Chapter 14

“Dancer, huh?” Eddie asked after a long time staring at my daughter’s pretty bottom. Eddie exuded a quiet confidence. He was older, and patient now than he was when I first met him decades ago when my husband and I were first starting in our lifestyle together.

He trained me as a foal, and I trusted him around my daughter. He’s got a lot of wisdom, but he also can be opinionated and a little obstinate. He stared at Ellie for a long time, just pouring over her body with his eyes the way he might assess an old Chevy before deciding if he wanted to buy it and fix it up.

“Yes, Sir!” Ellie responded bright-eyed with enthusiasm. She was clearly excited to have her Uncle Eddie’s validation of her new role as a pony.

“You are sure you don’t want to be trained as a slave?”

“Yes, sir. I don’t want to be trained as a slave. I want to be a show pony like my mother.”

“Your mom is a slave and a show pony, too,” he explained, still looking at her dumper.

I didn’t really consider myself to be my husband’s slave, but I didn’t argue with Eddie about it. I was somewhere between a submissive and a slave, perhaps.

“A slave is just someone who makes a long-term commitment to be owned property and knows that she exists to serve and please. Your mom made that to your father. She lives to please and serve.”

I couldn’t really argue that. I did enjoy pleasing over teasing. I also felt slaves could be sold if someone tired of them and had no limits, and I didn’t want to agree to either of those things if it came to it.

“I am not sure how long I want to be trained for, Master Davidson, or if I would want it to be my father.”

“I can understand that. You are young, and you can experiment. That’s a serious commitment. I was simply asking what you were. If you are a Dancer, can I see you Dance?”

Ellie seemed confused by the request; she stammered a little and said she’d need some music.

“Dancers can make their own music,” Eddie drummed a Bossa Nova beat on the table and hummed.

My daughter awkwardly danced around to the sound he was making for him. It was hard to watch – very awkward.

Eddie was largely unimpressed. “If you are going to call yourself Dancer, then you better learn to Dance, Womble. That was not very good. Show her how you dance, Vixen.”

He continued the odd tune, and I did my best to be sexy, dancing more like a stripper as I stood on my own coffee table like a stripper in a strip club. I gyrated my hips and focused on being sexy rather than trying to move quickly or precisely.

“Wow, Vixen, did you ever work as a dancer?” my son seemed impressed.

I blushed a little. I had dabbled in working in the adult industry when the kids were younger. It wasn’t something that I talked about with them.

“What is it I taught Peter? If someone asks for an ass-kicking or the truth, I have to give it to them?” Eddie laid claim to my husband’s motto.

“I think that’s my husband’s saying, Master Davidson,” I smiled at him politely as I stopped dancing and stepped down precariously from the coffee table. Eddie’s eyes gleamed with mischief. He didn’t mind that I called him out for his bullshit as long as I was polite about it. “Yes, Mister Jeff. I’ve worked as a stripper, but that was years ago.”

“Why? Did you guys need the money?” Jeff asked.

“I went through a phase where I was young, dumb, and full of cum, and I rebelled a little against my father and husband’s authority, so I struck out on my own and lived in a motel for a little while.”

I was embarrassed by that. I didn’t make good choices back then.

“What happened?” Jeff asked.

“Bad choices sometimes make good stories, son,” Eddie intervened before I had to go into detail. “I didn’t come across town to hear your mother regale you about the dollar bills she stuck in her ass crack while dancing to Whitesnake down by the airport. I came over here to watch you train them and evaluate them with my own eyes. I am old, Jeff. Can we stop the gabbing and start the training?”

“Yes, right away, Master Davidson!” Jeff explained what we were doing and that his father had told us to beg every few minutes but not cum. “The sluts are required to beg to masturbate and then only long enough to get horny, not to orgasm.

“Good, why do you think that is?” Eddie asked, while Jeff got us into position together side by side and made us start marching in place.

“Dad wants them good and horny so that they try harder,” Jeff answered simply.

“Why do you think they are sluts?” Eddie asked as he watched our feet touch the floor at the same time and noticed how high we stepped together.

“They just are sluts, horny sluts that like to get themselves off,” Jeff shrugged like he was expected to explain something immutable like the sun rising in the East and setting in the West.

“Do you look down on sluts?” Eddie asked. I was surprised he was taking umbrage with the way that my son used it. Slut wasn’t something my husband called me except jokingly or as part of dirty talk. Jeff seemed to be using it more like an insult, even though I didn’t take it as one, and I don’t think Ellie did either.

There was just a minor difference in style between father and son in how they were dominant - at least as far as I could tell. I’ve been called a slut or even a whore in that same tone by many grooms. I have even proudly worn a shirt proclaiming myself to be a slut. Yet, the way Jeff called me a slut was done to shame me, and that was a new feeling for me.

It’s not like I wasn’t called a slut as an insult before; It’s just that I never took it as one. I felt like Jeff was trying to get under my skin and tease me, and it was so audacious to me.

The weird part was that a part of me liked how different it was. It was kind of like, “How dare he call me a slut!” and yet, I was proud of him for putting me in place during training.

“I guess so, I am their better,” Jeff proclaimed in a cocky tone that suggested he was trying to convince him.

“If you are, then you don’t have to announce it. It will be apparent,” Eddie winced when he heard Jeff puff himself up. I knew what Jeff was saying – he was the groom, and he was in charge. Eddie just didn’t like the phrasing of that, and I could understand that as well.

“Is Slut a name your father told you to call Dancer and Vixen?”

Eddie liked to push people’s buttons, and I felt this was just him being Eddie and asking questions to see if he could get Jeff to question his choices and back down.

“Not really, but I think they are horny little sluts,” Jeff answered.

Eddie didn’t judge, but I think he was taking notes.

“What am I supposed to call them?”

“I am not here to teach you everything that I know in a couple hours, Son. I am just asking you a question, and I can learn more from how you answer it than I can from what you answered. Now, do these SLUTS know how to do anything besides march in place?” Eddie intentionally emphasized the word sluts to indicate that he would use it too.

“Oh yeah, I was supposed to put them through their entire drill routine while you were here so you can check them out.”

Eddie nodded approvingly. Jeff acted as the conductor, giving us commands to change our stepping patterns from high steps to prance, trot, canter, and so on. We nearly knocked over some things as he put us through our paces indoors.

“Wouldn’t this work a lot better outside, Son? It’s not raining, and It’s kind of sunny.”

“That boy that you kicked out will probably be watching,” Jeff explained.

“From what I gather, you knew he’s been watching, and he hasn’t done anything, so I am not sure what’s different about it now that your Uncle Eddie has arrived.”

“I’ll take them outside if you are sure,” Jeff offered.

Eddie stared at him intently and asked whose house this was.

Jeff picked up on the hint and texted his father. Peter told him to have us move the furniture around and clear out an area. He said he would scope that out when he got home.

Ellie and I moved the furniture around while Eddie and Jeff talked a little and watched us sweat and jiggle. Eddie kept admiring Ellie’s body and usually called her Ellie instead of Dancer. That seemed to annoy Ellie, but I think Master Davidson was poking her intentionally. He pointed out that until she could dance, she might want to rethink her name.

“I hope you suck dick better than you dance, Ellie,” he added with a serious tone. I knew Eddie well enough to know he had a funny sense of humor and he was teasing her – but yes, she sucks cock much better than she danced.

“I think I am a pretty good cock sucker, Master Davidson,” Ellie smiled invitingly.

“I’ve known you since you were in diapers; I bought you Barbie dolls to play with. Are you prepared to suck an old man’s cock and balls?”

“If my Master or groom tells me that I can,” Ellie offered in a pleasing tone. I knew that she admired Eddie, and she’d see this as a rite of passage with him – becoming a pony and pleasing him.

“I like that answer,” Eddie smiled and told her that he wanted to try that before he left. Over the course of the next hour, he asked Ellie questions about pony girl training, some of which Ellie didn’t know.

Peter wasn’t a stickler for details, especially when it came to protocol. He hadn’t taught Ellie about everything that happens at the campgrounds.

Eddie was incredibly hands-off and respectful. He seldom talked down to Ellie. He was curt and didn’t encourage her to giggle or be lackadaisical. He almost never spoke to me, much less acknowledged me while I trained right alongside my daughter.

“How do you spank them when they are naughty?” Eddie asked after about an hour of pony stepping and behavior.

“They don’t misbehave very much, but I usually just give them a quick pop across the butt.”

“Do you think that your mother’s ass is too delicate for a real spanking, and she can only handle a quick love tap?”

“No, Vixen behaves herself and doesn’t get into trouble,” he assured Eddie.

“It’s early days, and this is the honeymoon phase. They aren’t stubborn and surly like they will be after nights tied up in the barn and long outdoor marches. You need to be prepared to deliver more than a newspaper across the butt.”

“Show me your knot work,” Eddie suggested. Jeff was all too happy to oblige and demonstrated various knots and rope bondage to bind our tits, asses, thighs, and ankles around the house.

Eddie was not entirely impressed. He asked Jeff to show him how we would tie us for a reverse prayer (with our elbows bound behind our backs). Jeff did it exactly the way that his father had shown him, but Eddie decided there was too much gap and wanted to go over the fundamentals with him.

My role in all of this was to be a relatively naked tie-up dummy for my son and one of my husband’s oldest friends and mentors to practice alongside my daughter. Shibari rope bondage is a passion for my husband and Eddie, and they both have different views on it.

My husband views it as an artistic addition to a female form, but he also adjusts pragmatically to allow me to remain bound for hours by keeping the rope snug but not so tight that it cuts off circulation.

Eddie’s preference is to use the rope to shape the female form in tight and precise patterns. My skin will be imprinted with the rope when it’s all over, and usually, he binds my tits so tightly that they turn purple and become engorged. He loves to stretch out my labia and attach weights that clack between my legs.

That’s not uncommon; Peter does as well, but Eddie likes them to be spiked and quite heavy. He’ll often hang three spiked balls from each pussy lip and let them click and clack back and forth while marching me around. It’s okay in small doses, but after a few hours, it can really chafe, and I’ll feel it for days.

I am not a pain slut, not really. I like a little hard slap and rough sex, but I don’t get off on extremely sadistic treatment the way some subbies do. However, Eddie is notorious as a pain-giver who delights in finding ways to introduce subtle and not-so-subtle pain into BDSM training.

He loves spiked paddles, floggers, and even electric wands, and he always seems to bring a new toy.

Today, he didn’t show my son how to spank us. He didn’t show him how to inflict some muscle torture. I was surprised that he stuck to the basics of a very tight form of reverse prayer tie.

Jeff told him that he knew how to do it, but Eddie scoffed when he saw how my son bound us and made him start over as if he were a novice.

Eddie has a very scratchy rope that he prefers to use. “It prickles as it tickles,” he teased. It was a line he has told me more than once when he tied me up. He used to come over weekly while the kids were at school, but this is the first time I’ve ever seen him in front of my kids.

He started by tying the rope down my ass crack, through my pussy lips, and then making Jeff take over and do it again. The guys made no attempt to be gentle. “The whole point is that you are in control, Jeff. Make the pony understand that you are the boss. Just like on a ranch, you can’t be delicate and dainty and look out for the naughty bits. Just rope them, bind them, and then bind them again so that they can’t get away.”

Eddie slapped my butt playfully. I’ve been through this before, so I remained stoic and silent as he guided Jeff on how to thread rope around my tits. Unlike Peter, who makes it taut but not so tight that it cuts off the circulation, Eddie takes the opposite approach. He wants my tits to be filled with blood and turn a little purple. Jeff asked after the second time he looped the rope around my boobs if that was enough, but Eddie smiled and just said, “It’s never ENOUGH, but it just might do!”

Which is another classic Eddie Davidson quote. “Don’t worry, little filly,” he slapped my daughter’s tits to get her attention while she remained at attention next to me. “If we run out of rope, Uncle Eddie has some duct tape for you! I never leave home without it!”

My son informed Eddie that Ellie hadn’t earned the title filly yet and that she was just a foal. Ellie pouted a little.

“She handles herself like a filly, doesn’t seem wet behind the ears, just a wet pussy,” Eddie looked over my nude daughter’s body. This was the first time he had seen her as a grown woman, completely naked.

Jeff cinched my rope bindings tightly, and I winced in pain. He was surprised and checked. He didn’t comment on Eddie’s remarks about his sister.

“Don’t worry, it’s supposed to tug like that,” Eddie demonstrated by tugging the free end of one rope and forcing my tits up and some rope between my ass cheeks and then letting go to allow the weight to shift. My toes curled up a little in reaction to the discomfort.

“How long can I leave them like this?” Jeff was in awe of his Uncle Eddie’s rope skills. He knew that Eddie was a BDSM Master, but this was his first exposure to what Eddie could do.

“Your mom can take it for at least an hour; she’s a tough old mare. I think your sister might be able to handle ten minutes at most.”

“They aren’t my mom and sister when I am in charge; they are Vixen and Dancer,” Jeff explained brightly.

“Well, they look exactly like your mom and sister to me,” Eddie chuckled as he clipped two alligator clamps to my nipples and let them bite down into my flesh.

He started on Ellie next and asked if she ever thought her Uncle would tie her up. He sized her up and started measuring out the rope.

“We aren’t blood-related, Sir, and my groom is going to tie me up at your direction,” Ellie sounded very professional and aloof, which was not like her. She normally gushed over her Uncle when he visited. She was one of the few in the family who seemed to find almost all of his jokes funny.