's cold rim touched her neck. A foot slid over her left shoulder, and hands pressed down on her head. Then a thigh brushed her right cheek and the full weight of the body above landed on her shoulders. She gasped.



The impact shook her and took her breath away. The soft thighs closed around her neck and pressed against her ears, muffling the world around. For a heartbeat she faltered, darkness closing in. Then, with a faint "umph", she exhaled, pushed against the ground, and steadied herself. Cheers from the crowd sounded like they came from afar.



She stood tall beneath the weight. A sweet scent drifted close. Warmth seeped into her neck, feet pushed into her back. With a jerk, the rider settled firmly onto her collar covered shoulders. Lala wobbled, then clenched her muscles and found her stance.



She wondered, who was this stranger on her shoulder? Bitterness surged in her. She cursed Sarto, the first tribesman. Because of his sin she now struggles beneath a highlander. To apologize. To repent. The knot in her stomach tightened. She bore the centuries-old burden.



From above, the world felt different. Enariana lifted her chin, willing herself to appear steady, though her long legs clamped tight around the girl beneath. She tried to ignore the small wobbles as the girl was finding her balance, but the thought of toppling before the whole tribe made her jaw tighten. As absurd as this ritual seemed, she had no choice but to play her part.



She drew a long breath, trying to look regal for the crowd watching her from below. But undeniable as day, something about this excited her. She sat on the padded collar strapped over the bearer's shoulders, black haired head nestled between her thighs, muscles flexing under her weight. The image of the girl straining under her sent sweet shivers through her.



Two figures stepped forward: a tribe elder crowned with elk horns, and a highland priest in flowing silk robe and started a chant.



"One walks, two arrive. One drinks, two are quenched. One bathes, two are cleansed."



Enariana's thighs squeezed involuntarily, heat rushing to her face. It was one thing to read the ritual words, but another to sit half-naked on a stranger's neck. "This will be... interesting," she thought.



Elders sealed the straps from her skirt to the bearer's collar, not to be separated until the totem of double god. Rider and bearer were now bound.



Longhorns tooted their lazy cry, sending them off. Silence fell across the plateau. From the distance, another set of horns replied, and faint in the wind, more echoes drifted back. Highlands awaited them. It was time.



Remembering the commands, she tugged the girl's hair and lightly kicked her sides. The bearer jolted, and Enariana clamped her legs tighter, gripping the dark hair harder than she meant. Then she felt a shift. A body moved, not on its own, but to obey her command. The realization thrilled her to the core.



Lala winced, more from surprise than any pain. The first command. She's a vessel now. Powerless, except to obey. And it felt strangely liberating. There was nothing to decide anymore, nothing to worry about except walking and obeying. First step she took was small, cautious, a test of balance. Another followed, firmer.



She measured each step for speed, stability and preservation of strength. Slowly she found her rhythm, and the blonde above eased her grip. Just when they steadied, the weight shifted. The blonde twisted, collar squeaking as she waved to the crowd, shaking their fragile balance. Lala faltered, but adjusted mid-step, burning precious strength. Resentment grew in her. Every wrong move the rider makes, bearer pays tenfold.



The drums faded behind them. Each step carried them farther from the plateau, until only the crunch of sandals and the creak of the collar under blonde's weight disturbed the air.



Lala breathed deep, her whole body warming fast. Sweat slicked her neck and shoulders where the rider's skin pressed close. The first drops trickled into the water skin under the collar. She would need every one.



A tug on her hair pointed her right. Dutifully, she stepped off the beaten path toward the forest. Grassy earth was softer underfoot, a small relief. When the path led under the first trees, shade cooled her skin. No words were necessary. Rider guides and controls, she thought. Bearer obeys and supports.



Enariana was conflicted. After the thrill of giving command subsided, guilt crept in. The girl bore all the weight of the rite. But beneath it, enjoyment lurked, insistent. The leather collar strapped over the girl's shoulders was soft, padded, and soon enough her ass shaped a seat in it. Its gentle incline pushed her forward against the girls neck. It kept them balanced, and it kept her from thinking straight. Every bounce, every neck muscle strain sent bolts of pleasure between her thighs. She tried to pull back, but all she did was make the girl stumble. The sway of the body underneath slipped her right back down into place.



She decided not to fight it. If that was the part of the rite, who was she to oppose it. Her palms rested on the girl's head. That simple touch somehow felt more intimate than the jolts of movement below. Silence felt strange. They were too close, to intimate to say nothing. She shifted, searching for words to break it, to cover the heat building inside her.



"They've really put us in a pickle," she managed to say.



Silence. Then a grunt from below: "What's a pickle?"



"Oh, it's just a saying," she said. "When you are in difficult situation, you are in a pickle."



More silence. Then a mutter, breathless: "My pickle ... is a big, blonde ... bouncing on my neck."



Enariana chuckled and playfully squeezed her legs. "Oh, a feisty tribeswoman, never heard of that."



She tapped the girl's head. "Just keep walking, bearer. Your pickle's got a long way to go."



A low grunt answered. The girl kept walking.



Lala clenched her jaw, steadying her breath. Talking cost air she needed just to walk. How could this rite ever forge a bond when their burdens were so unequal? The rider could jest and chat, maybe even grow bored up there while Lala's muscles paid for each wiggle, her lungs starved after each word.



The forest path grew uneven, rises and dips forcing her to measure every step. Above, the blonde shifted with the ground, leaning back on the climbs, pressing forward on the descents, moving with a rider's instinct. At first Lala braced against each sway, but soon recognized the help. A breath of air when her neck came free on the inclines, the return of warm, soft pressure on the way down. She found herself not only expecting it, but waiting for it. Trust in her rider crept in, along with something softer.



"I'm Enariana, by the way," came the voice from above.



"Oh, Lala," she said.



"I didn't choose this, you know?" Enariana's thighs gave a light squeeze.



Lala stopped walking. "I did," she said, "But not for me. For the whole tribe. Call this a choice if you want."



Silence. She used the break to draw air. The rite stripped her breath, her voice.



The collar creaked as Enariana shifted. She detached her feet off Lala's back and let them dangle in front, wiggling her toes. "I'm supposed to command you, and you're supposed to obey. The rite says so." Enariana stroked her hair. "I could. But... is it necessary?"



"You have to. It's the rite."



The words tasted foul. She was only repeating what the elders had drilled into her. When all your will and strength exist only to carry the rider, you don't have your own thoughts. You breathe. You walk.



"Hold on," she said and continued forward. Enariana quickly propped her feet back against her back.



Above, Enariana shifted again and eased her thighs wider across Lala's shoulders. She propped her arms on them, bringing elegant fingers into Lala's sight. As she slouched forward, her breasts brushed the crown of Lala's head. For a moment, she breathed nothing but skin.



Lala's spine protested the extra work. Yet beneath the ache there was an unexpected sweetness in the closeness. She felt snugged in, almost protected. Quiet pride stirred that she could not just bear the weight, but offer comfort to her rider. She wanted to shake it off, nudge Enariana to straighten to ease the burden, but a bearer does not teach a rider to ride, just as rider does not teach a bearer to carry.



Her eyes fixed on Enariana fingers: smooth, unmarked by calluses, nails painted sky blue. They twitched from time to time. From boredom? The thought soured her. Each step was agony for her own body, and yet above, did the ride grow dull? Unfairness and resentment crept back in.



Slouched forward, Enariana watched the sandaled feet that carried them both swallow the path before them. Her fingers tapped the rhythm. Lala's leg muscles strained for each step, sweat tracing channels down her stomach, arms swing to balance. The shoulders under her swayed, slowly rocking her thighs.



Excitement rose again. This whole body, all this strength, belonged to her now. She tugged the hair. "Stop!"



The movement stopped. Enariana pulled the waterskin from under the collar and drunk until it was empty. Each swallow pressed her thighs tighter against the neck below. Even water was her privilege alone. Her thirsty bearer must wait until she's ready to give. The thought exited her.



She kicked the ribs lightly. The girl moved, but Enariana deemed it too slow. She kicked again, harder this time. The pace quickened. She straightened and sank forward into the sway. Exhilarating.



Hum of water appeared and became stronger until the river spread before them. It was wider then she expected, but according to the guide, only knee deep. She tightened her grip on Lala's head and clamped her legs. This was the first water, the first challenge. She led them into the river.



"Careful," Enariana said. "Some rocks in front."



They waded deeper. Cold drops splashed up her hot feet and calves.



"Ouch!" she yelled, jerking in surprise.



They lurched sideways, Lala staggering under her.



"Au!" Lala howled. "What is wrong with you?"



Enariana froze, guilt flooding her. Sudden movements are the worst for the bearer to handle. And she did it in the river, over slippery rocks. Her dominance was gone.



"I'm sorry!"



"Be still," Lala hissed. "Sins of Sarto! That hurts." She shifted and let out the burdened sigh. "You can take water here."



Enariana leaned back carefully and reached for the two waterskins beneath the padded collar, her seat. She checked the ropes were tight around their necks and lowered one into the water. Cold water rushed in. Pulling it up, she drunk greedily.



The guilt made her throat clench and water fell heavy on her stomach. Poor Lala stood knee-deep in the river, still thirsty, denied a single mouthful while she drained the skin. She refilled and drunk again.



"I'm sure I'll have something for you soon," she said softly. She drunk as much as she could, then refilled the skins until they bulged.



Lala stood knee-deep in the current, her little toe throbbing from striking a rock after Enariana's careless jerk. She fought to keep them steady as her rider leaned back to drink, then leaned left and right to stow the waterskins under the collar. Thighs pressed her face from one side, then the other, feet driving into her back to counterbalance. Each swallow echoed in her ears, each gulp a reminder of her dry throat. Only through the rider, the rite commanded. She depended on her rider's gift. She had to wait.



At last the shifting ceased, the weight and coldness of full waterskins settling soft against her back. A tug on her hair, a kick to the sides, gentler than the last few. In careful steps she waded out of the water, her sandals wet under her, mocking her thirst.



Sandals made wet slaps with each step until they dried, and her footing grew stable again. She tried to ignore the pain from her toe. What could she do, anyway? Cry? Throw the rider down and quit? Even as Enariana shifted a lot on her shoulders, squirming, pressing, she held the composure, ignoring the pain and tiredness.



Then came the tug on her hair. "Stop!"



Lala stopped without comment.



"I have to go," Enariana said.



So that was the reason for all the squirming. At last, once Enariana is done, her turn to drink would come. It felt both humiliating and unbearably intimate. Only through the rider, the rite commanded. In the trial of water, she was second, the receiver.





(End of Part 1)