Chapter 2

Now I could see how Peter allowing Ellie to use the rig had been incredibly stupid of me. I hadn’t prepared him in any way to imagine the true situation. He probably imagined her using it while dressed in her normal shorts and tee shirt.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Sir! Ellie just likes to be harnessed like a pony and prance, and she canter and generally pretends she’s a horse. She has no idea of the other things adult ponygirls get up to.”

“So that excuses your behavior? What do you think your parents would say if you’d been so flippant around your father? I think they’d both be in agreement with me that you fucked up big time here.”

“I think they’d agree I should be punished, Master,” I admitted, feeling my joy at Peter’s return and our kids’ accomplishments evaporate with his condemnation.

I had been way off the path and hadn’t even known it. I needed a severe punishment to even my keel again. I was honestly glad Peter was up for the job.

He’d had a long week, and he was probably tired, but he didn’t shirk or delay his responsibilities. Even though Peter had been comfortable in bed with me, he pulled away from our cuddle and climbed out of bed. I quickly did the same, taking a position on my knees in the middle of our large bedroom to wait for him.

He went to the walk-in closet and returned a minute later with the punishment hood, thumbtack bra, a paddle, whip, and cattle prod, all the items I am a little fearful of. The hood has a 10-inch dildo I have to swallow in order to get it on, and with it on, I can’t see, speak or especially scream.

I don’t know what’s coming, where it’s coming from, or how much it’s going to hurt. I know all about the thumbtack bra, on the other hand, and it is exactly that. A bra with strategically placed thumbtacks embedded in the leather, the sharp pointy ends against my skin.

It once had regular studs, but Peter had replaced them with sharp tacks, so instead of pressing uncomfortably, they’d pierce flesh about a sixteenth of an inch. Tapping the outside of the bra ensured maximum agony.

When he walked into the master bath with it, I knew he was going all the way tonight. He’d soak down the bra before putting it on me. As it dried, it’d shrink, and the thumbtacks would poke me constantly, all at once. I shivered in horrified anticipation. It wasn’t a toy. Neither was the cattle prod, even though he used it at the minimum setting.

I was almost catatonic when he finally removed the hood and loaded me into the sea chest at the foot of the bed last night. In fact, I don’t even remember him doing it. I only know he removed the hood because instead of it choking me, it was next to the bed.

All I remembered was being woken by the click of the auto locks releasing this morning, which sets the hydraulics in motion. The front of the chest opens, and a hydraulic platform flips up, unceremoniously dumping me out on the bedroom floor.

Everything about my punishment was focused on teaching me lessons. I lost track of the hours I spent bound in the darkness with the hood tightly around my head.

The bra was dry, and I had about two dozen sharp tacks sticking into my tits. Being effectively rolled out of the chest while in a fetal position doesn’t protect my tits from further punishment but rather reminds me that I’m wearing it. Then I have to wear it into the shower to get it off again.

The worst part of the punishment is actually nothing Peter did to me last night. It is primarily the lack of proper aftercare for both of us. Peter doesn’t massage me, and I don’t get to snuggle afterward. It’s as much a punishment for him as it is for me, but it doesn’t end there.

We don’t speak of me spending a night cooped up in an oak chest. I’ve learned that Peter considers the punishment complete, and he doesn’t want to hear my apologies the next morning. I know what I’ve done to earn punishment; I’ve paid for it, and we’re starting a fresh new day.

I’m just expected to move on with life as if it’s just another day. It never is, though. My aftercare is showering alone, and it stings worse than the bra or the electric cattle prod sending quick stabbing jolts to cunt, ass, and nipples.

Even after my shower, naked under my robe, I was sore, tired, and stiff the next morning when Ellie bounced into the kitchen in just a pair of panties, her breasts perky and unmarked from the punishment I’d seen Jeff inflict on them with a tawse yesterday.

“Hi, mom! How’d you sleep? I slept like a baby! Do we have plans today? I didn’t know how to dress, but since Dad was home, I thought I’d wait to figure it out until he asked if we were doing a family outing. It’s the best part of Dad getting home from his trips, and I love it when he’s home, but he always makes it nicer because we always do something as a family when he returns,” Ellie’s words were a mile a minute as if she needed to explain her whole thought process to me in a single sentence.

Seeing Ellie pulled me out of my funk a little. She’s a chatterbox, but she’s usually almost normal, starting first thing in the morning and continuing until she’s fully awake. Today, I was being subjected to Ellie full force first thing in the morning.

Other than being unusually hyper so early in the day, Ellie still had a messy bedhead and an unexplainable, freshly fucked air about her that women get, which was completely out of place on ‘morning Ellie.’ I would have bet she’d been dicked if I didn’t know better.

She wore just her panties, without a bra, she hadn’t bothered to change into anything more. My daughter seemed excited, like someone who had one cup of coffee too many, and was hurrying to get another.

That was the most confusing part to me. She was between relationships and, therefore, wouldn’t have sneaked a boy in last night, so what had made her wake up so full of zest and zeal and looking so sexually fulfilled?

“Are you high, Ellie?” I blurted, not really thinking it was possible but worried, nonetheless.

“No! Why would you say that? I’m just so happy about ... well, I guess the whole last week, really. Being a ponygirl is hard, and it hurts in the most tender parts of my body, but I am SO glad Dad allowed it, and I can’t wait to show him my new moves now that he’s finally home and I can ask him if he’ll train me like he does you and Jeff’s going to be my groom and he can be yours too and he’s got really magic hands and I just KNEW I’d love being a ponygirl like you and Gamma! I could hardly sleep last night!”

Ellie calls her grandmother my mom, Gamma. It’s a holdover from when she was young and couldn’t say grandma. Jeff calls Mom the same thing.

I didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news and inwardly rejoiced that it would be Peter’s job to let his daughter down. Still, it broke my heart to think of Ellie going from infectious high to disappointed low when she learned of Peter’s objections.

I didn’t have long to wait. Peter stumbled in and immediately found himself with a practically naked daughter plastered to his front, her arms and legs wrapped around him, kissing his neck and thanking him for being the best dad ever.

Peter looked at me in confusion because he clearly had expected me to break the news to her as soon as we met. I didn’t tell him that I couldn’t get a word in edge wise.

“Ellie was just telling me how fantastic this past week has been since I let her do ponygirl stuff. She came in all revved up and excited to ask you something. It’s what we talked about last night,” I explained quietly, remembering how he’d subsequently talked with three different voices ... paddle, whip, and cattle prod.

I don’t call Peter Sir or Master around the kids during our normal day-to-day life, although they’ve heard it from me plenty of times when Peter is actively training me. At times like this, I call my husband by his name or at least omit Peter’s formal title as per his standing instructions.

“I know it was really your permission, Dad, but wow! Being a ponygirl is so ... I dunno, fulfilling, I guess! I feel so special, all strapped up securely and at Jeff’s mercy. Even the punishments are fine! You just don’t even know!” She squealed and kissed his cheeks for emphasis.

Go on, Peter, make her feel like a failure now, I said to myself before remembering this was really all my fault and dropping my chin in shame.

“Actually, it really was all your mother, Womble,” Peter said, calling her by the affectionate baby name he had for her while growing up. She always had a special “Daddy’s girl” relationship with her father, and he’d always been the one to spoil her.

“I only found out last night. Your mom said you’re quite good at the basics of pony play.”

“GOOD? I nailed it, Dad! And not just basic stuff! I know I can win you a blue ribbon the first time you enter me in a tourney even if I’m not as tall as the other ponygirls, although I make up for it in other ways, and my high stepping is great, but you should see me doing side-stepping and turns and prancing and trots and canters and bowing and stuff!”

When Peter didn’t immediately reply, Ellie climbed off him and backed up a step so she could look into his eyes. Her nipples had stiffened while she was hugging him closely.

“You will train me and let me win a ribbon for you, won’t you, Daddy?” Ellie begged.

If you think kittens look adorable with their huge eyes begging for treats, you’d be kind of in the right ballpark with the pleading eyes Ellie was giving her father. He really didn’t stand much of a chance.

“I already had a long talk with Jeff, and he agreed to be my groom if I obey all of his instructions like they came from you. He’s been training me for you for three days already, and I’m getting really good. And I already picked out a ponygirl name! I want to be called Dancer. I can’t wait! I want to be trained just like Mom and Gamma!” Ellie blurted out all in one breath when her kitten eyes weren’t working fast enough on her dad.

“Whoa, slow down, Womble!” Peter laughed at Ellie’s short speech.

“Three days, huh? I was only gone a week.”

“I know. I asked Jeff if he would talk to Mom since she always says no to me when I ask, and if you agreed, we could train together in the yard, and it’d be like when we go to Gamma’s house, and it’ll be so much fun! I can pull you around in Gamma’s sulkie, and Mom and I can both use the Patience Pole together!”

“So, your mom was supposed to get my permission to proceed with all of this?” Peter raised an eyebrow at me as he glared at me. I could tell he thought I had put all of these notions into her head, but I didn’t know half of what Ellie had just vomited out in her excitement. I was still trying to figure out how my kids had done three days of training already. I certainly didn’t remember Jeff asking me to get permission from his father to allow Ellie to train!

I tried to recall the exact conversation I’d had with my son. I can still remember the part where Jeff said he wanted to be Ellie’s groom.

Maybe I’d been so thrilled I’d misheard him or didn’t hear everything? Jeff asking to be a groom was a big deal, even though I’d downplayed it since kids change their minds more often than their underwear.

In my defense, I’d told Jeff that I didn’t like being left in charge!

“Yeah, I was there! He said he wanted to be my groom, so you’d teach him how to train me to be a ponygirl! I didn’t even complain the first time he used the tawse on my boobs and pussy to seal our deal, although that was really smart, but I didn’t cry! Later on, Mom said she’d talked to you, and I guessed she did because then she told me about speech protocols and stuff, and that’s really hard when you know I like to talk, but I learned, and I’m getting good at it now!”

Peter had to hold his hand up and say, “Stand,” to stop her.

‘Stand’ is the word used by ponygirls to tell them to stand at attention without moving or making a noise.

Ellie probably would have kept nattering on for an hour, but she immediately followed his command, coming to attention with her arms behind her and her tits out, smiling at him from ear to ear, showing her perfect, white teeth, her big doe eyes sparkling.

“I have to say, your mother taught you that command well. I can’t fault it. Your posture is right, with weight on the balls of your feet, your knees straight but not locked, your head perfectly level, and your eyes forward. It only looks wrong because you don’t have a bridle and headdress on orbit. And your overall height, of course. Add a harness, possibly a latex body suit, and hoof heels, and you will look perfect. Hmmm. You really want to do this?”

Ellie nickered once for yes.

“You can take orders from your brother despite him being younger than you?”

Ellie nickered once again.

“Stand Down,” Peter said, the command meaning a ponygirl should communicate with words, although the bare minimum. Little more than yes or no - just to convey a basic feeling.

“You said Jeff’s already punished you. How far do you plan on allowing him to go as your groom?” Peter asked.

That was a loaded question if I’ve ever heard one. I don’t know how I’d even respond to it if I were Ellie.

“All the way, Sir. Whatever it takes to get me that blue ribbon for you.”

Of course, I didn’t think that Ellie meant all the way, all the way. Not with her brother – not sex. But the message was clear. Whatever it took to win. That’s always been Ellie’s priority.

I knew she didn’t even want the prize for herself, just the recognition. She is the same way with the Junior Varsity cheer squad.

Then Peter said something totally unexpected, but Ellie didn’t hesitate.

“Show me your butthole. Turn, lose the panties, squat, knees on the carpet, spread your cheeks wide apart, and let me have a look” Peter commanded and told her that he had not decided if she’d be a suitable pony.

The command was forceful, clearly spoken, confident and expectant. Very much an average Peter command. Just not something I’d ever expected Peter to say to our daughter. My daughter offered him a pouty dejected expression but her father made it obvious that this was not a negotiation without repeating himself.

My daughter fell to her knees, and positioned herself so that she was fully exposed to us both in the living room.

Ellie even did it in the right order, showing she’d learned something from the day she had used the rig. I’d never actually seen Ellie’s butthole. If I had to describe it, I’d say it was akin to another person’s belly button. It didn’t look like you’d imagine the inside part of a balloon tie to look - like mine looks - it was tiny, round, smooth without wrinkles or anything, and it almost seemed to have a button in the middle.

Her hole was pert, clean, pink, and pretty. She held her cheeks open proudly for him to inspect her as if it were a test or an initiation.

“Have you ever worn a tail before?” Peter asked, stopping Ellie when she went to stand at attention again. He placed his hand firmly on her back so that she would remain in position until given permission to stand.

She apologized and briefly explained she thought she wasn’t supposed to speak unless she was at attention. Her father nodded and gave her permission to answer his questions but didn’t allow her to stand.

“Yes, the first day Jeff trained me. I thought I’d never get it in! I have it figured out now, though. I lube it up with pussy juice, and I just squat on it, and it goes right up there. It even feels kinda neat, but I keep thinking I have to go poop.”

“I see you’ve still got work to do on the Stand Down command, Ellie. I asked a simple yes or no question.”

“Sorry, Dad. I’ll...” she snapped her lips closed, suddenly realizing that even apologies were considered too many words.

Peter studied her for probably a full minute while Ellie continued to hold her cheeks apart before he said anything, just staring at her moist clam and butthole.

“Stand and face me,” Peter said, then when she’d complied, asked, “Are you a virgin, Womble?” he asked, more softly, sounding more like a concerned father than a trainer.

“No ... Sir?” Ellie answered and asked, not sure if she should use the honorific or not while in stand-down mode. I could see she was practically busting a vein trying to keep from asking why he wanted to know.

“That’s a shame.” Peter said sadly.

“Speak freely, Sir?” Ellie asked, her smile disappearing.

“Sure, but please don’t wear me out listening to you,” Peter said with a smile to show he was joking. Sort of.

“Does me not being a virgin ruin my chances of being a ponygirl?” Ellie asked with a quivering voice, biting her lip, afraid of Peter’s answer.

“No. It would have if you’d still been one. Some training tools are made to fit inside your cunt, and I was not prepared to break your hymen to utilize them,” Peter admitted with a frown. Ponygirls have “cunts” and not “vaginas”, and typically when I am in Pony Mode, Peter reminds me of that frequently.

Our cunts need to be ready for use, wet, pliant, and open. A pussy gets treated much more gently, but a Ponygirl cunt is meant to be worked hard, and put away wet.

“Well, that’s a good then then! Ellie almost squealed her relief. “Jeff’s gonna be so happy!”

“Because he can be your groom?” Peter asked.

“Uh ... yeah, sure! He said he’s wanted to train me for a year or more but didn’t think I’d let him.”

I was starting to be puzzled by this story. I got the impression from Jeff that it was all his sister’s idea.

“He’s not a trainer, Womble. He has to learn to be a groom for a year first. Only then will I discuss an apprenticeship as a trainer. Your grandpap insisted on the same thing with me when I first began dating your mom.”

“Back in the olden days? Wow...,” Ellie gushed like it was a hundred years ago. I guess to a 18-year-old freshly out of high school, it may as well have been. “I’m sure Jeff knows that, Sir. Grooms are still allowed to massage ponygirls and stuff, though, aren’t they?”

“Womble, there aren’t any national laws about it,” Peter chuckled at the notion of ponygirl training being anything more than a shadowy fetish activity practiced within the BDSM community.

“They’re simply my rules, and those were your grandpap’s rules, too. We don’t advertise that we’re into training women for sport. That’s why you don’t discuss your mother’s leisure activities with school friends. The rules are just good rules, and they exist for a reason,” Peter explained patiently.

“I know, Dad. I would never tell anyone, I promise. It’s just something I feel in here,” Ellie said, placing her hand over her left upper boob. “It’s challenging, exciting, really painful a bunch of the time, yet it’s just ... I need it, Dad, and I’ll do anything at all to qualify, even if I have to walk on hot coals every day or be led around by a big old nose ring. I don’t mind. I haven’t yet said no to anything Jeff has told me, and I won’t, I promise. You, too, either. If you want that little fat, bald guy who comes over to train mom to train me, I’ll do it gladly.”

“No hot coals, Womble, and you mean Eddie? Eddie Davidson? I doubt he’d be amused at being called a little fat, bald guy, even if the description fits. Anyway, he has plenty of hair, just not on his head. But okay, we’ll give it a go. I am going to have some restrictions and before Eddie has a crack at you, I am going to make sure you can handle the basics!”