Chapter 8

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.”