Pantsing and Stripping Forums

My Husband took us out to a nice Italian restaurant; we didn’t talk about BDSM or pony training. It was just like any ordinary family outing. I ordered for myself, chatted with my family and we laughed and smiled.

It felt a little surreal to me because I half expected the topic of how pony girls are fed to come up, but it never did.

I don’t think we discussed BDSM or ponygirl training even once during dinner. It was there that I realized how see-through my top really was. The waiter kept staring at my tits, and I looked down and noticed how engorged my nipples were.

“Did you spill something on your shirt, hon?” Peter asked playfully, and the waiter quickly averted his gaze.

When we got home, it was still light outside. I was surprised that Peter didn’t want me to try to seduce him. I was horny, very horny! I hadn’t been fucked well all night, and I was ready for dick. I know I am supposed to be a nice submissive that gets off on pleasing others – but the truth is, I love getting my brains fucked out, and I was so turned on that I could have turned over a dining room table chair leg and humped it to get my rocks off.

I tried not to let on, but my pussy was already juicing up and my nipples were naturally hardening.

Peter smacked my ass at the door and told me to strip down to pony-light. He was all business, and not joking around at all.

Pony light is collar and boots only. It’s kind of like informal form of dress, and I had often walked around the house that way before Ellie started her training.

Peter had never told me to strip at the door before when the kids were home. It was usually just something I wore around the house without announcing it or making a big deal of it.

It was kind of liberating to do it right at the front door after walking into the house. I smiled and winked at him, but he remained aloof and serious.

He told Ellie that she might as well do the same thing since she needed to learn how to relieve herself properly. She began to strip in the living room and didn’t question her father.

This was quite a juxtaposition in our family dynamic from earlier when we were all laughing over Pizza at a restaurant.

“Gross,” Ellie stuck her nose up in the air as she stripped in the foyer after we closed the door.

“Are you plugged?” he asked Ellie.

“Butt plug? No,” she seemed surprised by the question.

“Get her a small plug from your collection for tomorrow. She can start wearing it around the house after pony training is over to prepare for her tail,” Peter instructed me. He told Ellie that she needed to get used to wearing that all the time and it was an exception to the four-hour limit.

“I give you permission and encourage you to wear your plug as often as you think your tight little ass can handle it. It will start to hurt and feel heavy in your ass, but you won’t be able to handle the tail all day at Camp Crucible if you don’t start now. It’s important you give yourself a few hours break. I won’t order you to do it outside of the four hours, but I expect you to be plugged in whenever possible.”

Ellie turned a little pale but nodded as she stripped down completely. She had to take off her boots to remove her shoes. Her feet smelled sweaty. Peter told us to leave them off because he planned to demonstrate what he expected us to do every morning as the first thing after being roused.

“The girls should be pony-light, which means no butt plug and minimal leathers. They can go barefoot or boots on. I’d like to see them in collars,” Peter explained to his son what he wanted us to wear in the morning,” he said.

“The first thing you want to do is bend them over in position two,” Peter grabbed me by the hair on the back of my head, pushed me down, kicked my legs apart, and roughly removed my butt plug with a satisfying pop. My Husband wasn’t rough, but he wasn’t gentle either.

“Examine it, if it’s covered in pony shit, that means they have to go really bad. If it’s relatively clean, they can carry it in their mouth. If not, set it on some tissues, and they will clean it when they get back inside. I prefer the ponies to have a plug stuffed in their mouth when they start their ablutions. They don’t need to speak, and it reminds them to keep their mouths shut. The practicality is that you don’t want them sucking on chocolate-covered butt plugs. You can stick something else at hand in their mouth, but don’t go to all the trouble of fitting them with a bridle.”

Jeff and Ellie both were disgusted when their father said that we might have chocolate-covered butt plugs. I never got that gross.

My Husband examined my gold-rimmed, stainless-steel plug, wiped it a little with his finger, and then inserted it into my mouth, pushing it deep past my lips to gag me. “They have no reason to talk during this exercise. It’s very simple and precise, and it’s how they need to start their day together from now on until Camp Crucible. I’ll show you other ways to use bridles and gags, but for now, they should be holding their plugs in their mouths. They both need to stretch and develop their sphincter muscles to hold a tail all day long.”

Peter forced me up by yanking my hair and then put me into a modified position eight with my legs apart, tits out, and chin up so that I could start to march in place. He did the same to Ellie and gave her no quarter. He forced her legs apart wide and made her march in place next to me while lifting her knees as high as possible.

“You should be able to see pee hole and dookie hole when their legs are this high while they march. Your mom’s ass cheeks are fat, so get her stomping and raising her knees so that her ass cheeks are clapping back and forth. Their hands are to be kept behind their back, clasped and resting on the bottom of the vertebrae just above their lovely but well-filled butts.”

Peter directed me to assume the position, and I did. I hadn’t been marched like this in a little while. It was difficult to keep my thighs wide apart while marching like that and clapping my cheeks. My big tits began to bounce, and Peter took note that he wanted to see jiggle and bounce from both of us.

Once Peter was satisfied that we were marching vigorously, Peter marched us out into our backyard near the garden area. We have a privacy fence, but it’s possible that our neighbors can see in the yard from their second floors or if they happen to be looking over our fence.

I’ve never thought about it when I sunbathe or do pony drills outside. I always assume that if they are shocked, they shouldn’t be looking in my yard in the first place. However, it felt a little different now that I was about to perform my ablutions in my own garden.

This was going to be a first for me. I usually only did this at certain pony events and camps. I kept my shoulders back and clenched my plug in my mouth.

It was impossible to tell what Ellie thought about what was expected from us. She kept her eyes straight ahead and had a scowl on her face, looking rather serious. I really didn’t get a chance to look at her face because Peter marched us side by side to my plants.

I have practiced in pony light or even full pony regalia in the yard many times in the past, but Ellie hadn’t. I assumed she’d speak up if this was too far out for her.

Peter prodded us with his hands to stand back-to-back and shoulder-to-shoulder. Jeff was observing all of this while Peter explained it.

My Husband commanded us to stop marching, plant our feet, and bend our knees a little like we were sitting on invisible chairs while we leaned on each other’s backs for support.

I knew this position well. I’ve done it with my mother and other women at the camps. It wasn’t something that I could practice at home, even inside the house. This was all new for Ellie and Jeff.

I had never been expected to perform my ablutions around our kids before, and we really hadn’t discussed it until the night before.

“Give them about five minutes to get it all out. If you see they have more to go, then give the ponies a little more time. The goal is an empty bladder and empty bowels,” Peter addressed his son and not Ellie and me. “The time limit is just to keep them from remaining idle!”

Peter gave us the command to go poop, and we stood there awkwardly, flat-footed in our boots. I could feel the warmth of my daughter’s skin against my own back as she giggled a little and chuckled.

“I don’t have to go.”

“You better get on a schedule, Dancer. You’ll go once in the morning, once at the end of the four training, and then once at night. I’ve decided that any indoor bathroom time IS a privilege. You can ask permission to go poop outside, but you likely won’t be permitted to unless you can get it all out when you are permitted to go,” Peter explained while cropping the fleshy part of our inner thigh to encourage us to begin.

“Let it go, Let it Gooo,” Jeff sang the popular Disney song from the movie Frozen to playfully encourage us to poop.

Peter grimaced and told him that if he didn’t take it seriously, that there was no way that we would or that anyone could see him as a serious groom.

I preferred a little humor every now and then during training, but Peter was no-nonsense when it came to pony events and training.

“This is so weird, Daddy,” Ellie giggled over the absurdity of the spectacle we were about to perform. My daughter still hadn’t gone yet.

I was trying as I endured crop after crop against my thighs. Peter stung our thighs, and tits while motivating us to finish up.

I know that ablutions doesn’t actually mean “going poop” but Peter prefers to use that term when talking about pony hygiene. I don’t think Ellie or Jeff truly processed what he meant by “Complete your ablutions, now!”

It’s meant a bit like “Go to the water closet” in this context. Peter usually doesn’t resort to vulgar language for this but when he saw that Ellie was reluctant and Jeff seemed confused, he did.

“You wanted to be a pony. Ponies shit outside like horses. You will be stabled. If your crapper is packed full while you are trying to pull carts on races, and you crap all over the grounds, you can get disqualified and make me look like a poor trainer. I am already going to be taking enough shit for bringing a teenager to Camp Crucible. I don’t want your ACTUAL shit under people’s feet.”

“It won’t be Daddy, I can hold it! Gah!”

“This is why you need to hold a butt plug in your mouth while you are out here. You aren’t supposed to be talking, Dancer. If I put my finger up your ass and draw back any peanut butter at all, I am going to make you wish you stopped being such a priss and just did what you have to do without making us wait. I don’t want a shitty ass when I go to fuck your butt or stick something up there. We have other ways to clean you out that are even less pleasant than letting gravity do the job for you,” he insisted. I knew he was talking about an enema.

I wondered when Ellie would have to get her first one.

“If your pride won’t let you take a dump in front of us, what are you going to do when you are stabled in front of hundreds of perverted strangers?”

“I am not being proud, Daddy! I just don’t have to go right now, and this is super weird for me,” she said.

“Daddy? You are Dancer right now; what is it?”

“Master!! MASTER!” she answered her father as he cropped her inner thighs and under her tits. He didn’t swing wild or particularly hard, but her father made each one of them sting.

“Weird. You keep using that word, Weird. You know what is weird? It’s weird that I am training my daughter, but you had me spend seven hundred bucks to buy you an outfit. You insisted on four hours a day as a pony. Now, all I see is a stuck-up, tight-ass girl who won’t do what she is told.”

At that moment, I felt the warm splash of urine drench the back of my thighs as Ellie began to piss. We were so close that our butt cheeks were touching. I heard my daughter’s airy little giggles lightly as her stream began to strengthen.

“Swivel your hips so you don’t get your piss all over Vixen. Let’s see it, ponies. I want brown and yellow, brown and yellow. Get it out!”

I joined in with my daughter and dropped a small turd into the mud, and let out a long, steady, stream of piss without getting more than a few droplets of backsplash on Ellie’s legs. She giggled the entire time.

“Can you handle this every morning, Jeff?” Peter asked our son to confirm he was up for this radical change. I was a little annoyed that Peter didn’t ask me even though I would have said yes. I at least wanted to be asked.

“I think so, Dad. What am I supposed to do when they are finished?”

“You’ll march them over to the hose, soap up a bucket, and scrub them down with a brush. Which is what your mother should have shown you this morning and what you are going to do after they finish. You’ll scrub them so well that I can eat dinner off their ass holes.”

We laughed at that, even though I don’t think Peter intended it as a joke.

“What about the mess they leave behind?” Jeff Peter asked as he looked down at the little clay-like turd balls Ellie and I had made. They looked like pellets, clumped together in small clusters. It was quite disgusting.

“That’s why they are standing in the garden. That will become fertilizer. When we get to Camp Crucible, the ponies will police their own mess with shovels. You will supervise and see that they are properly motivated.”

“What about toilet paper?” Jeff asked in a tone that suggested he was advocating for some mercy for us.

“There is no toilet paper in the stable, Jeff. Most of the time, the pony’s hands are bound or in fingerless gloves with faux hooves, so they couldn’t wipe their asses if they wanted, and you won’t be doing that for them. You will wash them down thoroughly with the hose, so they don’t get crusty,” he warned.

“Not as glamorous as you thought, is it?” my Husband asked Ellie when she was finished taking a crap.

Ellie sniffed a little and admitted that she hadn’t anticipated anything like this. “It makes sense that ponies have to go like this; I just never thought about it before. It’s still worth it, Daddy.”

“It’s Sir or Master while you are in pony mode; I hate repeating myself, Dancer!” Jeff sliced into her tits, and Ellie howled her apology.

“I don’t want to have to make it permanent around the house because you and your mother deserve a break from service, but if you can’t fucking remember who your master is when you are naked in the garden standing over your own droppings, then how can you remember during competition, Dancer?”

“I don’t know, Master!!”

“Your brother may want you both to call him Jeff and sing songs about Disney while jerking him off and pretending to be a pony, but I take this seriously. I am not going to be made a joke of at Camp Crucible. I’ve been going there too long, know too many people, to risk my reputation on two kids that aren’t ready and can’t be ready in time.”

Peter was starting to lose his cool, and the kids reacted by shutting down a little. My Husband promptly corrected his attitude and calmed down. “I expect you to follow the appropriate protocol with everyone else. In fact, now that I think about it. You need to practice so maybe the next time I take you out of the house, and you are flashing that cute little ass of yours to total strangers, I’ll make you turn around and address them as Sir the way you would at Camp Crucible and ask him if he’d like a better look. Would you like that?”

Ellie didn’t respond. I assumed she thought it was a rhetorical question, but Peter’s crop against her tight abdomen muscles suggested otherwise. He reminded her he asked her a question and expected an answer.

“I was afraid to answer because I probably would have enjoyed that, Master.”

I tried not to grin with pride at my daughter’s quick response. She was being naughty, and I could imagine using the same tone with my husband that she just had when he threatens to spank me. I’ve often said “Don’t threaten me with a good time unless you actually mean it,” and stuck my butt out for him to give me a proper spanking.

“We’ll see about that. I also shop at Brandts on a weekly basis and like to be able to walk in there without being thought of as a perverted weirdo,” He replied and reminded Ellie that her behavior and how she dressed reflected upon him. He was not yelling, but he was rather stern with her.

I don’t think he expected his daughter to respond that way to being chastised for her behavior. He clearly expected her to be afraid and humbled that he’d actually punish her for behaving inappropriately.

Peter turned to Jeff. “I need you to step up. You aren’t exactly inspiring me with confidence tonight. I don’t mind goofing around and joking when it’s appropriate, but is it appropriate during training?”

Jeff shook his head from side to side to assure his father he understood that he needed to stop joking around. I hadn’t seen Jeff change his attitude that quickly before.

“Let’s get these ponies cleaned up,” Peter calmed down even more and directed us toward the air conditioning unit next to the back of the house where the garden hose was. Jeff told us to pick up our legs and march in a high step without waiting for his father to say it.

We did as we were instructed. Peter showed him how to use a bucket with a brush to wash us down. He told him what kind of soap to use in the future and what he expected. The bristles are very scratchy, and when they are rubbed against my lady parts, they turn me on as much as they make me uncomfortable.

This particular brush had plastic bristles. I much prefer the natural fiber bristles or nylon brushes. They aren’t as abrasive to my skin.

Jeff took a long time soaping us up.

“You don’t have to wash them all over tonight, just their cunts and asses, Son.”

Peter’s voice was loud enough that if a neighbor were somewhere near the back fences, they would have overheard. I wondered what they thought.

“I have to wash their ENTIRE body in the morning, Dad?” Jeff asked.

“I want you to call me Sir or Mister Peter when we are training the girls together, and I need to address you as my Groom or Mister Jeff. I can’t expect the ponies to do something that I won’t do,” he decided before chiding his son for even asking the question. “Do you know how many perverted old men would pay a hundred bucks to wash your mom and sister’s cute little bodies? You act like this is a chore when it’s a reward.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Dad, I mean Sir. I just wanted to know if I should let them take showers?”

“No,” Peter answered curtly. “They can shower after the session, that’s up to them. I’ll expect you to wash all the sweat, grime, dirt, mud, and cum off them when they are at Camp Crucible.”

“Are they allowed to put on makeup?” Jeff asked as he sloshed my tits with sudsy water, even though he only had to wash my pussy and ass. He apologized to me.

“Don’t apologize to the ponies for washing them. You can apologize to them for making a mistake, but your job is to clean them. If you get them a little wet, that’s nothing to worry about,” Peter said.

“I am sure Vixen is wet right now,” Jeff snickered as he slopped more suds on my cunt.

“Answer him, Vixen. Are you wet?”

I indicated the plug in my mouth and made a “ploofth” sound. The kids were used to hearing me make pony sounds around the house when my mouth was full. It was obvious I was answering that I was.

“I know that plug won’t stop you from talking, but you can shake your head yes or no, Vixen. Your groom asked you if you are horny and wet. It’s his job to know how you are feeling and holding up and assess your needs.”

I knew Jeff understood me, but Peter wanted me to be explicit. There was something strangely humiliating about affirming to my son that I was turned on that was different around other men.

I nodded that I was very wet and turned on, I still had the plug clenched between my teeth, and it took effort not to drop it when I moved my head.

“Good, because I want some of that sweet pussy tonight before you go in the cage!” my Husband slapped my ass.

“Mom, I mean, Vixen is caged?” my daughter asked in surprise. Her pussy was dripping with white suds as she stuck her ass out for her brother. He was taking turns slathering us up. Ellie hadn’t seen me last night in the cage, and her brother must not have told her.

“Yep, you’ve seen your mother’s cage; that shouldn’t surprise you, Dancer,” Peter said as he hustled us inside the house for our next lesson.

“I didn’t know it was every night! That seems kind of cruel,” Ellie pointed out.

“It’s so thoughtful of you to show concern for your fellow pony, Dancer! Your mother is going to be caged from now on until we leave for Camp Crucible.”

“Did she do anything wrong, Master?” Ellie asked. Her tone suggested she was more concerned about joining me than she really was about my comfort.

“No, nothing wrong at all. The cage is just a control mechanism to put her in the right mindset to serve your brother in the morning. She’s bound at night, so she can’t masturbate. I have discovered that your mother is a lusty little pony, and she gives me her best when she is craving cock and horny!”

That was a sudden revelation for me when I heard my Husband explain that to the kids. I started to understand why he often refused to have sex with me. I probably DID seem more desperate for his approval and enthusiasm when I was horny.

“But you just said that you are going to fuck Vixen tonight, Sir?” Jeff asked.

“True, and I will, but it will be for my pleasure and not hers. I’ll get my satisfaction and probably leave her bound and wet. You should do the same thing to Ellie tonight. Fuck her hard, and fuck her rough, but only for a few minutes, long enough to get your nut.”

Ellie’s pretty brown eyes widened, and I could see the disappointment on her face.

“Don’t worry slut, you’ll get to have an orgasm, but you have to earn it with me from now on. I want to show your brother how to tie a tight reverse prayer and put you through your paces. We’ll have dinner, take a break, and then I’ll show him some punishment techniques to use on you.”

Once again, Ellie’s pretty face soured, but she complied.

Peter practiced on me first and showed them how to bind a woman in a woman in an extreme version of a reverse prayer tie. This is a fairly common form of arm binding that doesn’t use a leather armbinder.

It’s far less comfortable for the long term and relies upon rope to bind my arms behind my back and raise them up so that my hands touch in a prayer position. The kids had seen it, but this was the first time they had learned about it.

“Not everyone can handle it due to the physical demands it places on the body,” Peter spoke to Jeff as he bound an orange rope around my tits and shoulders to show the two of them how it worked. “Your sister can probably not handle this for more than an hour; your mother can easily do this for four to six hours.”

I tried not to let my Husband’s kind words go to my head. I was, after all, standing flat-footed and naked in my house with my butt plug clenched in my teeth.

He showed Ellie how to angle her arms and had her practice reaching the starting position while he continued the demonstration on me.

Peter wrapped the rope around my arms, starting just above my triceps, tying my hands together without applying too much pressure. As he explained to Jeff and Ellie, he was careful to avoid cutting off circulation, making sure the rope was secure enough to keep my arms in place. He warned them not to make the tie too tight, as it could cause discomfort or even cut off blood flow. Ellie stretched her arms, glancing nervously at how far mine were pulled back.

Next, Peter continued wrapping the rope around my arms, making sure the tension was even and being cautious not to place the rope directly on the bones. He pointed this out to Jeff and Ellie, stressing that the ropes should be tight enough to keep the arms in position but not so tight that it would cause pain.

Ellie had already mastered the basics, and Peter told her that she would be next, so she should stretch out her arms as much as possible.

As he tied clean knots and loops, he ensured the result looked neat and professional. Finally, he added extra wrapping for security and finished the pattern, explaining that the tie was both functional and aesthetically pleasing while also ensuring I was relaxed.

My pussy was drenched by the time he had me bound, and he had never laid a finger on it. I was aching for a good fuck. The anticipation was killing me. I wanted to grab Peter and have my way with him. He knows that when he doesn’t touch my pussy, that’s when I want it the most.

Peter guided Jeff through the process of tying up his sister, and Jeff did an excellent job. Peter tugged a little on it to make sure the ropes were snug and asked Ellie how it felt.

“Great!”

“You won’t say that in a few hours!” Peter promised.

Peter noticed a spot on the floor that had mud on it from our feet. He wanted us to clean it up, and he wanted to show Jeff how he expected us to clean the house when he wasn’t home. Peter’s way is far less practical than my way.

I wear my pony gear, and I take my time, but I don’t make it difficult on myself.

“How are we supposed to clean like this, Master?” Ellie said.

“It takes a little creativity, but slow cleaning with difficulty will help remind you to take your time and get it right the first time,” Peter said as he removed my butt plug from my mouth and said that it was clean. “I’ll give you something else to put in there.”

I smiled with satisfaction because I assumed he wanted me to suck his cock. I love giving head almost as much as I like riding a nice hard dick. I didn’t realize Peter had something else in mind, entirely.

He made me retrieve a sponge from the kitchen. I had to kneel at the sink and pick it up with my teeth. When I returned, he told me to kiss it into Ellie’s mouth and even guided us on that.

“I want you to do it with harmony and grace; every move should be designed to draw the eye and seduce when you are kissing, press your breasts close. There is no point in pretending that this is platonic. Kiss like you mean it and swap the sponge into each other’s mouth.

I did as I was told and fed the sponge to my daughter’s open mouth as she half-giggled about how silly it was. We locked eyes and touched noses as I winked at my daughter. I released the yellow sponge into her mouth. Peter sent me to get another sponge for myself.

When I returned, my daughter was already on her knees, bent over, cleaning the floor with her mouth periodically. Jeff lifted her head by her hair, dunked her pretty face in sudsy water, and then let her return to trying to clean up the mess we tracked in.

We kissed the sponges back and forth, but Peter wanted us to get to work actually cleaning the floors this way.



This wasn’t how I cleaned at all. I groaned a little because I knew that would make things far more tedious. I could tell that my daughter wasn’t enjoying how rough and degrading it was to become a cleaning implement.

Peter made us wash the floor in a circular motion, tits dragging the wet surface, almost drying as we went, and asses up. We started from the center and moved outward on our knees. My shoulders and back hurt after only ten minutes.

He talked about grace, economy of motion, but also moving with rhythm, and then he began smacking our butts with a crop when he thought we were moving in synch. “Pick a pace that each of you can follow. I don’t know which is the dominant pony between you, but the other must match her pace. You will learn to anticipate each other and silently communicate with non-verbal gestures that will help.”

It was almost comical, and there were times I spit my sponge out onto the floor and laughed out loud when my Husband gave me a big whack on the ass. This was way too hard to be my normal process.

I didn’t clean the house this way usually, and the last time I had done anything like this I was putting on a little show for him and his best friend Eddie. I smiled and accepted the humiliation. The last thing that I wanted to do was contradict my husband’s lesson.

Jeff asked why we had to put so much effort into something like this, and cited that we could have finished much sooner if we didn’t have to use the sponges in our mouths.

I gave him an appreciative glance and so did his sister, after he asked the question.

“The girls missed a spot today. They won’t miss again. It’s okay to make mistakes, but it’s not okay not to address them, son. I want you to be a participant tomorrow. When they clean up, you’ll notice an improved attitude, and if not then I want you to make them fix their mistakes like this.”

“I just thought you were punishing them, Dad.”

“Not everything is a punishment, Jeff. It’s tedious, and I am sure it isn’t pleasant tasting the sponge, and arching their backs, while they crawl around at our feet. It’s a lesson. If the girls are going to be ponies for four hours, they may as well learn to do things right.”

“Are they going to clean this way at Camp Crucible?”

“I doubt your mom and sister will have a lot of time for scrubbing, because we’ll keep them busy in contests and training, but if they do, then I am sure by then they will put a little more effort into making sure the floors we walk on are clean enough for them to eat off of,” Peter smiled.

The bastard. He was right. I wouldn’t make the same mistake after today. I probably had become complacent when I cleaned the house, because no one ever seemed to notice or care how polished the floors were.

I actually did like to clean up in the nude, but I rarely got down on my hands and knees and scrubbed with a sponge. My back was hurting, and the sponge didn’t taste particularly good, but I really didn’t mind doing it once I started.

“Hurry up, I want to eat dinner soon!” he said as he cropped the pink between my legs and left a real stinger on my pussy.

“Hopefully, you will untie us for dinner so that we don’t have to break out the feedbags!” I joked.

“That’s a good idea, Vixen! Thanks for the suggestion,” Peter replied seriously. I realized he may not have realized that I was kidding. We rarely used my feedbag when we went to pony events and never at home.

“What’s a feedbag, Sir? I’ve never seen that,” Jeff asked.

“I take it you just sat at the table and ate a regular meal with the kids today, Vixen?” Peter asked me. I nodded gracefully that we had. I stuck my tits out firmly and remained as demure as possible.

“I gave you four hours to do pony training, and it seems like you did anything but what I told you to do. Now, I see why Ellie is begging for training when we are supposed to have family training,” Peter lamented.

I blushed and felt a little guilty. I didn’t try to become defensive. I wanted to say that I was easing them into it and that I wasn’t sure how far things should go. Peter would have probably taken that the wrong way.

He had asked me to guide my son, and I silently vowed I would do better the next day.

Peter softened and acknowledged out loud that he had intentionally not set expectations because he wanted to see how we progressed.

“Jeff, You will start them on a pony diet during your training hours. I don’t want pony training to take up all of our family time, but I should probably show you this tonight so that the girls can be prepared for a pony diet when we arrive. I don’t normally use a feed bag on your mother, but there is cold and warm feed. Tonight, the girls can have warm feed while you and I enjoy a hot and juicy pizza with you, Mr. Jeff.”

I couldn’t believe that Peter really intended to teach the kids about feedbags. It wasn’t part of a lot of our BDSM camping trips in the past. They were far less formal. I’ve eaten out of the bag before, and it’s definitely not something that I would recommend. I assumed Ellie would probably hate it.

After we finished cleaning up the spots we missed earlier that day on the floor, Peter instructed me to show Ellie where the feedbags were upstairs and bring them back down.

He didn’t tell me how since we were both still nude, mostly naked and bound in the reverse prayer position. My daughter followed me up the stairs, nose almost up my ass as she walked behind me.

“You don’t have to follow so close, Ell. I mean, Dancer,” I warned as we reached the top.

“Sorry, Vixen, I was just trying not to trip and lose my balance on the stairs. How are we supposed to get bags like this?”

“I’ll show you. We have to be creative,” I smiled as I took her to my bedroom. Just opening the door would be a challenge for me without the use of my hands. I knelt and started to suck on the door handle with my mouth.

“Jesus, are you deep-throating that door handle?”

I looked over and smiled at her after I bent my head and turned the door handle with the force of my neck. “Pony skills! I can’t dislocate my own jaw, but I can come close,” I giggled as the door swung open slowly before us.

“How are you handling the training? Is it everything you thought it would be?” I asked casually. It was the first time we had been alone since the hardware store, and I was curious about what she thought. I brought her to my closet door and struggled to open that as well.

“It’s definitely not what I thought it would be. It seems more about stretching out my booty hole than anything else!”

I chuckled knowingly. My Husband loves ass play, and I did as well. It is a big part of the pony experience. You always end up with a hitch, or a plug, or a finger, or a dick, or something up your butt. I told her that.

“Yeah, but after Dad fucked me raw last night, I was afraid it would snap back. I felt like my booty hole was a can of play dough that had been left open.”

“That’s quite a visual,” I remarked as I managed to use the force of my tits and shoulders to slide the panel door open in the closet. “You keep saying booty hole, look at mine. Is it stretched out?” I asked as I looked over my shoulder at my daughter. I knew it was well-used and loose but not stretched out.

“It gets stretched, and then it snaps back. I pumped you out of my cunt, all eight pounds of Puerto Rican baby, screaming mad at the world, and you were bigger than a football! Imagine pushing a baby out of that pussy. I thought I’d never be able to squeeze a dick again.”

I have a very mixed heritage, being both Korean and Puerto Rican, but I identify mostly as Puerto Rican. I speak Spanish fluently, but I don’t speak Korean at all, and I’ve never visited there. I’ve visited Puerto Rico many times, and I adore the culture, food and the beauty of the island.

My daughter looks every inch the Latina beauty, but she also has Korean blood, and her father’s English/Irish heritage.

“I’d like to learn how to squeeze a dick with my pussy,” Ellie mused, almost swooning at the idea.

“So, you want to keep going after your brother watched you take a dump in the yard and dunked your head in a soap bucket?” I asked. I wanted to remind her that even though we were alone, it was good form to refer to our pussies as “cunts” while we were in pony mode. It was another of my Husband’s unspoken rules that had developed organically over the years. He never told me I HAD to say it. It was just the only word he found acceptable for a pony’s vagina.

“I have to admit that I didn’t sign on to be a maid and get dunked on. It didn’t turn me on, did it turn you on?” she asked as I searched for the leather feedbags. We rarely used them, so they were probably behind some other things in the walk-in closet. I could tell she was thinking about her experience and hadn’t quite decided if she wanted to continue or not.

“Most of this is not meant to give you an orgasm; you understand that, right? “I asked her bluntly as I found one of the feedbags.

My blunt question took Ellie aback; it was more of a statement. I wanted her to know it wasn’t all fun and games, and my tone reflected that.

“I know, but what keeps you doing it if it’s just a bunch of weird ways to go poop and clean the house?”

“It’s much more than that. This is your first actual day of training, which is four hours under your father and brother. He isn’t going to start off trying to entertain you,” I said as I picked up the leather bag with my teeth. It was difficult, and I had to keep biting at the leather. It tasted fantastic in my mouth – the smell of well-worn leather was intoxicating.

“Is Daddy testing me? Is he trying to scare me off from being a pony?”

I wouldn’t have put it past Peter to do either of those things. He had been reluctant to fuck his daughter, but he had passed that hurdle, so it seemed unlikely he was trying to scare her off AFTER fucking her ass.

“It’s Master or Sir Peter even when he is not around when you are a pony, and it’s CUNT, not vagina, not pussy, not slit, not even gash when you are in a pony mode. You have a cunt, is that clear?” I reminded her firmly. Ellie nodded as I struggled to pick up one of the bags. Then, I knelt down to try it a different way. “I can’t speak for your father. He can speak for himself. You should ask him if that’s what he is doing if you really want to know.”

“If it’s a test, I want to know, but I don’t think he’d tell me. If he is trying to scare me off, he isn’t. It’s weird and not very fun, but I want to get to the fun stuff!”

My daughter was a lot like me. I admired that. I managed to slip my head under the leather feedbag straps. It was a long bag designed to be hung on a ponygirl’s head and cover her mouth. I got it on my shoulders and told Ellie to do the same thing to get the second bag at her feet.

“Were you always kind of a slut, Vixen?”

That was an odd question. It really made me think. The simple answer might be yes, but I felt there was some context that had to be included to give a proper response. I had never anticipated my daughter asking me about that. I thought long and hard about what I should say before responding.

“There are two kinds of women in this world. There are good girls who do what the world expects of them, and there are naughty girls who do what turns them on. I learned at an early age that I liked touching myself and being touched. I was touching myself in the bathtub and in bed long before I knew what sexual pleasure even was. My parents were always very open-minded, and they sort of accepted that I liked to have a lot of sex partners. My dad was Korean, and my mom is Puerto Rican, and I think I got more of my mom’s sex drive. Dad always said we probably should have been born as men because of how much we like to fuck.”

Ellie almost had her feedbag slung around her neck on the first try. It looked a little like a purse that could be worn as an accessory. “Then why do you want Daddy, I mean Master, to cage you at night and prevent you from playing with yourself?”

That was another excellent question, and I had to give some thought to how I responded to it.

I never evaluated why I did the things that I did – I just did them. I have always been someone who tries to experience the moment without regret. It has made me impulsive, but despite that, I found myself thinking about my choices recently.

I loved my husband, and he embraced my kinky desires, and I embraced his. I told her that but decided to put some words together to answer my daughter’s question.

“If all I wanted to do was sit on some dick, I could leave your father, move into a motel, and get paid by total strangers who want to fuck my brains out,” I began my response.

Ellie had the leather bag clenched in her teeth, and she stood back up. I smiled at her to indicate I was proud that she managed to balance it on her shoulders. It was very difficult to do anything when your hands are tied up.

I knew that wasn’t easy. I needed a little time to think of how I wanted to say the next part because I knew what I wanted to say, but now I know how I wanted to say it.

Thankfully, Ellie made a little joke. “Fuck, when you describe it like that, sign me up! That sounds like an adventure!”

I smirked and said that I would miss Peter, her, and Jeff too much to put my own desires before any of them. “I am not pining to live in a disgusting motel scraping cum off the carpet as a prostitute. I am just saying that I have choices, and you will have choices. You are eighteen now. You can move away, find a guy your own age, a girl, or whatever flips your biscuit. Get one of each if that’s what you fancy. If you want to go out and just get plowed, you could have done that instead of doing this, and frankly, if that’s what you WANT anyway, you should tell your father that this is not the experience you thought it was and ask to be let out of it.”

Ellie and I stood in the walk-in for a moment as she thought about what I had to say. I knew she had questions and comments to make, but she held her tongue because I still hadn’t answered her question.

“I don’t like everything about being a pony, and I can assure you, once you have hot pony food, you will not like it. It’s an experience, though. I do like it enough that I keep doing it, and more importantly, I love doing it with your father. It keeps our marriage fresh and exciting. Cocks and other cunts to lick will come and go out of my life like water down the drain, but your father’s love for me endures.”

We started to head back to the guys. I knew they would be wondering what took us so long, but they had sent us upstairs with our hands bound behind our backs, so we had a little grace period to take a break and chat.

“If your father wants to tease me and cage me, then I trust him. The part that you haven’t figured out yet is whether you can trust your father to have your best interest at heart. A big part of power exchange is surrendering your will to another and letting them make choices for you that you may not have chosen for yourself. Your father is correct that when I am horny, I’ll work harder to please him, which will end up getting me fucked harder in the end. Are you asking if I’d buy a cage and sit in it if I were alone? Absolutely not. However, I am not alone, and I trust your Dad to know what is best for me.”

My daughter gave me a lemony smile as we headed for the stairs. I warned her to be very careful because coming down was even more perilous than walking up the stairs without the use of our hands.

“Then why don’t you trust Jeff to make choices for you?”

“It’s MISTER Jeff or SIR Jeff, and I do trust him. What makes you think that I don’t?” I countered in a whispered voice as we walked down the stairs toward the guys.

“I can tell you don’t have faith in his judgment. If he told you what to wear to go out of the house, or what to eat, or what to do, you hesitate and second guess.”

She had a fair point. I had tried to separate the fact that Jeff was my son from the fact that he was now my groom, but it was difficult. It had been easier to see Ellie as a pony to be partnered with. She seemed so natural and graceful in her boots most of the time.

However, when I heard my son’s voice or his face, I was reminded of the times I had to chastise him for forgetting to take out the trash after the third time I told him to do it, or any number of goofy things he did when he was little.

I’ve had inexperienced grooms before, and I was usually submissive and patient. At least, that’s how I thought I came across. If Ellie had seen through my acting, then it was possible Jeff had as well.

I reminded Ellie that Jeff was still learning and that we were all adjusting to our new roles. I would trust him in time and commended her for the observation. I needed to hear that. I probably was not giving my son the same benefit of the doubt I would have given a new groom that we met at the campground for the first time. My husband often gave new grooms a chance to help train me.

When we got downstairs, Peter and Jeff told us that we had been good ponies and removed the feedbags from our shoulders. Peter showed Jeff the recipe for our “Hot Food.”

It was basically a gruel paste of unflavored instant oatmeal, mushed up with very hot water and a little milk, flour, or corn starch, and sometimes, there are chopped-up bits of butter and fruit if they are available. They already had it cooking on the stove.

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Peter had us wait with bit gags that are worn to hold our mouths open, and keep our tongues extended. It makes it far more difficult to chew, but feedbags were not meant for speed.

I’ve been gagged quite a bit, and as an outspoken Hispanic woman, I’d say that’s sometimes the most excruciating torture of all – the inability to talk.

The feedbag isn’t a gag exactly, but the leather bridle in my mouth forcing my tongue to be extended and keeping my mouth open so that all I can do is mumble-talk, and suck up the sloppy goop in the bag definitely is.

Jeff ladled the white mess into a bag and attached it to my head. A normal horse’s muzzle is much longer than a human’s nose and mouth, so their bags look different. The feedbag designed for a pony girl is much more compact, almost like a Covid mask with a pouch. It’s designed to force us to eat.

I had a feeling that of all the things we had done so far, and this might be where my daughter finally drew the line. Physical pain, sweaty hard work, training to be a show pony may not dissuade her, but I had a feeling after she had a belly full of this goop, she may rethink living on it for an entire week.

This stuff will “stick to your ribs,” and it’s enough carbs to keep you going through the day, but gosh, it’s yucky to eat.

There is no place for the oat-mix goo to go other than in our open mouths. We have to breathe through our noses, and the bags generally don’t come off until we finish all of it. Ellie seemed like she was getting the hang of it, because there wasn’t a lot of choice other than to slurp and swallow.

It makes a sound almost like eating pussy.

It takes a lot to make me blush, and I was definitely feeling a little humiliated. I had been in pony regalia around my kids, and probably even eaten a meal or two at the dinner table in the nude.

I had never stood or been handcuffed during dinner, and I certainly had never worn a feedbag around them.

I took some solace in the fact that at least my feedbag had my pony name emblazoned on the front. Ellie just had an extra feedbag of mine strapped around her pretty face.

The bag was filled with the hot white mess that my husband had instructed Jeff to make. I resolved to make the best of it because I’d have to eat it at least once a day for a little while. The two of us standing on opposite sides of the table made slurping noises while the guys were fully dressed watching us almost seemed comical.

It burned my lips and tongue, but not so much that I screamed. It was more disgusting than it was painful to eat. I could easily see that Ellie was also dealing with the discomfort. This temprature is how “hot feed” is served.

There were a lot of other things that I’d rather be doing or eating right at that moment, but I focused on choking it down as quickly as I could. Jeff couldn’t abide stalling when a pony was eating. It took a while to get it all down, but he wouldn’t allow me to let it get cold first.

Ellie made a sour face, and her eyes swelled up and turned red when Jeff attached her bag. She might have found it strange that I was smiling if she could see my face under the feed bag. I had a similar reaction the first time I was ever fed this way.

Two straps go around our heads. She seethed a little at her father and brother and squinted her eyes angrily, but she started to swallow.

The guys marched us to the dining room table and had us stand with our thighs touching the wood of the table to eat our dinner.

“Ordinarily, they will be fed outside, but since we will have a meal, they can wait here at the table. I want them plugged and in full pony regalia when they eat like this during the day,” Peter instructed our son. I was a little dejected as I tried to swallow the messy, hot food.

“Since it’s only four hours, you can pick breakfast or lunch to feed them either cold or hot. You don’t have to feed them twice daily. They can have the other meal normally and sit down. It’s not going to be formal all the time at Camp Crucible. There are dinners, festivals, and barbecues! Pony girls will be permitted to socialize then, but I’d like them to eat cold in the morning and have one hot pony meal for lunch or dinner each day we are there.”

I cringed a little -and my asshole puckered at the thought of what was to come. I’ve been hand fed, bag fed, and even eaten off the floor before, but usually it wasn’t every meal at these events.

It felt a bit excessive, but my husband’s decision and I had just preached to my daughter that I trusted his judgment better than my own on what was best for me.

“How does it taste, Dancer?” he slapped our daughter’s butt hard and caused her to jump a little. She had a small tear in her eye. The oats were steaming.

She made a whinny sound that was hard to distinguish as either yes or no. Peter chuckled. “Get used to it. You wanted to be a pony. You wanted to do it 24/7 around the house. You still want to have three meals a day like this?”

Ellie shrugged and made a non-committal ploothfft sound while Jeff giggled at his older sister’s humiliation, trying to eat while standing up.

I began to suspect that Peter was not only testing Ellie’s commitment to continuing with the training but also trying to convince her to quit.

I wasn’t sure why I had to be included in that and worked so hard. It was just as humiliating for me to be standing there next to my well-polished, expensive dining room table with a feed bag around my face.

The worst part (for me) was that despite being nude and bound, no one was even paying attention to me. I was so much window dressing in the background to my daughter. My husband and son remained focused on Ellie as she tried to consume the cold oat paste.

Jeff patted her head, rubbed her tummy teasingly, and said to eat it all like a big girl. Ellie blushed and gave him an evil eye, but she remained standing at attention, her legs slightly apart like mine. We faced each other on opposite sides of the table.

“Jeff, you don’t have to ridicule your sister. The pony training is going to be a big shift from her norms of comfort, and it requires a lot of endurance and patience. Your sister is used to eating what she wants when she wants, how she wants.”

“She’ll still be able to do that when she isn’t in pony training.”

“That’s why I rejected the idea of doing this 24/7. Your sister has never done this before. Four hours a day will be plenty. I don’t WANT her to have to give up those freedoms and liberties.”

No mention of me, behind them, eating hot mush for dinner. I felt like making a whinny sound to get a little attention. I remained quiet and dutifully chowed down on the gross dinner.

“I need to teach you about sub burn out, Son,” Peter said without turning around to look at me. “It’s important that the ponies are worked hard and fulfill a purpose in their service. They are show ponies, and my rules are strict. However, I also don’t want them to feel worthless when it’s over.”

“I get it, Dad. That’s why we do the aftercare!”

“It’s not just aftercare, son. It’s the respect you show them. Even though you are in control and guiding them to be first-class pony girls, you need to make them feel protected like valued pets and not simply plow oxen to be used and stored at the end of the day. They are sexual pleasure givers, and that means that their sexual joy must come from providing pleasure. That doesn’t mean they should feel ridiculed and shamed. After a while of even playful teasing, a sub can reach a stage where she is burnt out because she isn’t getting what she needs.”

Jeff didn’t seem to understand. Peter put his hand on his shoulder and said that was alright. “You will in time, son. The important thing is that you understand that this is a reciprocal relationship. The ponies are getting something out of it, and you are getting something different out of it. If they stop getting anything out of it because they don’t feel appreciated, then they may be reluctant to continue.”

“Oh, I appreciate Vixen,” Jeff laughed and smacked his sister’s beautiful round rump. Ellie flinched and looked shocked, but her face turned into a slight smile.

“Good, a little teasing is natural, but too much can be detrimental to their sense of self-worth. Now, let’s order a pizza. What do you want on it?”

“We could get sausage on it so that when the pizza guy delivers and Vixen and Dancer answer, he could ask them if they ordered sausage ... bow-chica-wow-wow!”

Jeff pretended to be in a classic porno scene and mimicked the sound of the 70’s style bass line in all those old John Holmes movies.

Peter chuckled. “I don’t think the pizza guy is coming inside the house, Son.”

“C’mon, Dad, that would be cool as fuck! His mind would be blown.”

“There’s a possibility the delivery guy isn’t a dude, and they probably see housewives dropping their towels or opening their robes all the time. They didn’t ask for that. They are just trying to get to the next delivery and earn a tip.”

“Yeah, he could give Mom the tip this time,” Jeff finally looked in my direction and winked with a smirk on his lip.

I have to admit, I almost spit out the warm oat paste in my mouth with laughter as I imagined getting the tip of the delivery guy’s pecker stuck up my ass at the door to my house.

“As exciting a fantasy as that is, I am going to say that we don’t involve vanilla people into our kink without their consent, Son.”

“You didn’t mind making the girls wear their collars and boots to the hardware store?”

“That was your sister’s idea, and it was against my better judgment. There are different degrees to which I am willing to expose anyone else to our lifestyle, Son. In my own house, this is my world, and I am the King of this castle. I say, what happens here? In the outside world, we abide by their rules. The girls weren’t breaking any rules or doing anything obscene. That’s quite a bit different than high stepping in front of a total stranger who came here simply to deliver pizza. What do we get out of shocking him?”

“Good point,” Jeff shrugged and appeared a little disappointed by his father’s reaction.

I would have probably gotten a thrill out of answering the door naked for the pizza guy, and I would have loved to get a “sausage” delivered. My pussy was aching for some cock – I was so completely turned on that I was dripping down my own thigh while I stared my daughter in the eye as we both ate in silence.

There was something happening between Ellie and me while we stared into each other’s eyes. It was like we were silently passing a message back and forth. I could imagine Ellie was telepathically telling me this “This is so weird! This food tastes gross! Can you believe we are actually doing this?”

She held my gaze, and even though I couldn’t see her mouth, I knew she was probably smiling under the feed bag. This whole thing was probably absurd to my daughter. The kids had never seen me wear a feedbag before. They had never even seen photos of us at the BDSM gatherings, and until tonight, I had never been required to eat this way at home.

I wondered if Ellie would doubt continuing after this humiliating experience or if Jeff would ever see us the same way again. It may be too late for Jeff to unsee and unhear everything he had seen and done with me. I decided not to dwell on that too much.

“Lift one leg high, and continue to maintain your balance while you eat, Vixen,” my husband said as he interrupted my thoughts with a swipe of the crop to my tits. I complied and made a “plooothfth” sound into my warm oats.

“It’s important to keep them moving and out of their comfort zone. Vixen was tuning the world out, and I want her mind here and present with the rest of us,” Peter observed.

He was right. I was thinking about this unusual scenario and the impact it may have on the family dynamic. I also imagined spending my next Thanksgiving this way while my husband carved the turkey for his friends and a thousand other unlikely but possible fantasy scenarios.

He didn’t require our daughter to balance on one leg, just me. After about five minutes, the thigh muscles in the leg I was standing on began to quiver, and I almost fell over.

“Leg down,” Peter ordered as he guided my legs down. My calves were screaming as I stood on both feet again. “Thighs apart, wider! Wider! I want to see the asshole and cunt lips from behind,” Peter pushed his riding crop between my thighs and rubbed my wet pussy with the leather.

“It’s important to learn their physical limitations and try to exceed them, push them, stretch them, but not break them. Your mom can handle about five minutes like that because she has toned calves and has worked at it. Dancer probably can’t handle quite that long,” Peter said.

My daughter required no prompting or order. She lifted her leg high in the air, bent her knee, and kept it that way. Peter smiled with pride at our daughter. Ellie couldn’t see that I was smiling, but I was smiling into the feedbag.

We were almost done eating our gruel-paste dinner by the time the pizza arrived. Jeff still insisted on swinging the door open wide enough that the delivery guy may have had a look at the crack of my ass. The pizza guy didn’t say a word, and I was never certain what he saw.

Peter frowned a little but didn’t chastise him for exposing us.

“I am proud of them! Mom and Ellie are hot!” Jeff said as he put the Pizza box on the table.

“Dancer and Vixen are hot. Your Mom and Ellie aren’t here right now,” Peter said as he grabbed a slice and ate.

My daughter managed to hold her leg up in the air for about three minutes, which was outstanding for her first time. Peter rubbed her thigh as he sat next to her and said, “I didn’t order you to do that. You need to learn this is not about doing what you want to do like a wild, untamed horse. You should be more like your mother and wait until told what to do.”

Ellie didn’t seem particularly happy with that response but whinnied.

“It looks like you two are almost done eating,” Peter said as he took a bite of that delicious cheese and Pepperoni pizza. The crust was a little charred, just like I like it, and he ordered it from my favorite Pizza place. I was so envious.

Jeff cracked open an ice-cold Pepsi and brought one for his Dad. “The ponies should be serving us dinner,” he snickered.

“Dancer and Vixen are on overtime; they have already served their four hours, and this is a supervised demonstration so that you know how to feed them. I hope you are paying attention. Do you have any questions?”

Jeff took a bite of his pizza and thought for a moment. He looked up at me and then at his sister. “Yeah, do they get to eat any normal food while they are ponies? Can they just get a snack if they want one?”

“Good question, son. I would like them to watch their weight while we train. The girls are both a little pudgy for my tastes. I want them leaned out. I’ll show you how to weigh them. I have a scale upstairs that checks body fat as well. We’ll establish a goal based on that for their ideal weight by the time they reach Camp Crucible. Until they reach that, no snacks or soda will be available while they are in pony mode.”

“What difference is that going to make if they can pig out when they aren’t in pony mode?” Jeff countered.

Peter considered that very carefully. “I am a strict Master, but not a cruel one, Mr. Jeff. I think that your MOM and ELLIE can be trusted to eat in moderation when they are not in pony mode if they know their weight goals. Dancer and Vixen will abide by the dietary restrictions that are placed on them as ponies in training.”

“I just don’t want to seem like a jerk by eating Pizza in front of them,” Jeff shrugged with concern on his face before adding that he thought we should be able to earn treats.

“We can discuss positive reinforcement and treats after your sister learns a few more basics to meet the minimum standards, but I like where your head is, Jeff. I think you will enjoy Nibbles training when we get to that.”

“What’s that?” Jeff asked.

“It’s a game they often play at Pony events. A good example is that Donuts is tied to a string and dangled above the pony girl heads while they are bound and squatting. The ponies try to nibble the donut off the string without dropping it.”

“The first one to eat the whole thing wins?” Jeff asked.

“Not everything is a competition. That is just a fun one to reward the ponies. You’ll see when you get there that not everything is a competition. There are a couple blue-ribbon obsessed pony girls, but your mom isn’t one of those.”

“Blue-ribbon obsessed” is Peter’s term for women who make the competitions all about winning and posing for pictures. They are usually very self-absorbed women who don’t have a submissive bone in their bodies.

Jeff changed the subject and asked another question about our asses. “Why is so much of this about sticking things up their butts?”

“All ponies need to get used to having things put in their mouths, cunts, and assholes. They need to get used to being touched and the taste of the whip. It may just seem like it’s all about butts to you because you and your sister aren’t used to that component in the training.”

“Okay, but I guess, do most of the women involved in pony play get off on anal?”

Peter looked at Jeff like he was a naïve child and smiled at him. “That question is probably why you are having some problems understanding the goals. Would you like a plug jammed up your ass all day?”

“No, but I am not a pony girl, either.”

“Exactly, so to the Spider, what is normal is chaos to the fly. You don’t have a submissive mindset. You and I aren’t submissively minded, and what turns us on, is not necessarily what turns them on. Basic physical pleasure isn’t a good reason to submit. If that’s all you want, you can get off with a dildo or someone’s dick and just fuck. Submission is a desire to give pleasure, not receive it. That’s why there is more to this than sex, but it is fulfilling.”

I liked when Peter pontificated on the nature of submission. I had not thought that deeply about why I liked what I liked - I just knew that I did. I left the deep analytic thinking to my partner in life.

“Jeff, you are still operating on the premise that there must be some orgasm as a reward at the end, or else why do it, am I right?”

“Well, I mean, why not?” Jeff shrugged and took another slice of that delicious-looking pizza. “If you aren’t getting your rocks off, I really don’t know why you would go to all this trouble.”

Peter didn’t insult or patronize our son. He looked at him with an understanding and warm grin and assured him that he had a long journey to understand the submissive mind. “I am twice your age, and just when I think I have your Mom figured out, she goes and changes my entire paradigm.”

They both laughed over that nice, warm pizza. It smelled so fucking delicious that I was drooling into my feedbag.

“You won’t fully understand until you’ve been doing this longer, but orgasms and physical pleasure are more of a side effect of pony play and not the goal for the pony. Your sister has to learn to strengthen her asshole muscles and eventually wear a tail from Dusk until Dawn, with few exceptions. That means she has to get used to stretching her ass out and getting ass fucked as well.”

My pussy wouldn’t stop pumping juice down my thighs, and Peter’s vulgar explanation of anal sex served to turn me on. I really did enjoy anal, but everything my husband said about the reasons it was part of ponyplay was still true.

“Fucking a woman in the ass is a form of domination. They are submitting to allow you to stick your cock in their tightest hole and shoot a wad of cum inside them in a place that may not lead to an orgasm for them. It can give pleasure to the man fucking them, and that should thrill them. It will be so normal for Dancer to take it up the ass that she will see it as a normal part of sex and not something that is extra or a sacrifice that she is making to get off some other way.’

I could imagine light bulbs going off over Ellie and Jeff’s heads as their father explained some of our dirty little secrets and his logic behind them.

After they finished eating, my son removed our leather feed bags and wiped our dirty faces clean of oats. I was surprised they didn’t make Ellie and I lick each other’s faces clean. That was what Peter usually did if I was paired up with another girl and happened to eat this way at a BDSM event.

It usually became a little erotic, and saucy.

Instead, Jeff carefully wiped our faces clean. Peter ordered us to our knees and took out his cock for Ellie and me to give him after-dinner head. “There were so many times after a nice dinner that I took your mother upstairs for this. It’s kind of a nice relief that I no longer feel obliged to hide it. They can do you next, Jeff.”

I smiled and called Peter’s cock my “Dessert!”

Ellie and I lovingly took turns sucking my husband’s cock head. I alternated on his balls, and she kissed his shaft when it was my turn to lick the tip.

“A good woman will make you a sandwich. A great woman will suck your cock while you eat it,” Peter laid back in the dining room chair and luxuriated during the blowjob.

Once we finished with him, Jeff was hard with his pants around his ankles. I didn’t have to be told what to do next.

They untied us after we finished sucking them both off and swallowing their cum. They didn’t thank us, or even tell me I was a good girl. It’s a little patronizing, but it was better than absolute silence when we finished giving them both head.

I was turned on almost as much from having a good cock in my mouth, as I was from Ellie slipping me the tongue while we both washed their dicks with our tongues.

Peter abruptly decided that would be all for tonight. “You guys can go take a shower and get dressed. We’ll clean up the table down here.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I smiled politely and nodded. My daughter followed suit. I was glad I could be a good role model. I could tell that once Peter shot his nut down my throat, that he was not interested in round two.

I would have even settled for being told to sixty-nine with Ellie, but Peter didn’t order it, so I didn’t mention it. The lack of touch only served to frustrate me, which in turn, caused me to feel a sense of sexual longing and desire that revved me up.

I was thankful to be done for the day, and I promptly began masturbating myself to complete orgasm in the shower. I wasn’t about to ask for permission, and I had all I could take of being teased. I needed release!

I returned downstairs after a nice hot shower in the bathtub. I took my time and didn’t adhere to the timer that my husband usually expected me to follow.

When I returned, I put on street clothes and removed my collar. I was done for the evening and expected to watch a little television.

I was surprised when Ellie came downstairs completely nude, wearing only her collar and leather boots.

“Ellie, I said that our sessions were over. “You can get dressed,” Peter looked up from the TV and chided her for not listening to his instructions. He didn’t seem overly shocked that she was naked. He treated her like an over-zealous child wearing her school uniform after class was long over.

“Yeah, I know, Daddy, but you didn’t say that I couldn’t be naked, right? It’s not like I HAVE to wear clothes around the house now that we are all open about pony play, do I?”

Peter made a sour face and told her that he wanted to have “normal family” time and not keep things going all the time. “I know you are excited about this. It’s all new to both of you, but I’ve been doing this since before I met your mother. You are in the honeymoon phase with BDSM, and it’s glorious. I am happy for you because I remember how excited I was when I began studying under your Grandfather. It’s magical, and every moment is precious. I’ve been in that euphoric state when it was all new. I’d really like to have normal times too, and if you are going to walk around like that, I’d be tempted to fuck you.”

“So, why don’t you? I don’t mind,” Ellie teased hungrily. “It’s not like I can call up a fuck buddy whenever I want now, so you and my little brother are my only options.”

I could tell that our daughter had already jumped to the inevitable conclusion that we’d be having a lot of sex together in the future. I think I knew that was going to happen as well. However, Peter was still adamant that we needed a separation and some “normal” time.

Ellie was still his baby and his daughter, and I could sense his frustration because I knew he wanted to fuck the shit out of her – just for daring him to take her any time he wanted. I have to admit, Ellie took after me and was obviously pretty horny.

“Do you have your butt plug in?” he asked casually as he turned to her and looked her up and down.

“No, Daddy,” Ellie said coyly. I noticed she had a tendency to call her father “Daddy” when she was trying to manipulate him. I had never noticed my daughter doing that before these sessions began. She may have, but it seemed like she was going a little over the top with how spicy she was being while talking baby talk.

It was like she was poking him - trying to get Peter to want to spank her but also fuck her brain’s out. I hid a smirk because I could be like that when I had gone for a long time without a good fuck.

Peter scoffed. “It’s going to be a long trip to Camp Crucible, and you and your mother will be stuffed and plugged most of the time. If I were you, I’d relax when you get the opportunity and try to be ready for tomorrow. Jeff, take your sister upstairs and give her some aftercare.”

The sound of Peter’s voice suggested that Peter was suggesting that his son also give his sister a good pounding. We didn’t see the two of them for the rest of the evening.

“So much for teaching the prayer tie,” Peter chuckled to himself after they were gone. My husband had intended to offer a lesson in Shibari rope bondage, but our kids obviously had other plans that evening.

He took me by the hand and led me firmly upstairs. It wasn’t unusual for Peter to do that, and I was already wet by the time we reached our bedroom in anticipation. My husband undressed me, placed me on a towel on our bed, and began to massage me with oil without asking.

I didn’t mind.

We usually didn’t talk during aftercare sessions. Peter may tell me I was beautiful or something soothing, but usually, he was quiet and let me decompress and process the session.

“How did you think that went?” he asked.

It wasn’t like Peter to ask me for feedback. He tended to know what I liked instinctively.

“Fine,” I said as he creased my ass cheeks with his firm hands and kneaded them with his fingers like two lumps of rising bread.

“You aren’t a pony now, Carmen. You can say more than fine,” he mused as he rubbed more oil around my sphincter.

“I know, but what can I say? We’ve been doing pony training around our kids, and they were bound to be interested. It’s going to be awkward at times.”

Peter didn’t believe me when I seemed so calm and accepting of the situation. “If that were the case, why didn’t you show Jeff how to take you outside in the morning for your ablutions?”

I was surprised that was his first question. My husband pressed firmly on the bone above my buttocks – a little too hard, but I didn’t complain.

“I didn’t think about it, Sir.”

I really hadn’t thought about much, I was caught up in the moment.

“No sirs or Masters, this is aftercare,” he reminded me and softened the pace and intensity of the massage to be more loving. “I think you didn’t want him to do it because you were afraid Ellie, and he would be disgusted and not want to continue?”

That wasn’t true at all. “I have to admit that I thought Ellie would have second thoughts tonight while we were standing back-to-back outside, but I just hadn’t given it much thought this morning,” I said truthfully.

Peter doesn’t always respond to what I say. He lets the silence be his response as he ponders my words. “Ellie is a natural pony. I am not concerned with her willingness to be trained. She’ll either accept her instruction or she’ll ask to stop. I’ve invested heavily in custom boots and harnesses for her, and I’d be disappointed, but I am prepared for that. I thought Jeff would call it quits when he saw a big brown banana snake out of your asshole and drop on the ground at your feet.”

The mental image of that moment from earlier made me tense up. Peter kissed me between the shoulder blades and rubbed his warm, naked body against mine. I could feel his firm penis between my thighs. I knew he wouldn’t fuck me until he had teased me and touched me for a while.

“Jeff is a different kind of trainer than I am. He has different values,” Peter said.

I didn’t know how to respond to that. I told him that everyone is different. That was just something you have to accept.

“Yeah, except he wants to train you differently than I would. I am not sure how much latitude I should grant him to explore.”

I felt Peter was asking me for advice, so I said that he should be clear about limits and boundaries.

Peter stopped touching me.

“Your father gave me a lot of freedom and liberty to explore you and your mother and find what turns me on. That’s how I learned. Jeff isn’t just some fair-weather groom who volunteered to wash you down in exchange for a B.J. at the campground. I am mentoring him, but there are some things he needs to learn for himself.”

I agreed silently as Peter lifted my hair and began to kiss my neck softly. That really turned me on. I wanted to grab him, flip him on his back and ride his dick. However, I waited submissively and let him hold me down and drive me wild.

“I don’t know if I should be putting you in the position of guiding our son.”

I was a little offended by that. It sounded like Peter didn’t trust me.

“You are a natural submissive; you take orders very well, but you don’t give them. I thought because you had demonstrated the ropes to them while I was gone, you would be able to find the balance between topping from the bottom and being a helpful guide.”

I felt Peter was being critical of me. He caressed my shoulders and told me not to get defensive. “I am just worried that I am putting you in an impossible position. Today, when Jeff ignored you while you were doing chores, you did your thing and let him do his thing. However, the whole point of me leaving him here without me hovering over him is that he is supposed to be in charge and get a feel for supervision.”

I understood.

“Tomorrow, I want you to beg Jeff to observe you while you clean and show him what I expect. I don’t check over your work carefully because I know you are doing it. I want him to check it over and grade you and Ellie.”

“I will ask him,” I said. I wasn’t a strict mom before any of this began, and when I wanted the kids to clean up, I rarely did more than ask them.

“No, you will beg him to make sure that you do a good job, and you will polish our butt plugs with your mouth tomorrow. You two will also clean Ellie and Jeff’s room.”

I nodded. He began to lick my neck, and his dick was getting harder as he pressed it into my pussy – just the tip.

“You will beg him to let you masturbate every five to fifteen minutes for about three minutes. You will tell him I want you horny but no orgasms or sex,” he said and noted that I sounded disappointed.

“Will I ever get fucked?” I asked. I didn’t mean to sound so frustrated, but I couldn’t help it.

Peter slapped me on the rump and got up. He rarely did that during aftercare. “I am not going to leave you hanging after I wind you up. You know me better than that. I just want you to be hot and horny all day.”

“What about Ellie?” I licked my lips and savored my time with my husband, pressing my body into his warm, hairy chest.

“What about her?” he asked. He seemed annoyed. I think he thought that I was stalling or whining, possibly even jealous that he wasn’t as strict with her as he was with me.

I might have been.

“Does she have to beg to play with herself?” I clarified.

Peter slid down on my body and flipped me over so that I was facing him without answering my question. He began to kiss me passionately. He didn’t answer my question. We got lost in lovemaking and tangled up in each other. He likes to pull my hair and slap my ass, reserving choking me for the climax. He finally came inside me, and then as he was finishing, he held me tight and told me that tomorrow he wants the both of us to be so horny that we’ll fuck him right in half.

He didn’t ask me if I had an orgasm, but I had several – nothing like an earthquake, but I was satisfied (at least for now).

“Aye, Aye, Skipper!” I smiled playfully as I rode his cock and slid my wet pussy up and down on his cock like I was painting it with my snatch.

“Skipper? That’s a new one,” he kissed me briefly, and we embraced for a little while after the sex was over. We snuggled, and I basked in the affection after the hard sex. Then he unceremoniously told me told me to wipe myself off and get into the cage.

The rest is here;

https://storiesonline.net/n/36875/the-n ... rl-story/9

I'll continue if there is any interest seeing it here.

I cleaned my face and pussy, wiped the sweat off of my body, and locked myself into my cage. It felt a little anti-climactic to lock myself away quietly. All he said was, “I love you, Carmen,” as he turned off the light.

“I love you, Peter!” I replied in the dark.

“Oh, wait, I almost forgot something,” he said as he stumbled out of bed and over to the cage. I started to get instantly horny again because I thought he might be up for “round two” and fuck my brains out again.

He passed me a pair of handcuffs through the cage bars. “I want you to put these on behind your back, and don’t let me or Jeff catch you finger fucking yourself; that includes your ass!”

“Yes, Master,” I pouted as I snapped the cuffs on.

“You should be happy. You are Vixen in the cage. Ellie would love it if I extended her training overnight.”

“Then why don’t you, Master?” I replied politely. However, my tone was passive-aggressive, and Peter recognized it right away.

He didn’t respond to my suggestion that my daughter should be the one caged and not me, as he got back in bed.

He got comfortable in the bed and told me that he might. “She’s chomping at the bit to do more. I gave her a dose of reality tonight with backbreaking chores, pony food, and outside ablutions. We will do more when I am ready. I bought this cage for you, and you were excited when I set it up for you. We rarely ever put it to use, and now, you seem to have a reluctance to use it. Is there something you want to discuss?”

“No, Master,” I replied politely. I felt a little silly. He was right. The cage had been my idea initially. It was more about the fantasy than the reality, though. It was cramped and required me to sleep with my ass up and tits down to be able to wear the cuffs behind my back.

“You can discuss it as Carmen and not Vixen if that’s the issue.”

“It is a little humiliating for me when Jeff unlocks me, Master,” I admitted truthfully.

“I can understand that, and it will be more so when he fetches you from the stable or locks you up there. It’s a bit late for cold feet now.”

“I don’t have cold feet, Master. It’s just a little weird. It takes some getting used to.”

“Yes, for all of us. I didn’t think of Ellie as a sexual being, much less a sex puppet I would be training to pleasure my cock. I didn’t think of Jeff as a groom, either. I have to learn how to delegate to him and find the balance between micromanaging him and giving him too little direction. Tomorrow, I want you to guide him without forcing him. If he thinks you are deeply humiliated by his presence, he may be reluctant to put you through your paces.”

“I think he likes it.”

“Likes what?” Peter sat up in bed casually, and I could feel his interest rise.

I regretted saying it so bluntly. I wasn’t sure why I had done that. “I think he enjoys embarrassing me,” I explained.

“Yes, he wanted you to be exposed to the pizza delivery guy, and he wanted you to flash at the hardware store the other day. That’s why I am trying to establish boundaries so that he doesn’t push you too far.”

“I wouldn’t have minded flashing the pizza guy.”

“I am sure you would have fucked the pizza guy if I allowed it. I would have minded it, and I don’t think the pizza guy consented to any of this. Would it humiliate you if the pizza guy saw you locked up in this cage?”

“No, Sir.”

It may have been a little embarrassing, especially if the delivery guy laughed at my predicament, but overall, I was used to strangers seeing me bound or naked. I would have probably smiled; the guy would probably smile. It was kind of saucy, but I understood my husband’s desire to limit our play to the people who agreed to participate.

I could see why people fantasized about it though. The adrenaline and spontaneous feeling of someone being shocked while you are exposed.

“Then think of Jeff like the pizza guy. I’ve got to get some sleep. Is there anything that we did today, or that you have to do tomorrow that you think is a limit? Even a soft limit?”

Soft limit is a term that I’ve never really understood. Peter defines that as something you don’t want to do but will do if you are forced. I am much simpler about limits. I’ll either do it or I won’t.

“Not really, Sir.”

“Not really? Was there something that was close?”

“I am just worried that when we are not in training, Jeff will have a hard time thinking of me as anything other than a fuck sleeve and a pony?”

“You are his mom, my wife, AND A fuck sleeve and a pony when we have sessions. He’ll need to understand the distinction, and so will you.”

I agreed. Peter made it sound so easy to find a balance, and I hoped it would be.

“Tomorrow, I am going to do the egg test on you both,” Peter said ominously. I knew the egg test well, but Peter hadn’t tested me in a long time.

“Are you sure that Ellie is ready, Master?”

“I am not sure if DANCER is ready, but I need a baseline, and I wanted her to pass the egg test before I put her in the barn with the other ponies.”

I didn’t respond. He was right – it was a good test. It was something I think that my father had invented and taught my husband when we were first dating. My mother could do it, and I could do it. I was certain Ellie could do it.

Peter said he’d introduce it when he got home tomorrow.

Sleep didn’t come easy to me. I dreamt of sex parties, orgies, and bondage and woke up several times on my knees, face down, hands behind my back. I didn’t hear Peter leave for work. I wanted to be awake when he left so that I could tell him how much I love him.

I awoke when my son walked in to start my day as a pony. I usually didn’t have a set schedule like this unless we were at a campground. At home, I was usually able to take my time, and put on the dressage anytime I wanted, and take it off anytime I wanted. The only exception would be when Peter or his friend Master Eddie visited.

It was taking me some time to get used to the idea that I would receive mandatory pony training from the moment I cracked my eyes open and the next four hours. I liked to have a coffee and masturbate a little before I got started with my daughter. This was all new territory for me at home.

I had drool running down my chin from how I slept. I probably looked like a complete mess. My long black hair was tangled, and I wasn’t wearing any makeup.



“Gah, you are probably freaking out seeing me with my morning face,” I quipped as I lifted my head up and rocked back on my thighs. The cage was too small for me to sit up completely or stretch out.

I must admit that when I have time to do my hair and makeup, I feel powerful. When I have nothing on to contour and enhance my features and sweeten m complexion, I feel vulnerable and embarrassed.

“I wasn’t used to seeing you this raw, but I woke you up yesterday the same way. What’s the big deal? Jeff shrugged with a good-natured grin.

“I am just thankful that you aren’t freaking out because I look like Medusa without my makeup and morning coffee,” I teased.

“It’s Sir, Mr. Jeff, or Groom, Vixen,” Jeff frowned as he squatted down to unlock my cage.

“I thought you didn’t like it when I call you that, Sir.”

“Dancer and I had a discussion about it, and if she is putting in the effort to do this right, then I need to as well,” Jeff explained stoically. I was glad the two of them talked. “How are you going to crawl out with your hands cuffed behind you and not fall on your face?”

He had a point. The cage was so small that I had to slither out once he opened the door. “I’ll find a way,” I said as I pressed my tits into the carpet and climbed out with the strength of my legs. “I am glad you and Dancer had a chance to talk and not just fuck last night, Sir. I’ll take it seriously as well,” I promised. “I was worried it may be a little overwhelming,” I said as I offered him my wrists and lay on my tummy.

He found the handcuff key on the dresser next to my side of the bed.

“I’ve grown up with you. I know you are a little weird and out there. I knew you had a cage in your room, but not that you slept in it every night.”

“I rarely slept in it, but Master prefers you unpack me like a present every morning,” I grinned playfully as he unlocked my wrists. I took a moment to shake them to get the blood flow moving.

“Ellie, I mean Dancer is a little jealous because of all the attention I give you in the morning,” Jeff grinned as he smacked my butt and told me to stand up.

I did as I was told. I was a little incensed because I was still getting used to taking instructions from my son. He may be my groom, but I still heard my little boy’s voice whenever he spoke. He smacked ass like a man, though.

“Master wanted me to, um, well, to beg to make me masturbate at least every fifteen minutes for about three minutes, but not let me orgasm.”

“Yeah, he wants you good and horny, so you will try hard,” Jeff didn’t seem surprised. He stood there as if waiting for me to do something before adding, “So, beg?”

“Oh,” I snickered that there was no time like the present. “Did you want me to wait until you take Dancer and me outside?”

I had to pee, and I really wanted to wash up – even if it was going to be the garden hose this morning.

“I said you can beg. I didn’t say I’d allow it. Show me how you beg, Vixen,” Jeff crossed his arms like a big shot. A part of me (the mother) part wanted to smack that smug look off of his face. Instead, I politely smiled, fell to my knees, and began mewling and begging as I stroked his leg in my most convincing pout that I wanted desperately to play with myself while reassuring him I wouldn’t cum without approval.

“That’s terrible,” he laughed at me and said my reaction was so obviously fake. It was deeply degrading to be told that exposing myself in this vulnerable way didn’t seem real. I suppose I was play acting and not giving it my all. I wasn’t trying to make myself cum, and I had phoned it in a little with sounds that I knew men expected to hear from women.

He asked if that was what I did for total strangers that his father lines up for me to fuck. We had kept that part of my life secret from the kids as much as possible.

“I don’t usually have to beg them to fuck me, Sir.”

I probably didn’t have to sound like an aloof bitch when I said that, but I felt that I was not chopped liver and most men drove to my house to bang me because I was hot and a good lay.

“You beg like a porn star trying to put on a show. You should watch Dancer and take some notes. She’s very convincing,” he told me to select a butt plug and put it in my mouth. “Do you like fingering your butt?”

“I like it all, Sir.”

“Too bad,” he seemed disappointed. “Dancer gets frustrated when I make her play with her asshole, and nothing else. Finger fuck your butthole,” he told me as he picked out one of my butt plugs from the counter and put it in my mouth.

I did as I was told, and he selected a leather collar and lead for me before taking me downstairs in “Minimal Pony Gear.”

Ellie was dutifully marching in place in the living room, raising one foot up high with a bent knee before plopping it down to raise the other just as high. She had one finger in her asshole and a similar butt plug in her mouth.

Her hair was lightly braided, and she had on a collar with a small leather strap hanging between her tits that had served as her lead.

“Were you watching the stairs to see when I would come down?” He asked her as he led me down the stairs.

He implied that Ellie may have been waiting for him to emerge on the stairs to start marching.

She shook her head no and kept looking straight ahead.

“You said you would take this seriously, Dancer. If I catch you farting around when I am not in the room, I am going to open our front curtains and make you stand in the window and march for an hour. Got it?”

Peter would definitely frown upon that. It wasn’t something he would ever condone. We had a big yard, but it might be possible for a car driving past our house to see inside with the curtains drawn open.

“I don’t think your father would like that, Sir,” I said as he led me over to join my daughter and stood us side by side to march. I immediately took up the same pace and cadence as she did, raising my left leg at the same time she raised hers.

“My father isn’t here, and I am in charge, isn’t that right, Dancer?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Jeff had me there and I couldn’t argue that fact.

“Simple solution! Don’t let me catch either of you slacking off today when I am not in the room,” he said.

I wanted to warn him not to make threats that he wasn’t going to act upon, but I held my tongue.

“Master wants you to beg to masturbate in front of me, at least once every fifteen minutes, but you aren’t allowed to cum. Show Vixen how you beg,” Jeff removed his sister’s butt plug from her mouth when he gave her the instruction.

Ellie stopped marching in place and looked at him as if he was crazy for a moment, then back at me. She removed her finger from her ass. I thought she was going to tell him he’d pushed her too far. She sucked it clean and then got down on her knees and pleaded with him desperately to let her cum.

“Please, Mister Jeff, be a good brother and groom. Let me play with my titties for you. Let me touch my wet pussy? I am so horny, I want it so bad. I need a big dick, can’t you let me put on a little show for you? I can’t stand it! Fuuu---ucckkk, you control me, you own my pussy this morning, I just want to cum so bad for you, can’t I touch myself? I’ll do whatever you want. Oh, god, just thinking about it gets my rocks off.”

She was so sincere that I definitely bought it. Jeff let her continue before telling her she could finger her pussy and play with her tits for three minutes. “Don’t you dare have an orgasm! If I see you even make the face, I’ll know! You want dick?”

“Really bad!”

“You won’t get it unless you earn it. The early cunt has to wake up to get this worm,” Jeff unzipped his pants and pulled his dick out. He waved it over his sister’s head as she laid flat on the cold living room floor and opened her mouth to offer to suck it while she frigged herself.

“What are you doing? I didn’t tell you to stop!” Jeff smacked my ass with a riding crop and made me continue marching in place while fingering my asshole. I couldn’t even look down to watch Ellie’s little show. I heard her, though, and she was so convincing that it made me feel sorry for her and want to get her off.

“Please, Sir, I want to cum so badly, can’t I have a little orgasm? I just need to get off. I don’t care how! I have to have it! Right now! Inside me! I am so wet and ready for you! my pussy needs it. Fuck me with your foot if you want, I don’t care! I just want something bigger than a finger, I am desperate, Sir!”

Damn. I wanted something bigger than a finger, too! Elle’s skills as a beggar far exceeded my own. I took note of her technique. I had to WANT to get fucked more than anything and convince my son of that, and I hadn’t done that.

I played a role of a horny nympho, and that was hard to present as authentic if you are just going through the motions. My son had been right about that. I felt a little ashamed about being called out for it.

Jeff chuckled and, without any sympathy at all, abruptly made her compose herself. He made her stand next to me with her back arched, ass sticking out, tits out, chin up, shoulder’s back in the same posture that I had been holding.

He didn’t make her finger her ass, but he had us begin marching in place until he was convinced that we had the same cadence. Then he led us by the leather straps around our collars to the back porch.

I usually checked to see if the neighbors were outside before entering the backyard naked. I rarely did that when anyone was at home, either. We have a fence, but it isn’t total privacy. However, Jeff just marched us outside in the sunshine like it was not a big deal.

I felt the soft grass on my bare feet as he marched us to the center of the yard where my rose bushes grow.



Jeff spanked my bottom with his crop as he marched us into position, back-to-back, and made us stand flat-footed. Our plugs were still in our mouths, so we could only mumble while a little saliva dribbled down our chins.

“You two ponies ready to be rode hard and put away wet?” he asked.

I returned a hearty whinny in the affirmative, and so did my daughter. I could feel the warmth of her bubble butt pressed to mine.

“For the next four hours, your master has entrusted me with ownership of your tits, your clits, your naughty bits, and you belong to me, don’t you?”

What was this? This was not part of the “script.” None of my past grooms had ever done some sort of morning ritual or affirmation with me. They had me piss and shit, washed me down, and put me to work, and usually expected a blowjob when the session was over. I wondered if I should interrupt him.

I whinnied positively when Ellie did the same. I was glad my son was asserting himself. I assumed he was trying something new out, and I didn’t want to cramp his style by telling him that his father doesn’t ask questions like that. Peter wanted Jeff to develop his own style.

“That means that you will do anything your Master tells you, if I tell you, right Vixen?”

I made a ploothfth sound in the affirmative as a response. I wasn’t sure what Jeff expected from me, and I think he could see that reluctance. I was normally down for just about anything, but I wanted to be careful about agreeing to a blank check that my ass couldn’t cash for my son.

“Shake your head yes or no, Vixen,” he used the crop to move my chin from side to side and then up and down. His father had insisted that I answer more affirmatively the day before. I nodded yes.

“Good, let’s empty your piss chutes, and shit factories, so we don’t have to deal with mother nature’s calls for the next four hours. You have five minutes to squeeze cheese and piss before I hose you two down so that we can get to business.”

I almost giggled and spit out my butt plug. His father seldom spoke that crudely, and usually, it was only in frustration. I couldn’t believe my son had the audacity to talk to me that way. I think Ellie found it a little amusing as well because her butt jiggled when she heard him talk to us that way.

I kept wondering, “Who is this strangely confident and vulgar taskmaster?” as he cropped our tits and ordered us to piss and shit in front of him. I couldn’t see my daughter’s face, but I could imagine her crinkling her nose in disgust every time one of us let out an audible toot or our butts made a crackling sound as we “squeezed cheese,” as my son put it.

I shook the last turd ball free and let it drop on the sandy mud at my feet. I even had a few minutes left to spare.

“Is that it? With a butt as big as yours, Vixen, I would expect you have a lot more junk in your trunk to get out.”

I nearly laughed again but managed a straight face as I ploolthed and shook my head no. I couldn’t believe my son just told me I had a big butt. I definitely had a Puerto Rican-sized ass, and I was proud of how round it was – but I had never heard my son dare say that to me.

“Is something amusing about this, Vixen? Do you think I enjoy standing outside in the morning smelling your pony manure?”

Manure was really the proper term for it when you are at a BDSM event with pony girls.

I shook my head no, and maintained a serious expression...

“That’s strange because it’s amusing to our neighbors. Hi, Mister Johnson!” Jeff waved over at the fence on our left-hand side. “Just taking my sister and mom out for their morning crap!”

I immediately panicked as my stomach turned and filled with butterflies. I was mortified. I immediately looked over my shoulder.

Jeff corrected me with the crop by slicing into my ass with several quick strokes and warning me to keep my head straight forward until told otherwise. I realized that there was no one watching on the other side of the fence, and that had been one of Jeff’s little tests.

I stomped my foot once in frustration and neighed.

“Don’t give me attitude, Lela,” Jeff chastised me for stomping my foot and called me the pet name my husband reserved for when I act foolishly. My pussy began to drip uncontrollably – I was turned on and excited. I hadn’t expected this kind of confrontation.

I backed down completely.

“Good girl,” Jeff reached up and yanked my left nipple, gave it a hard twist, and then caressed my hair. “This is looking a little matted. You can comb it after I wash you up, or is that another of my tasks as a groom? Combing your knotted rat’s nests?”

He seemed to have no qualms about poking me, prodding me, slapping me, or touching me. I didn’t it want it to be awkward for him, but I thought he might have some reservations about touching his mother. I did the first few times I was partnered with mine even though it was entirely consensual on my part. It was just a little weird.

I’ve had grooms brush my hair before, but usually, when I was tied up, they did so only because they liked to brush women’s hair. I mumbled a response.

Jeff chided me, saying I could shake my head yes or no.

I wanted to provide some context, and I mumbled around the butt plug that I had clinched in my teeth that he could if he wanted to do it, but that usually grooms only did that when I was tied up for a long time.

“I didn’t ask for a lecture, Lela! Naughty girl! You are allowed to say yes or no, not long rants and lectures! I get enough of that from you when you are my mom!”

Ouch, that stung. I didn’t think I did that to my son. I wasn’t sure if he was teasing, but I suddenly felt uncomfortable thinking about my role as his mother.

Once we finished, I noticed we left a LOT of poop on the ground at the base of the flowers. Jeff led us away and toward the air conditioner unit where the garden hose was. He expected us to bend over, spread our cheeks, and even let him squirt our faces and backs with the lukewarm garden hose water.

Instead of marching us inside and letting us dry off, Jeff instructed Ellie and me to hug each other tightly and stand so that our noses and the base of our butt plugs in our mouths were touching. We embraced each other.

“That’s it, nipple to nipple, hug each other like you love each other, that’s it, good girls,” he said as he admired the position we were in. I smiled because I DID love Ellie, and I knew she loved me. This wasn’t a mother-and-daughter hug – at least not one in the traditional sense. This was definitely incestuous and naughty.

Jeff slid the leather riding crop between our legs and fucked us with the tip while we stood in the morning sun and dried off. I was getting so horny from not cumming that it was driving me mad. There was no faking this time. I was organically begging and trying to get myself off as much as possible without going over that edge into euphoric sexual bliss and contentment.

I know it doesn’t sound so bad. At least, I was allowed to masturbate, but imagine your sexual organ is a Yo-Yo, and every time it goes all the way down, you are JUST about to shoot that load and reach ecstasy, and then there is always a string to pull you back up and away.

Then imagine getting close over and over, but not quite close enough!

He removed our butt plugs from our mouths and put the riding crop up to our lips for us to lick the white cream from our pussies off the sides of the leather. In the process, we tongue-kissed around the leather crop. That amused Jeff, and he told us to make out.

I tried not to think about the fact that my teenage daughter and I were French kissing in the backyard. She was 18 years old, but she was still so wet behind the ears. She was, however, an excellent kisser, and she was turning me on by stealing my breath and sucking my tongue.

I got so lost in kissing that I almost didn’t notice until Jeff spread my ass cheeks apart that he was inserting my butt plug up my ass. He gave it a twist to ensure that it was up there nice and tight, and then he did the same to his sister.

It was kind of like a quick butt fuck.

“Do I have to order you to beg to masturbate, or are you going to beg whenever you get a chance?” Jeff asked me.

I stopped kissing my daughter long enough to say that I’d beg in between assignments unless he found it annoying or wanted to order me to beg.

“I want to watch you beg to make each other cum!”

I wanted to remind him that his father wouldn’t like it if we had orgasms during our training, but I thought better of it. I began begging at the same time that Ellie did to be allowed to touch my daughter’s pussy and play with her. It felt taboo and humiliating, but it was turning me on to be so brazenly vulnerable.

This time, I was far more convincing, and he gave us permission to touch each other’s bodies right away. It was a bit too late to hold back around the two of them. Even though I had often been nude around them and even cuffed when they were growing up, I had always drawn the line at full masturbation.

They always knew that some of the devices I wore crushed or teased my clit and nipples. They knew that I wore butt plugs and that I got wet. There was no secret about any of that while they were growing up.

However, I had never fully made out with anyone or masturbated in front of them. I hadn’t discussed where the line should be around our kids with my husband. It was just understood that I didn’t go that far around them.

We had even tried to keep my dalliances with other men a secret, although the kids figured that one out. I had never done anything with them in front of my kids.

Now, I was rubbing my daughter’s clit, playing with her nipples, licking her teeth and tongue in a full erotic coupling while my son observed and encouraged us. It was quite a jump for me, but the two of them had been playing together for quite some time. They must have been humping right under our noses for a while.

I had been trained with my own mother as a pony partner when I was a teenager. I often get paired with her when we return to visit my parents. However, other than very light touching or being bound lip to lip, my father had never instructed me to go down on my mom or even masturbate her.

I wondered if he would approve of just how far things were going when we visited him again.

Ellie’s breath tasted like peppermint toothpaste, and I was lost in her kiss. My son signaled us to stop abruptly with a slice from the riding crop across our backs and told us “You aren’t supposed to get off. You are supposed to be horny, so you little twats try harder. Now, get up, wipe the cream from your cunts, and line up so that I can feed you two.”

I did as I was told, using my fingers to clean my own pussy and then licking them clean. Ellie did the same by following my example. She truly seemed in a predicament. I could tell by her puffy nipples and flushed cheeks that she was incredibly horny and desperate for some cock.

Jeff made me show him how to prepare cold feed.

“What is cold feed?” Ellie asked politely, despite her apprehension. I was explaining that it was just what it sounded like when my son stuffed a dildo into my daughter’s mouth. He must have had it lying around. We had quite a few sex toys in the living room now that we were openly training in the house.

She swallowed it without protest as he forced it down her throat. “It doesn’t matter what it is. Ponies don’t talk, they don’t complain, they eat what they are given by their groom. It’s not going to kill you, and it’s going to provide you enough carbohydrates to be trained as a show pony. Is that what you want, Dancer?”

Ellie whinnied and made a ploofftth sound as she shook her head yes.

I confirmed that the mixture was exactly what it sounded like. The same unflavored oats and whey powder we had the night before, but it was served lukewarm. “We use instant oats, so it soaks into a paste.”

“I thought it would be frozen,” Jeff seemed disappointed that it wasn’t.

“Like a Margarita?” I smiled as I helped him to prepare our morning feed. I didn’t like the stuff very much and my husband rarely ever made me eat it at home.

“No, blended up with some spit, cum, and ground into ice crystals that melt in your cunts.”

I assumed he was joking. “Gosh, why not make us feed them to each other like baby birds out of assholes if you are going to go that far.”

“I would, but Dad wants you horses fed with proper feed bags. Now stop talking and hold still,” Jeff was all business. He attached my feedbag to my mouth and instructed me to stand at the table with my knees bent and my thighs touching the wood. He sent Ellie to stand across from me at the table, and we both placed our hands behind our backs.

I kept thinking about my son’s harsh fantasy about feeding me from my daughter’s asshole while I consumed the bland oats in the leather feedbag.

Jeff made himself some warm oatmeal. I could smell the apple cinnamon. He smacked my ass as he took a seat at the table and lamented that we didn’t eat this way at every meal. “It would be so quiet.”

I plotted and whinnied in response, but I wasn’t sure what I was actually trying to communicate.

Jeff looked behind my back and saw that my hands were clasped at the base of my spine. “Hold your ass cheeks as wide apart as you can like you are waiting to get fucked. Dancer, do it as well,” he instructed.

I complied with his instructions, although it was not how I normally took oats from a feed bag.

He insisted that I hold my cheeks apart wider. “Pretend you are on stage at Camp Crucible, and the judges are deciding which pony has the nicest asshole. Let them see it.”

They didn’t have a contest for the nicest asshole, but I was in no position to argue with my groom.

Jeff walked around the table a few times after he finished eating and admired our pussies and assholes. “You have a creamy little cunt, Dancer. Spread it like you are offering it up at Camp Crucible to whatever old pervert wants to slip his dick in.”

Ellie scrunched her nose in disgust but complied and even pushed her shoulders back and stuck her tits out slightly to reflect the same position I was holding. I made an effort to keep my pussy as spread as possible while I finished my food.

Jeff squeezed the bags every now and then to check to see if we finished our food and hurried us. “Kiss each other’s faces clean,” he instructed.

I nibbled bits of oat from my daughter’s lips, nose, chin, and neck as she did the same to me while we hugged. We cleaned up a little on our hands and knees like we had the day before, and then Jeff got us harnessed up in full pony regalia for training.

I love getting dressed up in leather regalia and boots. There is something about the feel of the leather on my skin and the smell of the leather. Jeff picked out some matching nipple clamps for me and my daughter to wear and clamped them to our tits. He added some clamps to our clits, and attached a slender rope to them so that he could lead us.

We had to walk slowly behind him while he led us outside. I was curious what he planned, but I didn’t ask. It seemed like he had a plan.

My shadow stretched out long as we went outside into the morning air. I glanced at the fences without turning my head, just to make sure that no neighbors could see me. It would be a bit late to do anything about it if they had.

Jeff set up a Maypole line. I knew immediately from how he was attaching ropes to our shoulders, around our tits, and waists that he intended to make us march in circles around a pole in the backyard.

Peter had installed that pole for the express purpose of Maypole training, and I’d done it many times before while the kids were home. I always did it alone, but it was something intended for multiple pony girls to practice together. We are expected to maintain the same speed pace and lift our legs at the same height as each other.

Ellie had never done this before, but she knew what to expect. Once we began, it seemed easy enough. The snugness of the leather felt like a second skin to me. Even though my nipples, ass, and pussy were completely exposed, I always felt less vulnerable in my leather pony regalia than I did in a bikini.

My daughter was able to keep my pace as Jeff used his crop to keep our knees raised and correct us if we fell out of step with one another. “The left leg must be touching the ground when Vixen’s leg touches. Pay attention!”

Ellie and I wordlessly marched in a relentless circle, and after just ten minutes, I could already feel the muscle strain. My hands were swathed in supple gloves to prevent me from using my fingers. I didn’t think of myself as their mother. I was nothing more than a show pony to Jeff.

I felt it myself; I wasn’t thinking about anything except what step to take next.

It takes quite a bit of patience and determination to maintain speed and gait while doing maypole training. Ranchers and breeders use this technique on actual ponies to break them in and get them prepared to follow instructions.

Dancer mimicked my steps with youthful grace, albeit flushed and perspiring under the effort. Her cheeks bore the pink tint of exertion, and droplets of sweat adorned her brow like tiny, glistening jewels. The silent communion between them spoke volumes of mutual understanding and shared ambition. I wondered if her pussy was as wet as mine.

Jeff’s voice sliced through the air, clear and commanding, breaking their quiet choreography. “Tell Dancer some of the benefits of maypole training,” he instructed. I almost didn’t realize he expected me to speak because I had gone into a submissive pony mindset.

His gaze never wavered from our synchronized movements. His fingers wrapped securely around the rope bindings, and he tugged them to ensure we had enough slack.

I acknowledged his instruction with a subtle nod. I assumed they both could surmise the reason for this exercise, but I had never explicitly discussed it with them. I spoke also to remind myself why I did it and gave a soft whinny to acknowledge my son’s instruction.

The steps around the maypole wasn’t just about tradition; it was a rite of passage, a transfer of knowledge.

“Alright, Dancer,” I called out, I expressed warmth in my voice. I hoped that my neighbors wouldn’t overhear me. That may be just as perplexing to them as seeing a mother and daughter nearly naked in BDSM harnesses marching while their son crops their thighs and tits.

I felt the sun kissing my face as I explained the Maypole training. “One of the biggest benefits of this training is endurance.” My muscles burned with the honesty of hard-earned experience. “Moving in circles like this over and over—it’s exhausting, isn’t it?” Each step pulsated with effort, a continuous loop of exertion and willpower. “But each time we push through that fatigue, we build more stamina. Over time, this will make us stronger and help us keep going for longer.”

The line, an umbilical cord of discipline, suddenly tensed in Jeff’s firm grip, a signal as clear as any command.

“Pick up the pace,” Jeff sounded disappointed with my simplistic explanation. I felt the tug deep in my core, each muscle contracting to counterbalance the increased demand. The leather of my special gloves creaked. The rope anchored me to the central pillar of my entire world at that moment.

I wanted to say that I was truly at home while being trained. Instead, I said, “Another benefit,” maintaining the cadence of my speech despite the added pressure on my physique, “is balance.

“Each step we take around this pole helps us refine our control.” I demonstrated with poise, every movement a testament to hours of practice. It was a practice that Ellie was just starting to have, and she was doing an amazing job for a newbie. She was far more graceful than I was the first time I was put on a Maypole.

“We’re learning how to stay steady, no matter the speed or direction,” I added.

Dancer’s nod was the only break in her silence, a wordless conversation flowing between mother and daughter through the shared exertion. The air hung heavy with determination as their synchronized footfalls imprinted a complex pattern into the soft earth of the backyard. Jeff’s scrutiny never wavered; his gaze, sharp as a hawk’s, missed nothing.

“Good. Now reverse and keep a tighter line,” he commanded firmly without acknowledging anything I said.

The pivot was a test of agility, and they spun on an invisible axis, reversing direction while maintaining the intricate choreography they had woven around the maypole.

The new direction sent a fresh challenge coursing through my veins. My daughter stumbled, and Jeff allowed her to collect herself rather than descend on her with a crop. “Pay attention, Dancer!”

I felt it in the deepening burn of my muscles. We marched in silence for an hour. The fatigue nipped at my resolve like a persistent breeze. I wanted to be a good role model for my daughter and not make any mistakes.

However, after the first hour, I was pooped, and I wanted some water. Jeff didn’t offer any. It wasn’t the longest I had been marched before, but I hadn’t had a long march in a long time.

“This training also increases our flexibility,” I broke the silence and drew in a lungful of air as I did. Each word was measured and delivered between breaths, which grew heavier with the effort. “Changing directions stretches different muscles.”

We marched together, bodies bending and adapting, mirroring the ebb and flow of life’s unpredictable currents. “Teaching us how to stay agile and adapt to changes.”

“What else?” Jeff sounded less commanding and genuinely curious. He was also walking around the circle with us. Most grooms just stand there and watch while the ponies put in all the effort.

This was grueling but enjoyable. There was nothing sexual about it, and while it could be humiliating for some, I was in my element. I smiled as the sweat rolled down my cheeks. I was not able to wipe it off or even scratch my nose if I wanted to do it. I maintained my pace with my shoulders back, my tits pushed out, chin up.

“Maypole training sharpens our focus. We’re learning to ignore the distractions and stay present. It takes discipline.” The words were more than an explanation; they were a vow, a commitment I lived with every circle, every breath. I had never said these things out loud. They were simply things that I knew from personal observation. It felt good to speak the words – affirming my feelings.

From the corner of her eye, I caught Jeff’s gaze on my ass. His usually stern expression had softened, his eyes reflecting a quiet respect for our perseverance. I tried not to smile or show emotion because Ponies are supposed to remain neutral.

I let out a soft whinny, a sound of encouragement and camaraderie to Dancer. In the midst of exertion and poise, our silence became a powerful language, weaving a bond that no words could fully capture.

It was definitely the highlight of the afternoon. Jeff gave us cool water and wiped us down with wet rags without being told to do it. I was pleased he instinctively stopped when he saw us reach a point of exhaustion.

He gave us a short break and put us through some shorter exercises inside the house. In the air-conditioned house, it’s much easier to exert ourselves. He allowed us to masturbate a few times but never reach orgasm, and when his father got home, he told him how we had done.

There were times I got dangerously close to orgasm and found it difficult to stop myself. Jeff could tell from my eye flutter that I had checked out and gone into my own little world during one session.

Instead of abruptly stopping me and bringing me back to reality, he poured a glass of water over my head. He laughed as he regaled his father with an impression of my mewling face, all scrunched up while I got dangerously close to bringing myself off.

I had to really struggle not to express frustration when he soaked me. I demonstrated control like my husband expected, but Ellie’s laughter and Jeff’s audacity made it difficult. “I stopped immediately and thanked you for stopping me, but you could have just told me to stop, Sir.”

“I did, but you weren’t listening,” he reminded me while he told my husband the story. I didn’t argue with Jeff about it.

Peter didn’t comment on it, either, or any of the events. He didn’t chide my son for pouring water over my head, and he didn’t compliment for me showing restraint and stopping.

“Good, Mister Jeff. That sounds excellent,” Peter remained detached. He inspected our bodies and decided that we had been rode pretty hard. After Jeff peeled us out of our regalia and boots, my daughter and I were left standing naked in the living room.

His main question was what he ate. He wanted to hear from Jeff how our food was prepared in the morning and how quickly we finished. Jeff left out the part where he made us hold our ass cheeks apart and, since Peter hadn’t asked me, I didn’t tell him.

“What was for lunch?”

“We haven’t eaten lunch yet,” Jeff said.

Peter acknowledged it and asked Jeff if he had any questions or concerns. Jeff had none. He asked the same to Ellie. She said she enjoyed the session.

“Even the cold feed?”

“No, not that, obviously, but all the weird stuff like pooping outside and eating standing up was worth it.”

“It may seem weird, but there is a reason you are being trained this way,” Peter explained. Ellie was about to apologize and explain that she hadn’t meant it to be offensive, but her father stopped her. “Keep your words brief and focus on the questions at hand while you are in training. You can answer explicitly what you are being asked, but nothing else. How did you feel about masturbating all day without cumming?”

“It was agony, Master.”

“Agony? You have no idea how much restraint it takes to be teased for hours and not get sexual release yet. This was just a taste. You want to suit up and do this again tomorrow?”

“Yes, Master! Very much!” Ellie batted her eyes at her father.

“That’s a good attitude; I am proud of you. I am proud of all of you,” Peter addressed the three of us. “Every day, you are going to go a little further than the last. You are going to learn something new and be stretched in new ways, but eventually, you’ll reach a point where you plateau and just perform as expected. That’s when you will REALLY be tested, and I’ll ask again if you want to keep doing it. That’s when you really start to learn.”

Peter’s comment was intentionally vague, but I understood it. The fun part of learning new techniques and games is definitely a progression. Once I had been “trained” and I was able to perform as a pony, I was still learning through the reinforcement of constant discipline and service.

However, that was a lesson that Ellie and Jeff would have to learn on their own, and even if I admitted that to them, they wouldn’t understand it until they reached that point. They still had a long way to go.

“Pick out one of them and take them upstairs and fuck their brains out,” Peter offered my daughter and me to our son as if we were a car that he could drive off the lot and take out for a test drive.

It was kind of a hot feeling, the kind I got when Peter offered me to another man sexually. I felt desirable and wanted by my husband because I knew that he saw me as a gift to be awarded to another man.

“Can I fuck them downstairs?” Jeff asked.

Peter seemed curious why his son would ask permission to do that.

“I am just curious. Does it have to be in our beds, or can I take them anywhere in the house?”

“I suppose so. I thought you might want a little privacy,” my Husband explained the reason for his request with a shrug.