Chapter 9

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.

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.