Gromet's PlazaPonyGirl/PetGirl Stories

Tour Guide

by Sogo

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© Copyright 2017 - Sogo - Used by permission

Storycodes: Solo-F; M+/f; ponygirl; semi-nude; harness; bridle; cart; tour; themepark; stable; crop; cons; X

Do not use without the author’s permission.

After finishing her morning cup of coffee, Jackie dressed herself in a nude seamless-cup see-thru bra and nude panty girdle with molded derriere, underwear that had been fashionable when she had come to Hollywood as a naive young actress in the mid-70s. As she sat in front of her vanity, she dabbed on some makeup and moisturizer, then ran an electric shaver across the bare skin of her head, careful to preserve the horse’s mane that she had worn since she had first been abducted and forced to become a ponygirl. She checked herself out in the mirror before leaving her bedroom and heading for work.

The two male college students waiting in the tack room of the stable to put on her harness and bridle barely glanced at her nearly-naked body as they got her ready, though their hands did tend to brush against her tits, ass, and crotch a little more than was necessary.

Once the pony tack was secured on her body, she was hitched to a cart. Even at 60, her body was still strong and lithe, and her long blonde mane needed little coloring to keep out the gray.

The two men with her stood waiting. One looked at his watch. "Gates open in five minutes."

Jackie, or "Peaches" as she had been dubbed by her owner of nearly three decades because of her small, perfectly-formed breasts with pink nipples, was led out of the stable toward the mansion of a famous Hollywood director.

The aging ponygirl was part of the deluxe tour of the grounds of the film director’s estate and, though it was hard work, she was finally getting rewarded with special freedoms and privileges after so many years of confinement and bondage.

She was the last of the original ponygirls. All the others had died or quietly re-entered society, so she retained a special status, an honor none of the others enjoyed.

She stood patiently as the first tourist climbed into the cart and made himself comfortable. A male staff member smacked her ass sharply with a riding crop, and she broke into a trot as the pre-recorded message played.

"Hi! My name is Peaches, and I was one of some two dozen young starlets and hippie chicks kidnapped by the famous film director Willie Johnson starting in the late sixties. I was given my name because of my small round pink breasts, which he said looked just like ripe peaches. We were held prisoner in a horse stable on this palatial estate and trained like ponies for his amusement and sexual pleasure. Before his death in 2013, no one even suspected his horrifying secret, until a team of lawyers discovered us after checking out some inexplicable terms in his will. Of course, word got out, and all the girls were soon freed, but I chose to stay and tell my amazing story."

Jackie continued down a dirt path, pacing herself carefully.

"As you can see, trees and bushes completely hide this circular path from outside eyes, so he and his staff could train us in total secrecy. I was just a young thing in 1975 when I went for a screen test for one of his movies. Needless to say, I didn't get the part, though I did get a starring role in his private stable. I was his personal favorite for nearly twenty years. Our first stop will be the horse stable, which had been my home for nearly four decades."

The ponygirl made a turn through a break in the hedges and headed toward a long wooden structure. The doors were open on the one end, and Peaches entered, slowing to a stop midway through the stable. Several of the stalls were occupied by lingerie-clad ponygirls, sexy young college girls and aspiring actresses who were glad to be tethered in small enclosures all day for a good paycheck.

"As you can see, he kept a tight rein on us fillies-- haha! We were completely isolated from the outside world, and so had little idea of the enormous changes that were taking place in society over the years. One thing he couldn't isolate us from, though, was the occasional earthquake. Fortunately, there were never any casualties."

A deep bass rumbled from hidden speakers, and carefully scattered sawdust rained down from the rafters. The ponygirls screamed and struggled against their tight restraints, making sure their large tits flopped around impressively inside their flimsy bra cups. As the "quake" died down, the ponygirls continued to wail, tears streaming down their cheeks.

Peaches waited a moment, then continued on to the adjacent building.

"Most days, we were trained endlessly for hours using real horse-training equipment and techniques."

Inside the barnlike structure were a training carousel, where three girls pranced around and around in a circle, and an obstacle course, where a male trainer snapped a horsewhip at a squealing ponygirl who jumped hurdles and navigated barriers. Another trainer with a riding crop was training three other ponygirls in various dressage maneuvers. Peaches stood there for several minutes, feeling the cart shaking as the rider jerked himself off. She waited until she felt the rider grab the reins again, the signal to continue, then moved on.

Peaches exited out the other side and continued down the path back to the house. She entered two open French doors and stopped midway into the room, which was set up like a small theater.

"Some nights, we were made to perform shows for the director and his friends, sort of like a ponygirl cabaret show. If any one of us screwed up during the performance, we would be whipped afterwards as a sort of encore for the crowd. Of course, somebody always got whipped, even if the performance was perfect."

There was a large movie screen set up at the back of the stage. As the lights dimmed, old footage of one of her performances played. Peaches had no idea she and the others had ever been filmed, but given the fact that her owner was a film director, this should have been a no-brainer. She watched as she and several others pranced around on stage for five minutes, followed by thirty seconds of her getting a vicious whipping on stage. Even though it had been decades ago, the ponygirl still winced whenever she recalled that punishment.

“This concludes our ponygirl tour. We will now proceed to the gift shop, where you can purchase videos of my old performances on DVD and Blu-Ray, wind-up toys of me pulling a sulky with a whip-wielding rider, a video game where you can run your own stable of ponygirls, and my used bras and panties, each with a certificate of authenticity. Thank you for taking the Peaches Ponygirl Tour. I hope you have enjoyed it as much as I have.”

The male college students were there to ensure that she wasn’t molested as the passenger alighted from the sulky. As the tourist made his way into the gift shop, Peaches trotted back to the main entrance to pick up her next passenger.

The ponygirl made dozens of trips each day. Whenever she got tired of the routine, she reminded herself of the good money she was making. It wasn’t a lot by Hollywood standards, but she had a reputation that almost rivaled that of Bettie Page or Dita Von Teese, and she was able to party with the A-listers, some of whom secretly worshipped her. Still, she wondered what her life would have been like had she been able to pursue her career as an actress. She would never know. And she never got a chance to show off her talent, either. Even today, directors refused to cast her in a movie because of her reputation. Oh, well. At least she could retire comfortably, perhaps even recruit her own stable of showponies from the applicants who worked the tour. Perhaps being kidnapped was the best career move she could have made.


Copyright 2017 by Sogo.

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