Tony trotted around the gardens of hours like the obedient little colt he'd been forced to become. Whenever he slacked off too much, his buttplug would gently gently hum as a warning. And if he didn't pick up the place that instant, he'd get punished with a painful shock to either his neck or his groin. Compared to the earlier shock he'd gotten, this was low level. But it still hurt. And he had no doubt it would only get worse if he ignored it.
He found that he didn't have to run all the time, but it was still hard work. He was working up a glossy coat of sweat across his naked, little, hairless, dickless, armless body. He panted through his bit gag, unable to part his teeth.
Peacocks roamed the gardens and the lawns featured beautiful topiaries and fountains and marble stations of horses as smooth and white as Tony. Though these horses were powerful and muscular and huge and very well endowed, as if mocking Tony. The poor colt boy kept glancing at them in envy. Not just envious of their strength and manhoods, but envious of getting mounted by them. No, what was he thinking? He didn't want that. He hated being a pony. Yes.
Occasionally gardners would stop to admire "this young stallion" as one of them had commented in joking terms to his colleague. No one would compare something so small, delicate and frail as Tony with a stallion other than sarcastically. Tony wasn't even technically male anymore. He didn't have a gender. He was just property. A thing.
A pleasent brook ran through the pieceful medowes. This place could have easily been a public park. It would have been pleasent, had his situation been different. His buttplug was a constant reminder of his situation and it didn't help that it was shaped so that it rubbed against his prostate with every step.
Tony was getting tired, and the buzzing in his ass kept warning him of punishment seemingly more and more often. Tony feared that the reason wasn't because he wasn't running enough, but rather than he wasn't roaming all the gardens. Tony had been avoiding going around to the front gardens. The only thing that seperated him from the public there was a tall metal fence, easily seen through. It was bad enough to be seen by a couple of gardners. Tony had tried avoiding going near the mantion too because of the servants inside. But Tony had no choice.
Tourists and paparazzi took photos through the bars of the fence at the famous youngest pony slave in history. The scandal of the rich son of billionaire Ivon Andrews, Tony Andrews, who had volunteerally become a pony slave to his handsome brother, Max Andrews. Apparently, in this reality, both Max and Tony had been famous models and actors. It had become quite the news story when news had broken about what a perverted fetish seeker the innocent looking Tony was. Tony was beyond humiliated.
"Good boy," said a familiar voice. Tony turned to see his master, Max coming towards him on the grass. Despite it all, Tony's heart leapt with joy at the sight of him. The collar was removed and Max scratched Tony behind the ear. Just at that moment, Tony forgot about the paparazzi who were having a field day with this. He just leaned against his owner and just loved being his. Panting and happy. Why was he like this? He'd just been hating his brother's guts for doing this to him and now he was acting and feeling like a loyal pet!
"Did you enjoy your playtime?" Max asked, cuddling him. Tony moaned in pleasure and gratitude. "Good boy. Seems like you got warmed up good. Ready to start your training?" Tony broke free from the hug in surprise. Begin!? What had the past three hour of jogging been!?
"Awe, I know you're thirsty. Don't worry. Come. Let's get you a drink first before we get you into your training harness." Max began to walk back towards Tony's little barn in the back yard. Tony stood exhausted and covered in sweat, uncertainty looking from his master to the strangers outside taking pictures of him. Then followed his master.