Chapter 7

Jeff came quietly into our room in the morning and saw me patiently waiting for him from inside the cage. I had time to prepare myself so that I wouldn’t seem panicked. I knew that my son was going to be seeing me like this all week, and I wanted to present myself in a demure way, like a proper pony.

I didn’t want him to think that I was being abused or hated being in the cage. I didn’t enjoy it or get a vicarious thrill out of it. It was required of me as a submissive, and I obeyed my husband.

I knew it turned Peter on, and that’s all that mattered to me when I agreed to get in the first time. He actually built this by hand for me in his workshop.

The idea of the cage was mainly about isolation and control when I was alone. The fact that I chose to get in the cage and allow Peter to control me was a sign of submission.

It was a little humiliating and demeaning to be caged like a dog. I was his prize pony, not a dog, after all. I had never minded that our kids knew about the cage. It wasn’t something that I imagined them observing me while I was inside.

Now, I felt like a zoo animal, waiting for the next guest to come take a look at me - completely on display. My pussy began to drip uncontrollably and quiver.

Peter warned me to be a proper role model for both of them on pony behavior, and I intended to do well on that command. He had left earlier that morning for some errand he had to run. I assumed perhaps he had even intentionally left the house just so that his son didn’t feel self-conscious that Peter was watching and judging him.

I am sure even though I felt composed, I probably looked overly eager to get out. I had to go pee, and I had been sore from night in the cage. I tried to remain calm and not look desperate at all.

As far as Jeff knew, I spent most nights this way. There was no point in telling him that I had been left this way as a lesson to him.

Our kids have seen the cage in my bedroom since they were little. We’ve never had a dog, even though it’s the perfect size for a large dog to use. I never made it a secret that “mommy gets in the cage sometimes.”

They giggled about the cage when they knew it was for me but never asked to see me get in.

However, this was the first time that Jeff was witnessing me naked with my big Latino butt pressed against the cold black metal cage. It’s not big enough to lay down completely. I had to remain on all fours, ass up, tits pressed down, and sleep in a crouched squat with my hands behind my back.

He noted that I was awake but just looked at me for a few seconds, taking in what he saw before he stepped up. The key had been left out for him to find. He unlocked the crate and stroked my hair as I crawled out.

I shot a look of thanks to him and admitted that I really had to use the bathroom as I stood up.

He pointed towards the master bath and silently followed me in before shutting the door. He didn’t remove my cuffs, but I didn’t ask.

“Good morning, Mom. Did you sleep well?”

“Wonderfully, thank you, but your father wants you to address me as Vixen, Sir.”

I hated how artificial I sounded – like a robot. “How did you sleep?” I asked.

“I slept with Ellie and fucked her this morning. I did the finger thing on her clit, too, and she came!” Jeff bragged.

I couldn’t remember what the “finger thing” was, but I assumed it got my daughter off.

“Do you mind removing my handcuffs?” I asked politely.

“I don’t know, am I supposed to do that?”

“It’s at your discretion when we are at Camp Crucible, but it’s going to make it really difficult to sit on the toilet if you don’t, Sir.”

Jeff used the special key to remove the handcuffs. They were police-grade cuffs, so they weren’t easily picked.

I thanked him as I rubbed my wrists to improve blood flow and put the cuffs back on the nightstand. I climbed on the toilet to pee. He had seen me do this before, but it was still humiliating. I’d done a lot more out in the open at places like Camp Crucible in front of hundreds of strangers.

It still felt wrong and sort of personal and intimate to be sharing a bathroom with my son while he watched me go pee.

Jeff stood there awkwardly. I wondered if he had watched his sister this way, but I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to seem confrontational.

Halfway through peeing, I realized I really needed to poop as well. I decided to warn Jeff. He had been very adamant that he wanted nothing to do with poop, and I considered the smell it’d make.

“I’ve got to poop, Jeff. I understand if you want to wait for me to finish, flush, and spray deodorizer.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, Mom, Vixen. Do you really have to poop out in the open at rodeos and have a groom with you?”

“That’s one of your father’s rules. There are times when I am going to be on long-distance five-mile trots, and there is no stopping. Your father will expect me to piss while I walk.”

Jeff scrunched his nose in disgust. “You have to shit while you walk too?”

I cringed a little when my son used a more graphic word for “poop.” I was by no means a prude, but Jeff had never cussed around me like that before. He always said poop or going to the bathroom. It made me feel even nastier for having to do it around him.

“That too,” I replied while I started to poop in the toilet. I admitted that I had never had to do that while I was on a long-distance trot. “I usually had plenty of opportunities ahead of that event.

“Some women come to the rodeos by themselves, and some rodeos happen at ranches where there are bathroom trailers. There are some events that really do have an open pit and a backhoe to fill it in after everyone leaves, and I’ve even been to a few where it’s the ponygirls’ responsibility to dig the latrines themselves. Camp Crucible is like that, so I am afraid your sister and I are going to be doing our business in the great outdoors. At least, I will be anyway.”

“Why does Dad insist on a groom to go with you to the bathroom, then?” Jeff asked. He meant watching me in the bathroom.

“Your father calls it observing ablutions, and I think your father wants you to understand that there is more to pony training than just whipping butts, twisting nipples, and marching around a field in pretty headgear. There are mundane chores, and even how we eat and go poop is scrutinized.”

“Scrutinized how? Can you win an award for the longest turd?” Jeff snickered.

“No, nothing like that,” I blushed as I tried to soften the sound of my farts. “I have to place my feet flat, spread my legs and I have a certain amount of time to complete my ablutions, Sir.”

“So, you pinch a loaf in front of everyone while people time you?” Jeff scrunched his nose in disgust and wrinkled his forehead. He seemed as amused by the mental image as he was disgusted by it. “Isn’t it embarrassing?” Jeff asked an obvious question.

“Your father sees it as a natural bodily function, and for ponies, we still have to take care of our needs, but we give up certain privileges in the field, like privacy.”

“And dignity!” Jeff snickered when he heard the turd in my butt splash in the toilet between my legs. I blushed in front of him.

“Yes, certainly. Some things I’ve been doing for so long that they no longer embarrass me. Luckily, I’ve got olive skin, or I’d have been red-faced a lot since you started acting as my groom. I know this is awkward, stinky, gross, and weird,” I consoled him.

“So, why did you agree to be a ponygirl if you have to do things that embarrass you? It couldn’t have been comfortable in that cage with your wrists behind your back. That has to be humiliating to sleep in a little metal box while Dad gets the bed to himself.”

I didn’t want to say that was my first time in months being in the cage because I didn’t want him to feel sorry for me.

“It’s really hard to explain, Jeff,” I admitted before cursing my forgetfulness, apologizing and calling him Sir.

“See? It’s hard to use pony names and titles with each other,” Jeff felt vindicated before telling me to try to explain it anyway.

I was responsible for educating him on how to be a groom while his father was gone.

“I have ... um ... an unusual ... well, not really unusual, I guess ... but you’d call it a kink. I get turned on by being humiliated. It’s more common than you’d think,” I admitted honestly. It wasn’t something I talked about very much. Peter wasn’t into humiliation, and even though he put me into humiliating positions, he never degraded me or talked down to me.

I’d seen some Masters who made their entire identity about humiliation, and the focus of their training was often quite demeaning to the pony girls. That was not Peter’s style, and I didn’t want it to be, either.

“So, you like being embarrassed? But you never get embarrassed!” Jeff observed.

This was so hard to explain. I was more embarrassed admitting to my son I got off on certain forms of humiliation than it was to actually be handcuffed and caged in front of him. I felt he just couldn’t fathom the reasoning because I had never drilled into the reasons it excited me. It wasn’t something that Peter did often, and I never really thought about it.

“I can, and I am, I assure you. It’s so hard to explain that I am actually embarrassed just admitting that certain situations turn me on, Sir.”

I decided to just be honest with my son and not mince words.

“Like this one?”

“I’ll be honest, it’s as humiliating as it’s awkward. It’s making my heart race, but I am more concerned about disgusting you. There is a fine line between fantasy and the reality of stinky poops. Are you really sure you want to be in here?”

I didn’t answer his question, so much for being completely honest.

“Stand up and straddle the toilet, Vixen. I want you to stand over it like you would outside at camp crucible and finish,” Jeff stated matter-of-factly. “I’ll deal with the smell. I’ve been in the bathroom after Ellie’s dropped one, so I know girl butts don’t smell like roses, no matter what girls would have guys believe.”

I commended his bravery. I stood up over the toilet. It wasn’t easy to straddle it.

“No, turn around, hold your cheeks apart.”

Oh god, why did he ask me to do that? Did he really want to see a brown banana emerge from my butt?

Peter was always offended and deeply disgusted by the sight of me pinching a loaf on the pony field. It’s deeply humiliating to be outdoors and hear it crackle and drop on the ground at my feet.

This was definitely not a turn-on for my husband. I’d had a few grooms who seemed to get excited watching a girl piss, but never one that really stared at my butt while I squeezed one out. I’d seen some Grooms and pervy old men at the camps who made it more of a spectator sport by watching the women-ponies at the camp latrines.

Watching us go pee was even more popular! I blushed just thinking about one groom I had who got a boner while I tinkled all over the soft Georgia clay at one of the BDSM pony events we’ve been to.

He got so turned on that he became flustered. I was embarrassed but deeply flattered that I had that effect on him with a simple bodily function.

“Jeez, Mom, did something crawl up your butt and die?” Jeff said a few moments later when my smell reached his nose. Luckily, he was grinning as he fanned his face sarcastically. I was glad that I wasn’t traumatizing him.

I felt my cheeks heat up although it didn’t specifically excite me to be making mud while he was in the room. I’ve taken so many dumps in front of both trainers and grooms over the years that usually I’d just do it, but the difference was that it was my son, and he’d said the idea of poop grossed him out. The humiliation was there, but it was tempered by the thought of Jeff being grossed out and not turned on.

He laughed about how the poop made a crinkly sound as it slid out of my ass and fell into the toilet.

“is that it?” he said when it dropped into the water and splashed my calves.

I was too embarrassed that my son was going to see my dirty, unwiped bottom to speak. I murmured something about, hoping this satisfied his curiosity.

I wanted to make a funny joke about now that I had that out of the way. Jeff shouldn’t be surprised if
a dried wad of cum dropped out after getting fucked by a dozen men the night before. I wanted to add some levity to the awkward silence as he stared at me.

I couldn’t get up the courage to be facetious. I was mortified.

“Dayaaam! All that shit was inside you? And dad fucks that dirty ass? It looks like brown clay back there. Okay, finish up. That’s pretty gross, Mom!”

I couldn’t believe he saw my dirty, unwiped ass. I grabbed some toilet paper, folded it around my fingers, and began to clean my rear end while continuing to stand.

“You can give me commands as a groom, but you don’t have to make fun of me, Jeff,” I reminded him. Peter teased me every now and then, but it was very infrequent and playful. I was burning red with humiliation.

“Sorry, Mom,” he apologized.

I cringed when he called me Mom. I was his Mom, but it didn’t feel right while I was his pony. I would have to reconcile our new relationship and reach a place where I knew where the boundaries were. I decided not to say anything about that to him and offered a further explanation. I reminded him again that I was Vixen now.

“Your mom doesn’t poop in front of you, only Vixen does, Sir.”

“I’ll have to get used to stepping over a Vixen patty!”

Oh god, I had this image of a giant cow patty on the red clay near the pony fields, with flies buzzing around it in the hot sun, and imagining my son stepping over it to avoid my mess.

“About twice a week, I give myself an enema. I don’t want to do it more than that because there are good bacteria up there too, but I do like to be as clean as a whistle on weekends and when...” I closed my mouth. It was too difficult to tell Jeff I would give myself an enema whenever I thought one of Peter’s buddies would likely want to fuck my ass. I decided that I’d change the subject slightly.

“When what?” Jeff pressed for an answer.

Me and my dumb mouth. I decided to just come right out with it.

“Yesterday, your father said he sometimes ... loans me out,” I admitted. Jeff would naturally find that out when we went to Camp Crucible. Peter had been pretty explicit, but perhaps it was still not sinking into Jeff.

The wording allowed me to answer his question without actually admitting to my son that I got loaned out for anal sex.

“Yeah, I remember. So?” He asked, smirking.

At that moment, I knew Jeff was teasing me. Like a stupid bitch I’d told him I like to be humiliated, and I felt like he was intentionally ridiculing me.

“Many of those guys like to cum in my ass, then watch as I drip it out and lick it up,” I admitted my dirty secrets. My cunt got juicy just admitting it to Jeff.

“And you’re turned on now, aren’t you Vixen?” Jeff asked, putting the final dig in.

“Yes, Sir,” I admitted truthfully. “May I turn around and flush, please?”

I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to flush. I didn’t know the rules in my own house. Grooms usually didn’t come over, and none of them followed me to the bathroom when they did.

“Cool,” he replied, then changed the subject, leaving the matter of my arousal drop. “Yeah, flush and see you at breakfast then?” He asked, and I realized Jeff was done toying with me.

“Is Dancer waiting for you to supervise her in the bathroom?” I asked, feeling a little awkward, but it’s not my responsibility to teach a groom how to do his job. It was still a little weird having my son in a closed bathroom with me. I hadn’t asked him earlier, but now I felt that I needed to clarify what he should do with her.

“I dunno,” he shrugged.

A lot of thoughts and feelings were knocking around inside my head. As his Mother, I wanted to get Jeff motivated, but now he knew more about me than any son really should know about their Mom, and I didn’t know if I should tell him what to do at all. Another thought was that Jeff was never going to be a trainer, so why would he want to be a groom? I finally made a decision and gave him some direction.

“I’m going to brush my teeth and take a shower. Why don’t you go see what Ellie’s up to?”

“Yeah. Right. Should I make sure she takes a shower and stuff?” He asked.

“Good idea,” I answered. I assumed Ellie was up and poking around to get ready to spend a few hours as a pony before her father came home.

There was a part of me that wished Jeff and Ellie weren’t curious about this lifestyle. I had always been comfortable answering their questions when they were younger. I never thought I’d be in this situation with my boy watching me wipe my dirty ass and bald, wet pussy.

It was my fault, I suppose. Peter had been more conservative about our lifestyle around the kids. I was the one who was more candid with the kids when they were little. They were home all day with me, and I liked to do my chores in light pony regalia.

I also showered with them, so I wore more clothes in the leathers than I did in the bathtub, and for that reason, I saw nothing really wrong with it. Now, the Rooster had come home to roost, or the Chickens came home to lay eggs, I wasn’t sure how that saying went.

The fact was, my son was now my groom, and we had gone past the point of no return where he could unsee what I did in the bathroom and unhear some of my dirtiest secrets.

I came downstairs in a very light leather harness, collar, and pony boots. It was something I wore around the house in front of the kids frequently when I cleaned or worked in the garden. I didn’t even have my butt plug in.

Ellie joined me at breakfast, wearing a little more leather than I would have selected for her. She had an old harness of mine fitted around her tits, and the straps ran down to her freshly shaved pussy. She wore her heavy boots.

The harness her father bought for her was brand new and not very well-worn. It was rigid and heavy and wouldn’t be considered “light barding” by her father’s standards. Light pony regalia was more of a reminder that one was a pony than it was a practical set of pony gear to wear.

I was tempted to ask if she was wearing a butt plug. I usually didn’t wear one around the house unless Peter insisted that I clean with mine. The kids rarely ever noticed it unless I bent over because it hid neatly between my big ass cheeks.

Breakfast was ... normal. I’d expected the whole dynamic to be different now, but Ellie was her usual motor-mouthed self. She talked about pony boots, practice, routines, and even the garden in the backyard. Jeff listened, and the two of them laughed. I laughed along with them like I did when it was just the three of us at the table.

Jeff maintained protocol with the both of us and called us Dancer and Vixen. We needed practice with that to get used to the change.

Ellie abruptly told me that she wanted to plant some tomatoes. I told her it was really too late in the season for them, and she launched into a story about how one of her friend’s parents was growing tomatoes.

I wanted to say, “If your friend jumped off a bridge, would you expect me to do it?” but I held my tongue. It was just good to know that my daughter wanted to help with the garden. That was a new thing. She normally had shown no interest.

Jeff enjoyed his breakfast and rarely interrupted his sister. I could tell he was trying to imitate his father’s stoic and often silent manner. Peter had a way of communicating through silence with just a glance. Jeff was still a long way from that sort of technique and just came off shy.

Once we were done, I began to remove the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. I was surprised that Ellie joined me and helped clean up without being asked. I have to admit, it was at that moment that I felt vindicated for having introduced Ellie to the lifestyle at all.

It was nice seeing her proactively begin helping around the house, even if it took some leather boots and naughty games to entice her into it.

I decided not to jinx it by saying anything complimentary to her. I thought it might make her self-conscious and make her decide not to help.

“What kind of training should we do, Vixen?” Jeff asked.

“The first thing I need to do is clean the house from top to bottom before your father comes home. If there is time after that, then we can practice pony dressage in the living room.”

“Ah, poopy!” Ellie stomped her heavy boot like a horse and then pouted. “I wanted to play!”

“Work hard, then play hard,” I derided her and began my routine of very mundane and boring chores, starting with cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. I intended to take one room at a time and clean the entire house before I would do one thing related to pony play. Jeff may have been my groom, but Peter was my Master, and he would be quite disappointed with me if I played all day and didn’t scrub the house down.

Much to my surprise, Ellie joined me right in and helped out. She had trouble walking around in her heavy, high-heeled leather boots, but the practice helped her to get used to them. I gave her light directions to vacuum or fold clothes, and she did it without complaint.

“The mundane parts of life can’t simply go on hold while we live out our fantasies,” I quoted something my Mother told me years ago when I first started training. “Bills need to be paid, fences need mending, chores need doing.”

“Fences need mending?” Ellie asked, dumbfounded.

“I didn’t mean that literally. I mean, just that we have to get everything up to snuff!”

“Cool beans!” she smiled and bounced energetically to her next chore without complaint.

I was tempted to say, “I should have trained you as a Foal sooner if I knew you’d be a helper!”

Instead, I found it best to remain quiet about that.

Jeff made himself scarce and watched a little television. It took about four hours to clean the house from top to bottom, which was the time my husband had allotted for the day.

I reminded Ellie that the four hours allotted were already up and that we had to change out of our pony harnesses.

“What? I cleaned up and did everything, and I can’t play a little? That isn’t fair!”

“Ponyplay isn’t all play; some of it involves service and hard work,” I chided her. I didn’t want her to act like a spoiled brat. I could have lectured her on service and how she shouldn’t expect a reward for everything she does for the house. I remained silent and sternly began to remove my gear.

“Pony play has PLAY right in the name, Vixen,” she addressed me by my pony name for the first time that afternoon.

I gritted my teeth. It was one thing for my son to call me Vixen, but it felt disrespectful for my daughter to call me by my pony name. I know it was a double standard, but it was the first time she actually used my pony name, and once again, it rubbed me in the wrong way.

“Well, Dancer. I think you should take that up with your father when he gets home,” I warned her. I knew she would back down when she realized Peter wouldn’t appreciate her making demands.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” I asked.

“You called me Dancer. I like that.”

“I am Vixen, and you are Dancer while we are training. You shouldn’t call me Mom, and I won’t call you Ellie when we are practicing, okay?” I offered her politely.

“Cool, yeah! Do you think I can still wear my boots around the house even though I put on my clothes?”

“I don’t see why not. You can ask your father when he gets home,” I shrugged. We went and changed into street clothes. My daughter put on some pink short-shorts and a white halter with no bra. That wasn’t unusual for her around the house. She was always a bit of an extrovert. It looked strange that she was wearing her pony boots because they came up almost to her knees.

We went outside and worked in the garden a little. I promised to get some tomato seeds and see how they did in the off-season. We had a relatively normal lunch. I noticed that Ellie didn’t help with the chores that time. I wondered if she forgot or didn’t feel obligated because she wasn’t in training.

I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak. Peter never said she had to do chores around the house. He hadn’t said a lot about what my daughter and I had to do anyway.

When Peter came home, he kissed me and held me tight. Then, he asked Jeff for a report on our behavior. I didn’t ask him where he had been. I trusted him and knew he’d tell me if it was important.

“They wore their pony regalia for a few hours and cleaned the house. Then they ran out of time.”

“Why are you still wearing your boots, Womble?” Peter said as he looked at Ellie with an arched eyebrow.

“I wanted to get used to wearing them around the house, Sir.”

“You are allowed to call me Dad when you aren’t in pony mode. I commend your eagerness. I don’t want you to hurt your feet by doing too much in one day.”

“We are leaving for Camp Crucible in two weeks. I need all the practice that I can get. I’ll be wearing boots 24/7 there, won’t I, Daddy?”

Peter snickered. I sensed that he noticed that Ellie called him Daddy and assumed she might be trying to butter him up.

“Some events are bare feet, but yes, you’ll be shod in boots most of the time to protect those pretty little feet,” Peter shrugged with a sigh. “You will also be nude or partially nude in front of a lot of strange men who will want to have their way with you.”

“Cool beans!” she snickered and said she couldn’t wait.

“Yeah, well, I am still not sure how I feel about that. You are MY daughter first and my foal in training second. A lot of these men play very rough!” he warned.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Daddy,” Ellie smiled eagerly.

“Just be careful what you wish for, Womble,” he warned, then turned back to Jeff. “I assume you didn’t have to punish them today?”

“No, as I said, they just cleaned. Mom said work first, play after,” Jeff said.

I didn’t even know my son COULD punish me. I wasn’t sure if Jeff did either.

Peter seemed impressed. “Good girl,” he patted me on the bottom. “Go change into something else. I have to go to the hardware store, and I’ll take you guys to dinner as a treat for behaving on the first day.”

He sent Ellie upstairs with me to change, but Jeff and he remained downstairs to talk.

Ellie returned wearing her black leather pony collar and knee-high pony boots. She had some tiny booty shorts on, with a pink sports bra that barely covered her boobs.

Our daughter tends to dress in skimpy outfits, and it was hot outside, but the collar and boots raised some eyebrows. It raised MY eyebrows. Peter seemed mildly annoyed by his daughter’s choice.

“Do you really feel the need to go out in public collared and in the pony boots, Womble?” Peter frowned. He and our son were in T-shirts and jeans – which was typical for them when going out of the house.

“Yes, I’d like to get used to wearing both, and I don’t care what people think, especially at the hardware store. They’ll probably just assume I am a goth chick or something.”

“I wasn’t planning on taking you to a strip club, Ellie. I was afraid that pony training may take over your entire life. I want us to be a normal family.”

“I am sorry, Daddy. Do you want me to take it off?” Ellie pouted. I wasn’t sure if she was being manipulative to get her way or if she genuinely didn’t realize how the outfit was going to get her all sorts of attention. Then again, my daughter is old enough to know that it would.

“No, I think people are going to stare, though,” Peter said.

“So? Let them stare,” Ellie smiled.

“You are eighteen and are old enough that I shouldn’t have to tell you how to dress in public. You are MINE, though, right? So, if I told you that you couldn’t wear that, then you would respect it?”

“Yes, Sir!”

Peter stood silently as if waiting for Ellie to change her mind. She may have had second thoughts. I know I would have in that skimpy outfit. He nodded. “Vixen, go put on your collar and boots. If Dancer is going out that way, then you might as well match.”

I hadn’t been quite so extroverted in what I chose to wear. I picked out something that I would typically wear when handling errands with my husband. It would hardly make me stand out.

I wore a short denim skirt, a more modest top, and a support bra underneath. I wore two-inch heels. The only thing that was a little kinky was that I wore my butt plug under my skirt. That was just for my own amusement and nothing more.

I smiled graciously, nodded, and dashed upstairs. I have been collared in front of kink-friendly people, but this would be my first time going to someplace mundane like the hardware store that way. My husband told me to lose the bra as well, and so I did. The shirt I had chosen didn’t do much to hide my nipples from poking through the material.