My Little Ponies

Continued from: The Stuffie or the Whip?

A Sarah Jane story 

With trembling fingers, Mandy and I began to undress, peeling off our frilly socks, ruffled panties and pastel dresses until we stood naked before him, our bodies exposed and vulnerable. 

He reached into his pocket and withdrew two sets of cold, metal handcuffs. He tossed them carelessly on the floor by our feet, the harsh clatter a stark contrast to plush, soft surroundings of the nursery we had just rejected. 

"Put them on," he commanded, his tone seeming unimpressed. 

Mandy and I scrambled to obey, fumbling as we secured them around our wrists, the teeth clicking into the locks to seal our fate. Next, Daddy produced two sets of ankle shackles, the gleaming metal a perfect match to the handcuffs that now adorned our wrists. He tossed these at our feet, the longer chains jingling as they hit the floor. 

"Those too," he barked, watching intently as we hurried to comply. 

I knelt down, my movements hampered by the cuffs, and wrapped the cold steel around my ankles. The chain connecting them was just long enough to allow for a shuffling gait, a cruel reminder of our captivity. 

With a jerk of his head, Daddy indicated us out of the room and up to the door leading down to the basement dungeon. "Down you go," he growled, his voice laced with dark promise. Mandy and I exchanged a quick glance, equal parts fear and excitement warring in our expressions. We shuffled forward, the chains of our shackles clattering with each step, as we made our way towards the dark rooms.

Daddy followed close behind and with a final ominous click, he locked the door behind us. We were once again dungeon sex slaves, as per our mutual request. 

The room Daddy led us into was dimly lit, a flickering bulb casting eerie shadows across the stone walls. In the center of the space stood a weathered wooden platform, and atop it, the imposing figure of the wooden pony. Its sharp, angled spine promised both pleasure and pain in equal measure. 

In the far corner, a narrow vertical cage loomed, its bars barely wide enough to contain a human form. The message was clear - one of us would suffer upon the wooden pony, while the other would be forced to watch helplessly, anticipating their own turn. 

Daddy, approached Mandy first, who was kneeling submissively, looking ashamed. 

He ushered her over to the cage, helping her inside and locking the door with a resounding clang. Mandy gripped the bars, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and morbid curiosity as she watched Daddy turn his attention to me. I'm sure in that moment, Mandy was picturing what things would have been like if she chose the pink stuffie and what she might be doing that didn't involve being locked into a narrow, metal cage. 

Daddy guided me to the stage and the wooden pony that was on it, his grip firm on my upper arm as he helped me to straddle the cruel device. I rose up onto my highest tiptoes, my muscles straining as I tried to keep myself elevated above the sharp edge. Daddy took his time adjusting the height, ensuring that the vaulted spine of the pony rested just an inch away from my exposed cunt. 

He secured a ring gag in my mouth, effectively muffling any cries or pleas that might escape my throat. I began to drool from the gag as I struggled to maintain my balance atop the pony, my calves beginning to burn with the effort of staying on my tiptoes. 

I had chosen this path, rejecting the innocent pleasures of the nursery room for the darker delights of the dungeon. Instead of rocking on a horse upstairs, padded and protected by the comfort of a crinkly diaper, we had opted for the biting sting of the wooden pony downstairs. 

The cycle of the predicament continued, a never-ending dance of agony and ecstasy. Each time the pain in my calves grew too intense, I would lower myself onto the pony, gasping as the sharp edge dug into my clit. Up and down I went, trading one source of torment for another, my body glistening with sweat and my mind reeling from the intensity

After what felt like an eternity, Daddy finally called a halt to my torture. Twenty excruciating minutes had passed, each second stretching out into infinity as I battled the dual agonies of the predicament. 

With shaking limbs, Daddy removed me from my perch, my pussy throbbing and swollen from the relentless stimulation. 

He unlocked the slave cage and pulled Mandy out. I was ushered inside to take her place. Mandy was next to ride the wooden pony, as Daddy adjusted the height to ensure maximum tiptoe height. At probably the ten minute mark, her cries filled the room as she struggled to find her balance, her toes straining to keep her lifted above the cruel edge. 

As the minutes ticked by, the throbbing ache in my cunt began to subside, replaced by a growing hunger that demanded to be satisfied. I squirmed in the cage, my fingers slipping between my thighs to tease at my swollen folds, desperate for release. Just as I was on the verge of cumming, Daddy unlocked the cage door and hauled me out,.

I was bent over, my hands on my knees, my ass raised obscenely in the air. I heard the rustle of latex and the click of buckles as he prepared Mandy for her next task. When he finally revealed her to me, my breath caught in my throat. Encased in a sleek black straightjacket with her tits exposed, her arms were rendered useless. Her eyes were hidden behind a large blindfold, her mouth stuffed with a harness gag. Protruding from her mid-section was a giant strap-on cock. 

Without a word, Daddy pushed Mandy forward until the tip of the dildo brushed against my soaking wet pussy, Mandy could do nothing but obey, thrusting her hips forward in a humiliating parody of fucking. 

The massive dick stretched me wide as it sank into my cunt, filling me completely. Eventually Daddy got us down on the floor, and I was soon moaning around his erect penis as he began to fuck my face in a beautiful display of spit-roasting.

I couldn't hold out much longer, being treated like such a dirty whore had me right at the edge. My inner walls clamped down around the invading toy as wave after wave of orgasm crashed over me. I came hard, my screams of ecstasy muffled by Daddy unloading his own cum into the back of my throat. 

I was trussed-up in the same gimp-ish outfit Mandy was made to wear, and next thing I knew I was being forced to fuck her, while Daddy whipped my bare bum for encouragement. 

It was an intense session all-around. Mandy and I ended up bare naked and left in the basement dungeon, shackled by the wrists, to spend some time reflecting on our degradation. 

Eventually we were released and able to return to the upper floors of the Facility and shower and tidy up. Mandy and I found ourselves in cute matching panties and little baby-tees, for some much-needed snuggle time and aftercare with Daddy. 

My mind drifted to the boring suburban mom outfit that Mandy showed up in - yoga pants, t-shirt, hoodie. Such a contrast from the sexy latex and leather she'd been parading around in earlier. As we curled into Daddy and talked of all the depraved experiences of the last few days, he began to ask us how it went. 

"It was intense, Sir, thank you for your time and attention in Mistress' absence," Mandy replied. 

Daddy chuckled, "Well we aim to please here. Glad you could join us." He then turned to me. "And what about you, my pet? Enjoy putting on a show for me with your new friend?" I smiled up at him as he stroked my hair. 

"Always happy to entertain Daddy. Though I do hope I can have you all to myself next time..." 

Daddy's face darkened when I said that right in front of Mandy. He turned to her and said sternly, "Mandy would you please excuse us for a moment? I need to have a word with Sarah Jane in private." 

Mandy nodded nervously and scurried out of the room. As soon as she was gone, Daddy cupped my chin, forcing me to look up at him. "Rude!!" he scolded. "What the fuck was that, Sarah? How dare you disrespect our guest like that, making her feel unwelcome with your jealously!" His voice was low and dangerous. 

"You're going to regret that comment, tomorrow. It's your maintenance day as it is, young lady." 

With that, he released my chin and I ran out of the room bawling like a little child, quaking in fear over what I had coming. 

Sarah Jane 💟

P.S.

The ending of the story was not headed in this direction at all. The A.I. that was helping me to write this one, actually dropped that line out of the blue. Look: 

Thanks A.I. ! 

Tomorrow I'll be getting a belt whuppin' out in the woodshed, because of you!! 

*pout*

Continued in: So I may be forgiven

Tiptoes and Tears

Continued from: Oily Hufone Heit

A Sarah Jane story

The new dark room was a den of sin, a place where the most depraved fantasies could be indulged without shame or restraint...or so I thought. I ended up getting a very real spanking from 'Sir'. Let me tell you how things led to that point. 

As Daddy ushered us inside the new space, I could feel my cunt growing wet with anticipation, my body already primed for the filthy acts that were sure to follow. He wasted no time in securing me in place, forcing me down onto my knees and elbows with my ass obscenely thrust into the air. 

The cold leather cuffs bit into my wrists and ankles, holding me immobile as he shoved a thick rubber gag into my mouth, silencing any protests I might have made. Behind me, Mandy let out a muffled whimper as Daddy trussed her up in a brutal strappado position, her arms stretched taut behind her. The position forced her to lean forward, her face hovering mere inches from my exposed pussy and asshole. 

As Mandy struggled against her bonds, seeking some small measure of comfort, her nose would graze my puckered hole, sending jolts of electric pleasure shooting through my body. I could only imagine the view from her perspective, my ass cheeks spread wide to reveal my fig-shaped, little puckered penny, slightly agape from the dildo stool in the previous room. The knowledge that she was being forced to confront such an intimate, dirty part of my anatomy sent a fresh rush of moisture to my cunt, even as I fought against the instinct to clench my muscles and hide myself from her gaze. 

As the minutes dragged on, Mandy's struggles grew more frantic, her body swaying back and forth in a desperate bid for relief. With each movement, her nose pressed harder against my bum hole, the sensation both thrilling and mortifying in equal measure. 

My own arousal was building, my clit throbbing with each ragged breath I took around the gag, I wanted to beg for release, to plead with Daddy to use me, to fill me with his cock until I screamed. But the gag held firm, reducing my pleas to a nothing more that muffled grunts and whimpers. I was nothing more than a toy, a plaything for Daddy to use as he saw fit. And god help me, I loved every minute of it. 

Our ordeal was far from over. Once Daddy had grown bored of watching Mandy's nose buried in my asshole, he untied us and dragged us to our feet. Our legs were shaking from the strain of our previous positions, but he showed no mercy as he forced us up onto our tiptoes like ballerinas. 

With swift, efficient movement, he secured our wrists, leaving us utterly helpless and at his mercy. But the true cruelty of his plan became apparent only when he knelt at our feet, attaching a small pad covered in wicked-looking spikes to the soles of our bare heels. 

A shiver of fear ran down my spine as I realized the implications of this new torment. If we allowed our tired calves to relax, even for a second, we would be forced to lower ourselves onto those sharp points. 

But if we tried to maintain our balance on our toes, our legs would quickly grow fatigued, the burn in our muscles becoming unbearable. 

It was a diabolical catch-22, a predicament designed to push us to the very limits of our endurance. As the seconds turned into minutes, I could feel my body beginning to shake with the effort of maintaining my position. 

Beside me, Mandy was faring no better, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she fought to stay on her tippy toes. Daddy circled us like a vulture, his camera trained on our contorted faces and trembling limbs, filming a little video for his future viewing pleasure. 

I clenched my core tightly, trying desperately to maintain my balance and avoid the cruel spikes beneath my heels. Suddenly, without waring, a loud fart ripped from my ass, echoing through the room like a gunshot. My eyes widened in horror, realizing too late that sitting on that dildo earlier must have pushed air deep into my bowels. The sound was unmistakable, and for a moment, everything seemed to freeze. 

Mandy stared at me in shock, while Daddy slowly lowered his camera, his face a mask of disappointment as he removed my ball gag. 

Before I could even begin to stammer out an apology, he was on me, dragging me roughly across the room to a bench and throwing me over his knee. I struggled against his grip, but it was useless - he was far too strong. His hand came down hard on my bare ass cheeks, the crack of flesh against flesh ringing out in the suddenly silent room. 

Through the haze of my humiliation, I could hear Mandy's shocked gasps, her horror only serving to amplify my own sense of disgrace. I had ruined Daddy's video by farting, and now I was paying the price, wracked with agony and embarrassment as Daddy's hand rose and fell, painting my bare bottom a deep angry red. 

As Daddy's spanking continued on my tender flesh, I found myself clenching my muscles, bracing against the impact. The pressure of his thighs on my tummy, combined with the tension in my core, proved too much for my already compromised bum hole. To my utter mortification, another fart escaped my body, this one even louder and longer than the last. 

Daddy froze mid-spank, his hand hovering above my quivering cheeks. For a moment, I dared to hope that he might show me some mercy, that he might understand the involuntary nature of my fart. But that hope was quickly dashed as he shoved me roughly off his lap, sending me tumbling to the floor in a tangle of limbs, attempting to shield my butt. 

I looked up at him, my vision blurred with tears, and watched in growing terror as he slowly unbuckled his belt, sliding it free from the loops of his pants with a soft whisper of leather against fabric. "You filthy pig," he snarled, doubling the belt over in his fist. "I'm going to teach you some manners." 

I scrambled backwards, trying desperately to put some distance between us, but there was nowhere to run. The first lash of the belt caught me across the backs of my thighs, a line of pure fire that stole the breath from my lungs. 

Through my pleas of "I'm sorry, Sir!" I could see Mandy, still balancing precariously on her toes, her eyes wide with a mixture of horror and perverse arousal. I wanted to beg for her help, to plead with her to intervene, but the words died in my throat. All I could do was endure, my world narrowing down to the relentless rise and fall of the belt.

And I didn't even use my safeword! Hehe

Sarah Jane 💟

Continued in: Brutal Tenderness

50 Lashes

Continued from: Dinner and a Dungeon

A Sarah Jane story

Again and again, the flogger fell, each strike carefully placed across my bare bum and back, pushing me further into that hazy space between pain and pleasure. I lost count after twenty, my mind reeling as the sensation was overwhelming me. By the fiftieth stroke, I was dancing on my toes, desperate to escape the relentless whipping, yet craving more. 

As Daddy released me from my chains, my legs buckled beneath me, my body still humming with the warm glow of the flogger. With surprising gentleness, he untied Mandy and I took her place in the corner of the room. I felt the rough fibers of rope as he bound wrists, forcing me into a position facing the wall, embarrassingly aware of my redness on full display. 

I couldn't help but envision the scene unfolding behind me. In my mind's eye, I saw him stringing her up in the same manner he had me, her elegant dress pooling at her feet as the shears sliced away her clothing. I envisioned him gently unbuckling the straps of her high heels, now being forced to stand on her toes for the duration of the whipping with the sudden removal of the four inch stilettos. 

Before long, the rhythmic sound of the flogger striking Mandy's bare flesh filled the room, each impact punctuated by a yelp from her lips. I pressed my forehead against the wall and counted in my mind, all fifty of the lashes she received. 

After the whipping had ended, I suddenly felt the weight of a chastity belt settle around my hips. The cool metal against my heated skin was a shock, a stark contrast to the warmth that still radiated from my freshly whipped bottom. Behind me, I heard Mandy's sharp intake of breath, followed by the clicking of padlocks. "What is this thing?" she asked, her voice sounding desperate. 

I was released by Daddy and turned to face her, taking in the sight of the stainless steel that was now encasing her pussy. The belt hugged her curves perfectly and was snug enough that I knew I wouldn't be able to get so much as a pinky finger in there. 

"But why?" Mandy pleaded out, her gaze scanning over my equally denied state. 

"Because," Daddy purred, stepping closer to her and running his fingers over the metal screening that housed her pussy, "it's bedtime..." 

As the heavy cell door clanged shut behind us, I took in our new surroundings with a mix of trepidation and excitement. The small space was dominated by the single bed, its thin mattress offering little comfort for the night ahead. Beside it, the stark white toilet stood out, a harsh reminder of our captivity. 

Mandy sat on the bed and pulled at her chastity belt out of sexual frustration, as the reality of our situation sank in. 

"You're wasting your time, Mandy, trust me," as I reached out my hand, offering what little comfort I could. "We'll get through this together," I whispered. 

We settled into the bed, our bodies spooning for warmth and assurance and I held her hand and kissed her neck. I was probably making things worse for her arousal level, as she began to grind her whipped ass into my midsection, trying to hump the stainless belt against her pussy. It was no use...

With gentle hands, I guided Mandy onto her tummy, her soft sighs filling the small cell as she settled onto the thin mattress. Leaning down, I began to plant little feather-light kisses on her back and bum, soothing the welted streaks of red. 

Her body relaxed under my touch, her breathing evening out as I worked away across her bare bum cheeks. As I felt her drift towards sleep, I shifted, pulling her into my arms. Our lips met in a soft, passionate kiss, a dance of tongues and shared breath. 

The chastity belts prevented us from exploring further, but there was a certain eroticism in the restraint, in the knowledge that our pleasure was entirely in Daddy's hands. As we finally broke apart, I pulled the blankets over our entwined forms, holding Mandy close as she slipped into slumber. Even as exhaustion tugged at my own consciousness, my mind was alive with possibilities of what tomorrow might bring, in the dark rooms. 

Sarah Jane 💟

Continued in: Oily Hufone Heit

Quality Control

Continued from: Minute Man

A Sarah Jane story

Hello everyone, it's sarah jane.

Just look at these socks! Ohhhh my word. I'd be in so much trouble with Daddy! I'm not sure who this young lady is but she probably has a very red bum! I know I would. (And by "young lady", of course I mean a full-grown adult woman, over the age of consent, which she clearly is, even though her attire does not suggest this). 

As many of you know, after Daddy and I shared a glorious moment of loving devotion followed by some filthy-hot sex, I moved in with him as his 24/7 submissive. His home is not a full-blown fetish and BDSM studio like Mistress Andrea has, but he does have some specialty rooms, designed specifically for my discipline and correction. 

If you remember from last time, there is a long hallway with multiple doors and a stark, lifeless stool facing a full-length mirror. These last few weeks, now under Daddy's roof and Daddy's rules, I have spent some time on the unforgiving rigidness of that stool, nursing a freshly spanked bottom. 

Why, you might ask? 

Two words...that I am getting to know painfully well...QUALITY CONTROL. 

I learned about quality control while under the care of Mistress Andrea at her Facility. Standing with my ankles together, walking on tiptoe when not in heels, or having to perform a curtsy when entering or leaving a room that my dominant was in. 

These were essentially my service standards while at The Facility. I was in-service always, as a submissive sex slave. Now, happily in the service of my Daddy, usually dressed like the above I might add, things are a little more...detailed, I guess I could call it. Daddy takes my service standards to the next level! I think he has a little bit of OCD.

Hehe. (Sorry Daddy, but you DO and it's true! *sticks tongue out*). Fuck, I'm gonna be sorry for that one! 

It was Daddy's attention to fine details that ultimately landed me in the hallway with these dreadful rooms. 

Such as:

If I present myself to Daddy with uneven socks, uneven knee socks or stockings, like the young lady above, I am given a spanking on the spot! 

"C'mon Sarah Jane, you're better than that!" Daddy will scold. 

"You know better than that!" And so on...

Then, regardless of where we are or who else is around, my bottom will be bare and I will be immediately over his knee. His heavy hand will take things well beyond the scope of a warm-up. You know that point when a man's strong hand starts to feel like a wooden paddle?

Daddy will then reach for an implement of opportunity. Wooden spoon or spatula if we're near or in the kitchen, a hairbrush from a bathroom, but he usually just takes off his belt, hauls me back across his knee and thrashes me good and hard. 

Between me kicking and flailing-off articles of clothing during these spankings and Daddy stripping pieces off me, I always end up fully nude. Then I get the dreaded, "go wait on the stool."

My hands cover my flaming bum cheeks and I find myself doing this little scamper/scurry run, usually while sobbing, as I make my way upstairs and onto the rigid stool to wait for my actual punishment. The one that fits the crime and the reason for these rooms. 

A run in my hosiery? Ohhh you better believe I'd be in for it!

Uneven knee socks, caught wearing flats, not walking on my toes when not in heels...White sock bottoms that are not looking so white anymore, dirty or dingy? The list goes on. 

You probably don't have to guess what will happen to me, after my spanking and now nervously waiting in the hallway for the corresponding specialty room. 

This particular room, for quality control violations relating to my feet, has only one bondage apparatus for the purpose of securing and displaying my soles for correction. 

This room really sucks. But, will my knee socks ever be uneven again? Would I present myself before Daddy with a run in my hose? Certainly not. His quality control is at least effective. I only have to touch the hot stove once. 

There is a small array of implements displayed in this room. Light riding crops, small flicker-whips and leather slappers. There are even tens-unit pads for my bare soles. Those REALLY fuckin' suck! 

What do you think of this next one? 

Visible tags left in place and not clipped from panties. Do you see it? 

I told you Daddy has OCD! 

He's not entirely wrong though. I am usually made to wear full sheer panties with my school uniforms and a lot of my pretty, pink sleepwear and lingerie is sheer or lace. I can see how an unsightly tag just screws up the whole aesthetic here.

See the tag in my panties? Daddy brought this to my attention and I ended up in this pose, so I could be shamed and humiliated by having to show all of you!

Then I was thrashed on-the-spot, right over Daddy's knee. His belt came next, always on the bare!

Once again I found myself on the "sobbing stool" as I like to call it now, up in the hallway, humiliated and naked with only my reflection and my thoughts to keep me occupied. But which room would I be headed to? This one could have gone either way. There is a room just for the correction of my pussy where I am secured and presented like this: 

And there is an entirely separate room for the whipping and correction of my little pucker. 

Both rooms are just like the feet-whipping room, with a single bondage apparatus to secure and present me for punishment. It's so embarrassing, to be bound and displayed this way!

Tags in panties, not having my princess parts shaved bald for Daddy...caught wearing improper panties or failing to give myself a good, soapy enema before Daddy fucks my bum, could all land me in either of these two rooms, or BOTH!! 

Again, each room has a collection of whips, straps and floggers of a size and weight suitable for my pussy and bum hole. Each room comes with the electro-pads as well, to shock my pussy lips, clit and anus as part of my correction. 

Lastly, there is a room dedicated to my breasts and nipples. I call this the "tit room". For the life of me I could not think of any manner of quality control relating to my tits. Maybe you readers can help? Like not being in a bra or something, when I'm suppose to be or not getting erect nipples when I should? I dunno...

Leave it to my loving Daddy though...he found something! Of course he did. 

These are a beautiful pair of nipple clamps with bells that Daddy got for me. As you can see they are the alligator style with the little tension wheel on the side, to reduce or increase the pinch. He likes to have me wear these when he fucks me doggystyle. My boobs dangle helplessly and the motion of Daddy pounding me in the ass or cunt, causes my tits to bounce and flop about; thus, causing me to jingle!

*hands over eyes* It's so dreadfully humiliating!

Every nipple is different. Some people clamp just the nipple while others want them to bite the areola and the nipple together. For that reason, Daddy lets me adjust the clamps myself and set the level of pinch. He tells me that he wants a decent grip but nothing excruciating. Just enough that they stay in place, like an ornamental decoration.

Well...

The other day, Daddy was fucking me from behind. I had my bells on and I was gagged. Everything was going fine until one of my nipple bells flew off and hit the floor, because I didn't have it clamped tightly enough. 

I thought nothing of it at the time. Daddy finished and came into my hot cunt, but then I got a very firm spanking, still gagged with jizz oozing out of me! 

I was shocked when I heard, "go wait on the stool." Then it dawned on me, my clamps! So, I was introduced to the final room I had not seen yet. My "tit room".

The setup was simple as usual, just one singular apparatus of bondage to present the area for correction. I was blindfolded and shock-pads were applied first. I think they were set to about a 7, then I was left alone to endure the correction. 

When Daddy finally returned, the pads were removed but my blindfold stayed on. He didn't want me seeing and flinching or anticipating the whipping that came next, all across my boobs and nipples. I was a very sorry young lady after about 25 per nipple with a riding crop. I now understood the importance of quality control at Daddy's house.

But if I know all these rules now and adhere to them...these rooms will be obsolete no? 

I wouldn't purposely do something just to end up back in the hallway...would I? 

Hmmm. Those stocking seams can be tricky...and it would drive Daddy bananas! Should I push my luck?

sarah jane xoxo

Continued in: Pinch Hitter