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An alarm blared across the room. The thin black bars of his cage strained against the white tiger's legs while yawning wide as heavy eyelids struggled to open. Meanwhile, the siren of time grew louder until his master groaned, shifting through a creaking bed to hunch over and turn it off.

Chance could, in theory, turn off the alarm himself. The cage he slept in was meant for big feral dogs, the kind of animals without opposable thumbs. But that would be against his master's wishes. He sat up and smiled at the old Percheron stallion, patiently waiting for the cage to open.

"Good," Tristan yawned, "Good morning, Chance." He left for the bathroom after unlatching the cage. Chance followed, his training taught him to keep close to whoever bought him unless told otherwise or if he were incapable. His former handlers also taught him to be comfy on all fours, but his master preferred he walk on two when appropriate. He found that fortunate.

Some small part of him chuckled at that. Good fortune didn't mesh with being enslaved, but he couldn't think of a better outcome. Sure, his master was in his fifties while Chance still had his 'youthful vigor' as Tristan would say, but the tiger preferred older men. Especially those unafraid of how their bodies sagged through the years. Chance spent plenty of nights resting against his master's soft gut like a warm pillow.

The long and fat cock was nice too, but age had little to do with that.

Marble countertops and white pillars painted in an ancient Greek or Roman style in his master's bathroom. Chance didn't know the difference between them, nor cared to ask his master while starting the shower. Steam turned the glass panes opaque before Tristan stepped inside. Chance followed suit, his paws standing over rubber mats built for hooves.

Despite the stock of shampoo, conditioner, and lotions across the shower shelf, Tristan only used one bottle. The rest were for his slave, all to keep his fur pristine and lustrous. His master stood in the center to let the rain showerhead wash over him. Chance grabbed the single all-purpose bottle to rub the horse down, his hands idly slipping to the sheath and heavy balls between his legs.

"Chance, no." Tristan admonished, "I'm not awake enough yet."

The tiger pouted. His master remained stern. "Yes, master, my apologies." Chance held back the urge to roll his eyes and continued to lather the older stallion. Delicate fingers sank into stretched skin, squeezing the strong bum that Tristan proudly worshiped whenever asked. "I'll see you in the dining room," Tristan stepped out to dry himself off, "Take your time getting ready."

He meant it. On his first day, Chance stood in the shower until his skin pruned up. After three years of being hosed or soaked by tossed buckets like some wild animal, an actual shower was heaven. Punishment for wasting water was expected but he'd been so broken it didn't matter. A slave that lived without pain was no slave at all. His master gave him no lash or reprimand then, just a soft bathrobe and an honest question of his comfort.

The tiger spent his first week wandering the empty halls of Tristan's manor confused. Why would a man who'd buy a slave be so comforting? At first, he assumed the horse had some twisted purpose in mind, something akin to using his blood to restore the old horse's youth. But when nary a knife or brazen ritual appeared the white tiger came upon a different conclusion; his master was lonely.

His bare footsteps echoed across the empty corridors of the mansion. His master hadn't brought friends to the estate, nor family. Of all the artwork he found dotting the walls, the only one depicting his master was the stallion in a chair contemplating the fire. Chance considered asking the horse about the lack of people, but decided against it. As a slave, his only purpose was to make his owner happy. Digging up the past was just a gamble not worthwhile.

The scent of oatmeal with honey wafted to his nose as he entered the kitchen. Tristan stood by the stove, dressed in nothing but an apron. Since Chance's arrival, the stallion wore fewer and fewer clothes until he was naked save for essential items. Chance hadn't worn clothes since his enslavement, at least none he could choose from. Spotting his collar on the table the white tiger kneeled at his pillow near the head of the table, neck exposed and eager.

Tristan stopped cooking. He took the collar and then kneeled down to Chance's eye level, latching it just tight enough for the tiger to feel it with every breath without struggling to breathe. A warmth seeped from where the leather collar lay. It coated his body and stirred his cock. A symbol of his master's ownership. One constant hug around his neck to tell Chance he was safe.

Breakfast was eaten from a feral dogbowl. Tristan tried to let Chance eat something more solid in the past, as well as letting him eat at the table. The tiger hated it. Pet's don't belong on the table and his stomach can't stand tough food. Oatmeal suited him just fine.

After breakfast, Tristan dressed himself in a button-down shirt and tie. Chance frowned out of sight. Weekday work came first yet he knew his master didn't need it. Behind the redwood desk of his office laid a large pet bed the tiger lounged on as his master typed away. Supposedly he'd take a nap, but the constant clicking of keys made that impossible.

So instead he entertained himself. As a call started on screen, Chance crept underneath the desk. Between his master's legs, he found the full sack waiting for him, its smell weighing against his face. Purring softly, Chance brushed his nose over the balls. A hint of salt from sweat mixed with the musk that danced upon his nostrils, strengthened by lathering his tongue against them. His master's magnificent cock stirred from its sheath. Chance pumped his own while running a finger across his pucker, scratching the itch only his master could satiate.

"One moment, gentlemen. I need to attend to my cat."

His master's desk chair squeaked as he pulled back. Chance fell flat on his face. "Well, that's peculiar." Tristan mused aloud, "Were you touching yourself?" He pulled his hand away but the stallion saw enough. Sighing but smiling, his master shook his head and tsked repeatedly while pulling a drawer out. "Some days I think I'm doing you a disservice not locking that cock up. It's almost like you want me to punish you more, only to mewl when I do."

With a bowed head, Chance hid his smile. Metal cuffs locked his wrists behind him. A single cord of rope looked through his collar's D-ring and around Tristan's sack. With one pull the tiger's nose pressed deep into it, locked in place with a tie as the horse returned to his call.

"Now, where were we on the next quarter's projections?"

Every breath sank him deeper into the musk. His cock stood painfully erect, twitching with every dollop of precum that pooled underneath him. By the hour's end his mouth was wet from salivating and the puddle glistened in the lamplights.

"Someone made a mess," Tristan held his slave's free face in his hand once the meeting ended. "Clean it up and be quick. I've got another meeting in two hours." He followed the command with joy and without hesitation, only one of which was trained into him. His hands stayed cuffed on the way to their bedroom.

Well, his master's bedroom. Chance just slept in it.

Tossing Chance to the bed and discarding his clothes, Tristan climbed over the bound tiger. A thick hand wrapped around the slave's meager cock, pumping slow and tight. "You've been a naughty boy, Chance." His words held Chance in warmth and comfort, even when chastising him the tiger couldn't help but smile. "How am I supposed to get any work done if you're distracting me?"

"I'm sorry, master." His lie earned him a swift smack against his sack.

"There you go again, lying to me." Tristan shook his head despite his smile. Chance knew he loved the little game they played too much. "I should punish you. But whenever I see your face," one hand cupped the tiger's cheek, "I can't bear to see it in tears of pain. You're just too damn cute. It's a good thing that I want what you want."

The stallion's rod overshadowed Chance's face. Its weight delightfully squished his own cock while cool lube dripped over it. With two hands Tristan massaged fluid over both rods, both knowing that only one would be used. Drying his hands over the tiger's pristine fur, Tristan angled his flat head against the tiger's inviting pucker. Lube and training made it easy to push inside.

His gasps were genuine. Chance's training made him no stranger to the bigger clients. They stretched him out and taught him how to pretend to like it like any good fuck doll. But Tristan was different. He inched slowly into the tiger to let Chance sink into the filled feeling, waiting for the silent 'ok' to go further.

Moaning through bit lips, Chance clutched the bed tight. His master rocked forward, gently thrusting in and out. Each push forward went deeper. Tristan smiled as his slave gasped. "H-Harder," the tiger whispered breathlessly.

"Hmm?" Tristan raised his ear, "I could have sworn you said something, but I don't think you said it correctly."

Gulping, Chance cowed his ears but his master refused to budge. "H-Harder, daddy," he squeaked. The one word that made him blush despite all his training, as though the innocent part of him that still existed found the word cringe. Just how his master liked.

Bucking with speed, the bed shook with bated breaths. The stallion held Chance's face steady, scratching his stubble against the tiger's face with a kiss. "Good boi," his whisper smelled of rich cologne and cigars. Their tongues twisted, trading saliva as strong hands grabbed Chance's wrists. The tiger's lonely cock bounced from the rocking, painfully pulsing as though it screamed to be pumped.

"Look at me."

Chance stared at the deep blue eyes looking down at him. Tristan held the tiger's heart in a vice just with one look. A warm and caring vice, but a vice all the same. He was a pet, a plaything, but not one so easily discarded by how the older horse saw him.

His cock felt light, ready to pop. "C-Can I cum?" he whispered.

"No," Tristan said, "Not yet."

With a whine Chance tried to take his mind off the urge. Training could only do so much to stop the physical need. The key was to think of something else, but his master's presence filled every thought.

Tristan's face clenched. Chance felt the pulse right before the final hilt into him. Balls slapped his backside. Legs raised high and his mouth hung agape as hot seed filled him. Teetering at the edge the tiger tried to no avail to slip his hands free, leaving his erection unanswered as pleasure slowly fell. "M-Master, please!"

"Ah, ah, ah," Tristan shook his head, leaning in to whisper "Why should you get to cum? You keep interrupting my work calls. That calls for a punishment. Keep your limbs out." Chance obeyed, curling his toes as his master left his ass. The sudden emptiness felt wrong even with the warmth of his master's cum. He needed something, a finger, a toy, anything that could fill the crevice before it was too late.

Ropes and leather cuffs latched his legs to the bed corners. A frown crossed Chance's face at the sight of a black cockring with a bulb. One of Tristan's rare and experimental toys that haven't been released to the public. "The boys said they've calibrated it just right this time. Should keep you on edge for a few hours."

"And if not?" Chance asked.

"Well, then the boys need to get back to work. But if it does, this might be my favorite new punishment." Slipping down his cock the ring slowly clinched the pink member and vibrated. The urge to cum rose only to snuff out at the last second followed by a beep. "Keep track of those. I want a full report." Tristan said, locking a ballgag and blindfold over the tiger.

The last thing Chance heard was the hooves of his master walking away, returning to work while his slave continued to balance on the edge. He whimpered for the horse to stay, but in the end, he accepted his punishment. Like a good pet.