The Training of Nikki Darling, Day Four

Four days of rope work and she's still fucking up the count. Cold air, wet concrete, the stink of mildew. One more fuck-up and the real discipline starts. She picks at the knots with shaking hands, slow as ever, and every time she slows the zip-tie web across her tits reminds her why she needs to move faster. The zippers bite when she fidgets. One wrong twitch and the metal teeth tear skin. She learns to hold still by learning to hurt. She learns to obey the same way. She dances for me every evening. Early days she stumbled like a drunk. Tonight the chain around her waist is short, the pole is cold, and the six-foot single tail cracks above her shoulders. Every spin has to look pretty or the leather kisses her ass. She sweats, she shines, she keeps the chain taut and tries not to trip over her own feet. When the dance ends the gimp waits, cock already stiff. She mounts him without being told, knees spread, back arched, sliding down until her ass swallows him whole. The chain keeps her upright; the gimp's hands stay locked behind his back. She rides hard, hips snapping, sweat dripping off her tits. When she finally presents that pretty round ass the gimp takes over, slamming up until he shoots deep and it leaks down her thighs. She stays there, shaking, until I tell her to crawl off.