I nodded and took the reins out of his hands, fumbling about clumsily. It felt like I was learning a new language for the first time. Unfamiliar and not quite sure where to start or even what to do.
“Here, I’ll show you first and make him walk a bit. Watch and learn.” He said. I gave him back the reins, feeling nervous.
He got Picasso to walk, and suddenly we were rubbing together a bit. I enjoyed being on the horse, though, and I was eager to learn.
Picasso started to trot, making dad and I move up and down together. I could feel his body against my back, and I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. Why was he so close to me? I mean, sure, we were riding a horse together and were bound to be close. But I’d never seen anyone pressed up against the person in front before.
It came to my mind that my shorts were short. I felt exposed to my father more so than I had ever felt before.
I could feel the roughness of his jeans pressed against my lower back. My tank top had been riding up a bit, so I could feel his jeans pressed against my bare skin.
It felt hard and rough.
And suddenly I regretted not wearing my new bra, since the one I was wearing was old and provided minimal support and the movements of Picasso were making my tits wiggle up and down.
I felt suddenly awkward.
I felt my dad move against me, though it must’ve been from Picasso.
His breath fanned against my neck quicker.
I suddenly became aware that my rear was pressed tightly against the spot between his spread legs.
My neck blushed this time.
The movements of the horse made us bump up and down, causing his front to rub and press against me.
“Faster Picasso.” He said lowly.
“Dad-” I said, worried.
Picasso trotted faster.
And I could’ve sworn I felt him buck against my back.
I smiled, though, thinking it was probably just Picasso trotting. The air against my face felt fresh, and I felt free.
“Lift your arms up a bit.” He whispered.
I obliged, letting him reposition his arms that were still holding onto the reins.
This time, though, his fisted hands were awfully close to either side of my breasts.
Because of how close we were, and because of how jolting the movements of Picasso was, his hands rubbed against the soft sides of my jiggling tits. I blushed.
Did he realize where his hands were? Of course he has to know, right? It’s obvious.
I sighed, brushing it off as an accident. Besides, there’s nothing sexual going on, anyway. Even if he knew where his hands were, it’s not like there’s anything wrong because there is nothing inherently sexual about it.
Just as I started to enjoy feeling free and enjoy being on Picasso, my dad spoke once more.
“Here, I want to show you a cool spot on a horse trail. I want to take control, and you can sit behind me this time.” He said.
“Okay! But riding lessons aren’t over, right?”
A hefty chuckle escaped his throat. “Oh no, baby, they are far from over. I’ve got a special horse you can ride.”
At once I got excited. Had he got me my own horse? But the tone of his voice seemed off.
He helped me off of the horse then we switched positions. The new position, however, put me in an awkward predicament.
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