|The Waiting is the Hardest Part|
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|© Copyright 2017 - Sogo - Used by permission - Do not use without the author’s permission.|
|Storycodes: M/f; ponygirl; cart; pantygirdle; outdoors; boots; hobble; bitgag; stuck; hum; punish; bdsm; whip; rain; wet; illness; cons/reluct; X||
|The Waiting is the Hardest Part Sogo M/f; ponygirl; cart; pantygirdle; outdoors; boots; hobble; bitgag; stuck; hum; punish; bdsm; whip; rain; wet; illness; cons/reluct; X|
“Here we are, girl.”
Jessie obeyed the tug of the reins and slowed down as she turned into the driveway. The petite, golden-haired ponygirl had been trained mercilessly, and now reacted instinctively to any commands, her long mane and full breasts bouncing in unison as she pulled her Master’s cart along the suburban streets. Fortunately, it was a gated community, so not many strangers saw her in her condition. Also fortunate was that community standards required that she wear at least a non-revealing bra and full-coverage panty girdle.
She came to a stop behind a sports car, panting from the short jog, her bare skin sparkling with sweat. Master got out and tied her reins securely to the fence post next to her, then clipped a six-inch hobble strap to her pony boots before hanging a nylon holder with a bottle of sports drink and straw from her reins. He slapped her playfully on her nylon-spandex-boosted ass. “Be a good girl now.”
With her needs then taken care of, he retrieved an 18-pack of beer and a shopping bag of snacks from the cart and went into the house.
The ponygirl stood there in the warm afternoon sun. The sweat made her undergarments cling to her rounded curves. The panty girdle was a sturdy firm-control model and her bra was a high-impact sports bra, so at least she didn’t have to suffer like the handful of other ponygirls in the area who were forced to wear corsets, underwire bras, or latex clothing. She even saw one who wore a zippered 1950s girdle and a torpedo bra. At least her Master treated her well, such as it was, and she learned early on that she had to be grateful for the small things.
From conversations she had overheard, she knew Master was joining some of his buddies to watch a football game. Which meant Jessie would be spending several hours hitched to the fence, with nothing to do, and no freedom to do anything even if there was something to do. She didn’t even have an ipod so she could listen to music. All she could do was stand there and stare at the house and yard, with blinders on, no less, so even that was very limited. If she were back in her makeshift stall in Master’s garage, she could at least watch TV for a little bit, small solace when friendships and internet access were not allowed.
She sighed. Just as she had graduated from college, an economic depression had kicked in, and women who lost their jobs soon found themselves forced to become animals: scantily-clad and hard-working ponygirls, penned and milked hucows, leashed and obedient puppygirls, naked and caged songbirds. Only a few privileged women were able to escape this fate; the rest were at the mercy of their owners. Had Jessie been able to do a proper job hunt, she might’ve had a high-paying job in the tech industry like Master. Instead, she was performing the work of an animal that used a fraction of her IQ.
The ponygirl looked over at the reins tied to the fence. Even if she was able to pull them loose with her teeth (doubtful because of her thick rubber bit), she would still need to get out of her harness and bridle, find some clothes, get ID, and acquire enough money to live free, which was not going to happen. Her only hope lay in the possibilities that the economy would improve, or that someone would buy her freedom for her, neither of which seemed likely to happen. Was she destined to be a ponygirl for the rest of her life? What would happen to her when she was old or sick and no longer useful? She didn’t know. Perhaps no one did.
The neighborhood was quiet. Birds flew by, sang in trees, hopped around the ground looking for worms. Squirrels ran about, chattering and playing in the yard. Somewhere on the next street, a dog barked. Jessie stood there, trying to lose herself in these scenes of nature and inhaling the fresh autumn air, but she kept thinking it would have been nicer if she was lying on the beach or hiking in the woods, instead of being tethered to a fence post two feet away. She couldn’t even scratch an itch.
In fact, she was forbidden to even crouch down or lean against anything to give her legs some relief. Her training had taught her that such actions would bring severe punishment, to the point where this threat overrode any feelings of discomfort or pain.
She lowered her head and managed to work the straw into her mouth. Master had been kind enough to find out what her favorite flavors were. She suspected that, even though he was young (late twenties, she guessed) and fairly good-looking, he didn’t have a girlfriend, and that she acted as a substitute. He even fed her organic food and let her keep some of her stuffed animals (which, unfortunately, were stored on bare shelves next to her sex toys). She felt sorry for the other ponygirls she happened to see, who often looked haggard or had tears flowing from their eyes as they huffed and puffed down the tree-lined streets. Some of them even had metal breaking bits and butt plug ponytails to contend with.
Her thirst quenched, she twisted her head to get the straw out of her mouth, then sighed. Only ten or fifteen minutes had gone by. Another three or four hours to go. With nothing to occupy her mind. Quite a contrast from the year before, when she was cramming for exams, and had hopes of a fulfilling career. With her wrists cuffed to her waist belt and her legs kept close by her ankle hobble, she couldn’t even do any exercises. Of course, that was forbidden, too, unless she was given permission first and had someone standing there monitoring her every move.
Her mind drifted to food, and some of her favorite snacks. One of her more common pastimes was imagining how various candy bars and soft drinks tasted, conjuring up flavors in her mind until she could almost fool herself into thinking she was actually eating them. With a jolt, she realized she was drooling, and she let it spill out and drip off her chin onto her bra cups. She had been taught not to suck it back in. Horses couldn’t, so why should ponygirls?
Cars drove by, bicyclists rode by, joggers ran by, and Jessie didn’t dare turn to look at them for fear she would be reported and punished. She didn’t want to see the smug or leering faces of the people, anyway. Especially the women, who took pride in the fact that they weren’t harnessed and bridled beasts of burden like she was, and made sure they let her know it.
She realized she had to pee. Fuck. Master had forgotten to let her go before leaving, and now her bladder was filling up. There was no way she could hold it in until the game ended. Dread overcame her as she realized what she had to do. She knew she would be punished, even if she weren’t seen, as soon as Master discovered she had relieved herself on her own.
The panicky ponygirl glanced around quickly. There was no one. With her wrist cuffed, she was barely able to reach over and pull the crotch panel of the panty girdle off to one side, exposing her pussy. Still holding it, she arched her pelvis forward and let loose.
A strong spray shot from her pussy lips, spattering on the concrete in front of her and forming a growing puddle. She closed her eyes and let out a long breath. Ah, relief!
“Holy shit! Look at that!”
Jessie jumped, the garment slipping from her fingers and snapping back over her crotch, where it was quickly soaked with urine before her bladder emptied. Laughter, both male and female, erupted from several people across the street as she stood there frozen. Where the fuck had they come from? Humiliation washed over her and she felt her face redden. She didn’t dare turn around. This had to be the worst moment of her life. It was a good thing she didn’t have to take a crap.
Car doors slammed, and she heard two cars drive off, carrying the jeers of the passengers with them. Jessie clenched her fists and bit hard into the rubber cylinder that filled her mouth. She could feel the cold wetness of her soaked crotch above all else. Why did fate have to be so cruel? Even the humiliation of a portable urinal or piss bag wouldn’t have been so bad, though she had once seen a ponygirl brought to tears when parked at the convenience store, when several people had made her pee into her piss bag as they stood around and watched.
Things quieted down again, and Jessie was glad that the novelty of ponygirls had died down, so that she didn’t have people coming by and gawking at her. It would be nice to have someone to talk to, even if the conversation was one-sided, as she was forbidden to speak, --even if she could--, and a freewoman wouldn’t be caught dead talking to a ponygirl unless she was the owner.
So she stood there, trying to enjoy the sun and waiting for her crotch to dry. She could hear Master and his friends cheering or screaming obscenities as the game went on, and imagined them drinking and eating freely as they were entertained as she tried to keep from going crazy from boredom.
Two more women jogged by, their conversation suddenly muted as they spied her. Unable to see them, Jessie didn’t know if their silence was due to embarrassment or fear or something else. She prayed they didn’t see the puddle in front of her. In better days, she would’ve been doing the same. Oh, to run without restraints or shaved head or inappropriate undergarments again! Would she ever experience that pleasure just once more?
It was only a little while later that the front door opened, and Master and his friends came out. They came over to her, beers in hand.
“They were right,” said Master.
“Dude, she fuckin’ peed in my driveway, man!”
There was a loud burp. “At least she didn’t do it on your wheels, man.”
Jessie felt her face redden all over again. Would she ever get used to these humiliations? This was worse than when they ate ice cream in front of her so they could watch her drool in response. And they were drunk, too, which meant that things could easily get out of hand.
“I’ll let you do the honors, Connor.”
The ponygirl knew what was coming, and braced herself for it. It wasn’t even her fault, goddammit!
Without being able to see because of the blinders, she knew that Master was handing over the stiff, tightly-braided nylon riding whip. She stiffened as Master undid her crotch straps and pulled her panty girdle down to her knees.
“She gets ten strokes.”
Oh God please let it be quick please let it be qui—
There was a sharp pain as the instrument of punishment sliced across her ass. Jessie let out a barely-stifled yelp.
They waited half a minute before the next stroke, drawing it out and maximizing the pain. Jessie’s body jerked under her heavy restraints, pulling the cart forward a few inches.
She whimpered as lightning bolts of pain shot from her burning ass. Her fists whitened from clenching, and her teeth sunk deep into her pony bit.
Jessie heard sobs coming from her throat. By the time they finished, tears streamed down her cheeks, dotting the seamless white cups of her bra. She barely felt the panty girdle being pulled back up and the crotch straps re-buckled. Her ass felt as if it was literally on fire.
“Let’s go back in. We don’t want to miss the rest of the game.”
Jessie was once again alone. Her brain throbbed with pain. Why her? WHY HER? She let out a strangled scream of rage and kicked at the fence post with a pony boot, an action which nearly caused her to fall over because of the ankle hobbles.
She was able to maneuver her hands behind her and rub the sides of her ass, which helped a little. She had been whipped several times during training, and hoped there wouldn’t be any permanent marks.
Meditation and thinking calm thoughts helped her cope with such situations, as they did here, and pretty soon the pain subsided to a minor soreness. Unfortunately, the worst was yet to come.
There was a rumble in the sky, and Jessie looked up. Off to the east, the sky was darkening. Oh, shit, no!
She was completely exposed. There was nothing she could do as she watched the storm clouds loom closer.
The sky darkened and the booming became louder. Jessie prayed that Master would come out and take her to shelter, or at least cover her. He wouldn’t just leave her out here exposed to the elements, would he?
She got her answer ten minutes later. It started with a few drops spattering on her bare head, before a full-on rainstorm came hissing down from the sky. The hapless ponygirl was unable to escape the relentless downpour as it drenched her, turning her undergarments into soggy sponges and seeping into every crevice of her body. And still Master did not come to her aid. In fact, she could hear the occasional cheering from inside the house. The nice warm, dry house.
She shivered. She tried tensing her muscles and jogging in place to keep warm, but the driving rain seemed to pull the heat right from her body. Cold little fingers of wetness invaded her butt crack and pussy lips. Her whole body erupted in gooseflesh. She let out a shrill cry of despair, but of course he couldn’t hear her through the rain, the walls, and the cacophony of the game.
In desperation, she jerked her head, snapping the reins that tethered her to the fence post, hoping that the moisture had loosened the knot enough for her to free it. But it just snapped tight. If it wasn’t for that and the straps that connected her to the cart, she would have fled for cover on the front porch.
She was shaking uncontrollably now, the metal rings of her harness clinking steadily under the spastic movements of her body. Had she not had the large rubber bit stuffed in her mouth, her teeth would have been chattering uncontrollably. She silently begged for something to stop the torment, to end her suffering.
And then, miraculously, the rain stopped, just as quickly as it had started. Jessie gave a silent prayer of thanks, but it was short-lived. A chill wind kept her body from warming back up, and her sodden bra and panty girdle were now cold and clammy, numbing the most sensitive parts of her body. The clouds remained, so that she could not get the benefit of the sun’s warmth.
She tried jogging in place, but this had minimal benefit. She sneezed, spraying her straw and sports drink. Why couldn’t someone be around to help her? But the street was deserted.
By the time Master came out over an hour later, she was coughing and had a sore throat. “Oh, shit!” he said. Even though drunk, he could see immediately that she was suffering. He told one of his friends to get a blanket and another to make some coffee.
The blanket helped a little, but did not reduce her shivering. “Her undies are all wet,” said one of the friends. Master tugged her panty girdle down to her knees, where it hung there, dripping, and removed her bra, which had shoulder straps that opened up so that it could be put on and removed without releasing her arms. Master took the blanket off her and started rubbing her down. Jessie no longer cared that she stood out in the open completely naked and surrounded by strange guys.
The coffee was brought out, and Jessie had her bit removed so that she could drink. The hot liquid seemed to flow through her body, unfreezing her.
“Those nipples are awesome, dude.”
Jessie almost cursed him out, but caught herself just in time. Here she was freezing to death and getting pneumonia, and this fucker was getting off on her pointy nipples! She was glad she wasn’t owned by this douchebag!
After two cups of coffee, she was feeling much better, though she knew a major cold was coming on. Master had blotted out much of the water from her underwear with the blanket, but they were still cold and damp when he put them back on her. His friends stood there in a semi-circle, engrossed in her embarrassing little drama.
And then she realized she had to pee again. Reluctantly, she pawed the ground with her right pony boot.
“What’s she doin’, man?”
“It means she has to go again.”
“Not on my driveway again!”
“Don’t worry, man. I came prepared.”
He pulled her panty girdle back down once more and strapped a clear plastic bag to her crotch. Jessie looked up at the attentive faces around her only a few feet away. They all wanted to watch. Meekly, she lowered her eyes, relaxed her muscles, and emptied her bladder into the small ziplock bag. She pawed the ground again to indicate she had finished. Master gave her a quick wipe with a sanitary cloth before pulling her undergarment back on and re-buckling her crotch straps.
She drank another cup of coffee before her bit was re-inserted, and then she was backing down the driveway with Master at the reins.
“Later, guys. See you next week.”
Despite the fact that she was still coughing and sneezing, Master snapped the reins, making her trot back home. The journey back seemed interminable, and she was half-delirious by the time she slowed to a halt in front of the garage. Her head was burning from a fever that was coming on. The sun was coming out now, but it was setting, doing her little good. She stood there, a bit wobbly.
“You okay, girl?”
Jessie coughed and sneezed in reply. Master left and came back out of the house with some cold medication, which he poured down her throat.
“I am so sorry, girl. I had no idea it was going to rain like that.”
He unhitched her from the cart and took her into the garage, where he removed her harness and bridle and got her ready for bed. He dressed her in a leather hood, unitard, and leather mitts before tucking her in.
He patted her on her leather-encased head. “Good night, girl. Get some rest. If you’re not better in the morning, I’ll take you to the vet.”
The vet? THE VET??
Jessie lay there, the tight bondage hood with only two holes for breathing only making things worse by intensifying her fever. It was also stifling her coughing, and preventing her from blowing her nose. The vet! More than anything, that phrase drove home her true status in the world. A fate she knew now she was unlikely to ever escape.
Copyright 2017 by Sogo.
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