Gromet's PlazaPonyGirl/PetGirl Stories

Community Service

by Sogo

Email Feedback | Forum Feedback

© Copyright 2017 - Sogo - Used by permission

Storycodes: Solo-F; MF+/f; summerjob; spandex; harness; bridle; cart; ponygirl; reins; cuffs; machines; tease; torment; objectify; shock; nurse; pee; hum; transport; cons; X

Amber pulled on a sports top and Capri-length spandex leggings, then slipped her feet into jogging shoes before tying her orangish-red hair into a ponytail. A bitter smile crossed her face. How ironic, she thought—a ponytail. Then, like the five other young women in the stable, she left her stall for the parking garage.

In the next room were half-a-dozen sulkies. She positioned herself in front of hers—Number 4-and waited for the male workers to harness and bridle her.

The college coed reflected on how low she had sunk to get her degree in social work. This summer job—working as a ponygirl in a retirement community—both paid well and counted as credits toward her major. She had chosen it as it seemed easier than the other social work jobs offered. If she had only known.

It was no mystery why they had arrived at ponygirls as the means of transportation in this self-contained village. The planners had wanted something both convenient and eco-friendly. Golf carts were ruled out because the batteries posed environmental concerns, and the elderly residents were deemed too accident-prone. Horse-driven carriages were considered, but stabling horses violated city ordinances, and such animals were too expensive to maintain. Man-powered vehicles were considered, but no one applied. So ponygirls it was. Especially since the stable had already been built for the horses, and the village planners didn’t want the expense of tearing it down or letting it go unused.

She still didn’t understand the need for the harness and bridle and bit, though. Not to mention the reins the riders could use to steer them. It seemed a little excessive. And demeaning. She guessed it was mostly older men who made that decision.

Amber stiffened as the two middle-aged men flanked her and draped the harness over her body. With quickness and efficiency, they strapped it on, including the crotch strap, then cuffed her wrists, which were clipped to her waist belt. The shafts of the sulky were lifted and placed in her hands, then clipped to her wrist cuffs. Leather straps connected her harness to the cart itself.

The bridle came last. The college girl hated this the most, especially the thick rubber bit which propped her jaw open all day. Little grunts of displeasure escaped from her throat as they positioned the bit against her back teeth and tightened the straps around her head. Finally, reins were clipped to her bit rings.

They moved on to the next girl. Amber stood there, her legs the only part of her that was now able to move freely.

“Number four!”

The redhead leaned forward and pulled her sulky out of its parking space. Awkwardly, she turned and headed toward the garage door and the early-morning suburban landscape.

It was a warm, sunny day. Amber had the good fortune to be a ponygirl in the part of the country that had mostly pleasant weather. The flat terrain was also a plus. Her earpiece on her bridle came to life. “Proceed to 87 Sierra Drive. Mr. Dalnades has a doctor’s appointment this morning.”

The redhead headed out into the street and turned left. One requirement was that they had to have the entire ten-square-mile community memorized. Other than that, no mental activity was required—all they had to do was obey the reins. Her metal horseshoes clip-clopped on the asphalt as she jogged her way to her destination. She saw Number 1 head down a side street two blocks away, the athletic girl making good time, her dark hair and full breasts swaying in rhythm.

Amber kept going straight until she came to Sierra Drive, then turned. There was no traffic to worry about, other than the occasional senior citizen in an oversized tricycle or emergency medical personnel on motor scooters. She inhaled the fresh air as she huffed and puffed down the quiet road. The streets were scenic in a well-manicured suburban kind of way, looking fresh and new. The ponygirl glanced at the house numbers as she neared her destination, then slowed, turned, and backed up into the driveway until she was at the front walk.

The dispatcher-bot would have called him to tell him she was on her way, so that he would be ready. Still, Amber had to wait several minutes for him to come out the door, and another few minutes as he shuffled his way to the sulky and got in.

The elderly man paused to catch his breath, then snapped the reins. Fortunately, the leather makers had anticipated any problems. The reins were equipped with hard rubber balls, and passed through funnels mounted on the front of the sulky; any tug on the reins caused the rubber balls to become lodged in the funnels, preventing the rider from jerking too hard and injuring the ponygirl’s neck.

Amber headed down the driveway and back out into the street. The medical center was in the center of the community, so it was not far from any residence.

Mr. Dalnades continued to snap the reins, which annoyed the girl to no end, but she had found that by keeping her head down she could shorten the distance from bit ring to funnel and not feel the insistent tugging. It was still cool out, so she was only mildly sweaty when she arrived at the hospital entrance.

An overweight nurse in her mid-thirties greeted them at the curb and helped the elderly man out of the sulky. She turned to Amber. “We’ll take it from here. You can go now.” She gave a condescending smile before turning to assist the patient.

Well, fuck you, too, thought Amber. Her hands clenched around the metal shafts as she turned and headed for a parking space to await her next assignment.

“Hey! Hold up! I need a ride!”

The ponygirl stopped, and was ready to trot over to the running man when she suddenly recognized him as Mr. Schmidt.

Mr. Schmidt had been banned from the pony rides for grabbing girls’ asses and holding harness races. Amber had been the victim of one of these races, where he and the other rider had whipped the ponygirls’ asses with their leather belts and rode them to exhaustion. Unfortunately, it took repeated offenses for anyone to be ejected from the community, and Mr. Schmidt had only two.

Amber sprinted down the driveway and into the street, the spry old man chasing after her. Even though he was well into his eighties, he was still pretty healthy, and he kept pace with her. The panicky ponygirl was thankful she had been a runner since she was a little girl so that, even though she was harnessed to her vehicle, she was able to keep her distance.

Still, he followed her, block after block. Her earpiece came to life with three warning beeps, and a pre-recorded voice said, “Please slow down. Your heart rate and respiration are reaching excessive levels.”


Beep beep beep. “Please slow down. Your heart rate and respiration are reaching excessive levels.”

Amber was beginning to panic. He was gaining on her, his voice and pounding footsteps only several paces behind her. The ponygirl forced herself onward, painfully aware of her breasts bouncing madly in her low-impact sports top.


“Please slow down—“

There was a loud gasp, and then Mr. Schmidt’s footsteps ceased. His panting breath receded behind her. But Amber continued to run for two more blocks, just to make sure he wasn’t faking. When she did slow down, her breath was whooshing past her bit, and sweat was coming out of every pore of her body. With her hands cuffed at her sides, she couldn’t wipe away the sweat running into her eyes, or the stringy saliva that hung from her chin.

“Proceed to 27 Willow Tree Lane. Mrs. Staczowski has to do some shopping.”

Shit. That was back the other way. Amber didn’t want to encounter Mr. Schmidt again, so she’d have to go a roundabout way.

The ponygirl turned left down the next street, hoping to go a few blocks before heading back.

“Please take a more direct route.”

Fuck you, dispatcher-bot.

“Please take a more direct route. This is your last warning.”

Just one more block. Please.

Beep beep beep.

Just a few more feet.

The mild electric jolt from her collar stopped her cold. All right, you win, dammit.

“Please turn around and turn left at Center Avenue.”

Defeated, Amber did as she was told. She just hoped Mr. Pervy was gone by now. She trotted back, eyes on the lookout.

The main street was quiet as she trotted along, keeping toward the center of the road as her eyes scanned the trees and bushes. It wasn’t enough, though. He appeared out of nowhere and jogged toward her.

“Gimme a ride, you little bitch!”

With a yelp of fear, Amber broke into a sprint, her movements hindered and made awkward by the straps that held her to the cart. Suddenly, he was right next to her.

“Stop, damn you!”

He was so close, she could see the spittle flying from his mouth. A bony hand clamped onto her left tit, and with a scream, the ponygirl jerked her body away, freeing herself from his clutches, but leaving her sports bra twisted to one side. Mr. Schmidt stumbled and fell against the pony cart. Amber heard and felt the impact. As she fled for safety, she could hear the old man bellowing.

“I’ve fallen. I’m hurt. I’m hurt. Get me to the hospital. Please!”

Amber ran, still feeling fingers squeezing into her soft flesh. With her sports bra askew, her breasts fought the spandex garment and threatened to pop free as she ran. She didn’t care, just as long as she left the dirty old man behind.

She arrived at Mrs. Staczowski’s house and positioned herself in the driveway, her heart still racing and her body still shaking from the encounter. Fortunately, she hadn’t sprinted long enough to set off any warning. And for once, she was glad that a rider took their time, as she needed a few moments to calm down. The stablemaster would hear about this, and hopefully Mr. Schmidt would be warned about any future infractions.

The elderly woman came out of her house. Before getting into the cart, she shuffled up to Amber and ran a crepey hand up and down her arm.

“So young and pretty. You know, I like horses, but you girls are so much easier to handle and control than horses. You can understand instructions better, too.”

Gee, thanks for the compliment, Grandma. It’s nice to know I’m smarter and more trainable than a dumb animal.

The woman climbed in and snapped the reins. Amber trotted out into the street at an easy pace, conscious of her tits struggling in her sideways-twisted sports bra. The shopping plaza was on the other side of town, and by the time the redhead entered the parking lot, her breasts were starting to get chafed from the stitching in her bra. She was relieved when she finally parked herself in one of the “ponygirl corral” spaces, a parking space with a rudimentary bus shelter-type enclosure that offered token protection from the weather.

The elderly woman climbed out and headed for the grocery store. Amber turned toward the space next to hers, which was occupied by a petite Asian girl. The redhead recognized her as a girl who occupied a stall at the other end of the stable. They looked at each other, their eyes exchanging mutual sympathy for each other, and then they looked away, having nothing further to communicate.

The Asian girl’s passenger returned, a large man who backed her out of the parking space before hitching the shopping cart to the back of the ponycart. Amber winced as she heard the tiny girl struggle in her attempt to set her heavy load in motion.

The ponygirl heard a beeping, and she realized that the sensor in her crotch strap sensed that her bladder was full before she even knew she needed to pee. She stood there, waiting. A nurse would be along shortly to take care of her. Hopefully, she would notice her crooked bra and straighten that out, too.

Amber passed the time by watching senior citizens shopping, conversing, walking around, going in and out of the bakery and small café. Some were jogging or power-walking. Store employees collected shopping carts and swept the lot of garbage. All enjoying freedom she didn’t have. Every once in a while, she would spy one of the other ponygirls passing by.

After about fifteen minutes or so, the need to pee was beginning to get overwhelming. Where was that nurse, anyway? Just as she started to dance around, she heard the sound of a small motor scooter, which pulled into the space that had been occupied by the other ponygirl.

“Sorry. Things got pretty crazy at the hospital, and I couldn’t get away.”

Amber’s sudden shock turned to anger. It was a male nurse. What the fuck?!?! He was young and not bad-looking, but still--

“Relax. It’s okay. I’ve prepped women for surgery before, so this is no big deal.”

Maybe not for you—

She stood there in mute rage as he pulled on rubber gloves. He took a skirt-like garment from the saddle bag on his scooter and tied it around her waist for modesty before undoing the crotch strap of her harness and pulling down her leggings and panties. He then strapped a plastic urinal bottle to her crotch before stepping back and waiting.

The ponygirl had long ago lost her inhibition about urinating in public. In broad daylight. With people passing by. She relaxed her muscles, letting her piss hiss into the bottle. When she was done, she grunted.


Amber nodded. The nurse removed the bottle, wiped her dry with a sanitary wipe, and stowed everything back in the saddle bag. The ponygirl felt the warm breeze caress her sensitive pudenda, enforcing her feeling of vulnerability.

He started to pull up her panties, then glanced down. “Oh. I might as well change your sanitary napkin while I’m here.”


Her teeth bit into the soft rubber bit as she felt him fumble around between her legs, removing the old napkin and tossing it into a disposal bag, then unwrapping a fresh one and positioning it properly before snapping her panties back into place. Even after he tugged her leggings back on, the ponygirl still felt violated.

“Oh, what happened to your top?”

Once more, Amber had to endure the indignity of male hands groping intimate parts of her anatomy. He shifted the bra top back into place, reaching into each cup to adjust her breasts so that they rested securely in their molded fabric nests.

“Maybe you need a more secure bra. Or maybe just something smaller.”

Maybe you should leave the fashion advice to women, Mr. Know-It-All.

He removed the modesty skirt and packed that away with the rubber gloves. “Enjoy the rest of your day.” He hopped on the scooter and drove off.

Amber was seething. In five minutes, he had been more intimate with her than any boyfriend. She would have to file a complaint about that, along with the complaint about Mr. Schmidt.

Mrs. Staczowski returned with a cartful of groceries, accompanied by a pimple-faced clerk barely out of his teens. She gave thanks that they hadn’t returned earlier when the nurse was taking care of her.

The clerk helped Mrs. Staczowski load her groceries into the back of the cart before helping the elderly woman into her seat. Amber was all set to go when the clerk came around to her front and held up a piece of chocolate. “Would you like a treat?”

She wanted to punch his leering face. Instead, she turned her head away.

He waved it in front of her enticingly. “It’s choc-o-late,” he crooned.

Amber shook her head. She didn’t want chocolate. Well, okay, she did, but not from this geek.


She shook her head. Frustrated, the clerk shoved it in her mouth, but it was stopped by the bit. Fortunately, Mrs. Staczowski had just snapped the reins, and Amber backed out quickly, the piece of chocolate dropping to the ground. The clerk’s angry glare was the last thing she saw before heading out. She was going to complain about him, too.

After several blocks, Amber managed to calm down, and had settled into a relaxing easy jog, helped by the warm summer breeze and the shade trees lining the streets. She hoped the rest of the day went easier.


A tiny brown-and-black rocket of fur and teeth flew into the street after her.


The Yorkshire terrier snapped at the ponygirl’s ankles as the beleaguered redhead broke into a run, desperately trying to outpace her newest tormentor. For once, she was glad that her pony boots were calf-length leather. Her main concern was trying not to step on the little thing or run it over.



It was half a block before the miniature canine gave up the chase. Amber was just beginning to relax when she received another electric zap from her collar.

“You have missed your turn. Please turn around and take the correct route.”

Dammit! Who came up with these fucking shock collars, anyway? Anger surged through her body.

Beep beep beep. “Please slow down. Your heart rate and respiration are reaching excessive levels.”

Fuck you again, dispatcher-bot.

She was aware that Mrs. Staczowski was jerking her reins. Okay, okay, I get it. I’m going the wrong way.

Amber turned into a driveway and began the awkward process of backing up and turning around. As she turned down the correct street, the compact killer canine once again gave chase, it’s owner yelling after her, but it was too far away to catch up this time, and Amber made it to Mrs. Staczowski’s house without further incident.

The elderly woman took forever to unload her groceries, but the harnessed and bridled redhead didn’t mind, as it meant she could rest and not have to deal with any more perilous encounters.

Beep beep beep. “It is time for your lunch break. Please proceed to the nearest feeding station.”

Feeding station, thought Amber. How demeaning. They were taking this ponygirl theme too far. There was one at the park a few blocks away, and she headed toward that one.

The feeding station was a small open-ended shelter. Amber stepped into it, triggering a sensor that loosened her bridle straps, so that she could pop the bit out of her mouth. It no longer bothered her that the slobbery cylinder rested on her chin; she was just glad she didn’t have that foul-tasting thing lodged in her mouth anymore. There was a beeping and a flashing green light as a leather feedbag with straps was lowered from the ceiling. The straps tightened around her head so that the opening of the feedbag covered the lower half of her face, pressing snugly against her cheeks and nose.

A plastic tube pushed against her lips. Amber used her tongue to work it into her mouth, and bit down to break the seal. “Lunch” was a sweet-tasting sludge—they called it a smoothie—of whole grains, vegetables, fruit, and nuts. It was the same shit every day, but it was one of the few pleasures she got from this job.

She sucked away, savoring the chance to rest more than the meal itself. She was conscious of the sweat and dust caking her body, and wished they could take a midday shower, as well. Maybe she could suggest it, but that didn’t mean they would consider it.

A movement along the side of the feedbag snapped her back to reality. Spider! It was just a tiny thing, but Amber panicked. She shook her head wildly, hoping to shake it loose, but it disappeared along the underside. It could be running down to her neck! It could re-appear on her cheek! It might even get in her feedbag and enter her mouth! Amber’s scream filled the feedbag as she thrashed about.

The ponygirl inadvertently stepped out of the feeding station, again triggering the sensor. The feedbag’s straps loosened, and a cord on the end pulled it back up into the ceiling, jettisoning the plastic bag of food into a trash receptacle beneath.

There was a soft thud from the trash, and then a burst of angry buzzing. Shit! Bees! Amber backpedaled furiously as a small swarm spewed from the opening and surrounded her. Not only that, but her bridle straps suddenly tightened, and she had to twist her face around so that the bit positioned itself correctly in her mouth. It was only her quick reaction time that saved her. Within seconds, she had the bit back in her mouth and had escaped the bees. One more thing to bring up with the manager.

Her stomach grumbled, and she realized she had only taken a few gulps of lunch before the insect invasion. Unfortunately, her sensors didn’t monitor her hunger, only her other body functions. She had no choice but to continue her day on a half-empty stomach.

Fortunately, she had no more problems as she took senior citizens here and there. It was near quitting time, and her final run was to take Mr. Lowry to a five-star restaurant on a hill overlooking the community. Amber had to endure the elderly man ogling her body for a full minute before stepping into the sulky. He gave her the creeps, but he was careful not to cross the line by touching her or saying inappropriate things.

He tied her reins to a hitching post in the ponygirl parking shelter. Two other ponygirls were already there, and they were soon joined by the rest, filling all the spaces. They stood there in a row, weary but obedient, as their passengers sat inside the posh eatery, joking and dining in comfort.

Amber turned to the girl next to her. “’ow ‘as ‘ur ‘ay?” (“How was your day?”)

“’ucked, ash ush’ul.” (“Sucked, as usual.”)

They had quickly learned to interpret each other’s mangled speech during the brief moments they shared during their work hours. Though conversations progressed slowly, it was a good way to pass the time at hitching posts.

Two sensors beeped almost simultaneously, indicating full bladders, and within a few minutes a nurse came by in a motor scooter. A female nurse this time. A blonde in her mid-twenties, her manner was briskly professional, even as her eyes conveyed the fact that she sympathized with their plight.

She had been alerted that all six were together, so after she strapped urinal bottles to the two ponygirls, she set the others up, as well. All six ponygirls stood there peeing into plastic bottles, their leggings and panties down around their knees, modesty skirts barely covering their privacy as people walked by only a few feet away, barely giving them a glance. The only saving grace was that the glass panels of the enclosure were specially treated to prevent photos from being taken.

The nurse patiently took care of each girl as she finished, then left with an understanding smile and a genuinely sincere “Have a nice rest of your day, guys.”

Amber’s mouth watered and her stomach growled as she watched the retired people inside enjoying their fine cuisine. All she had to look forward to was bland institutional food for dinner. A tapping on the roof of the shelter interrupted her thoughts. Rain. As she glanced upward, it turned to a steady downpour. Oh, great. We’re going to get soaking wet on the way back to the stable. Way to end a shitty day.

As she stood there listening to the steady drumming above her, there was a tapping on her head. The roof was leaking.

Fuck. What else can go wrong?

Water was already pouring down her face before she was able to step back. She was stopped short by her reins, and the steady dripping was centered right over her left tit. Amber heaved a sigh of frustration as the left side of her sports top became soggy with water. The sudden coolness chilled her boobs, causing her nipples to harden and poke tiny mounds into the centers of the cups. Shit, why did she have to have such big nipples, anyway? Why couldn’t they have been proportionate to her breasts?

By the time the rain ended ten minutes later, her sports bra was soaked through and her tits were cold. Even with the temperature still in the seventies, she was shivering until the moisture-wicking material began to dry out. She just hoped she didn’t catch anything.

Her legs were stiff and leaden by the time she got back to the stable. It was good to be going back to her stall, no matter how much it resembled a place to keep a horse. As they were being unhitched from their carts, the manager addressed them.

“Tomorrow is expected to be rainy all day, so dress appropriately, girls. And remember, this Friday is Female Superhero Day, so wear your Wonder Woman or Supergirl costumes or whatever, okay?”


Copyright 2017 by Sogo.

You can also leave feedback & comments for this story on the Plaza Forum


If you've enjoyed this story, please write to the author and let them know - they may write more!
back to
ponygirl stories