Training of the Pretty Girl, Day Three

She said she never really felt pretty. I saw an opening and used it. Weakening her sense of self makes room to build something new. So I stripped away the old one. From now on she only calls herself 'pretty girl.' No 'I.' No 'me.' No 'mine.' Just pretty girl. Today the pretty girl learns to wear a corset. She keeps her back straight, chin up, ass pushed out while she stumbles around on the same heels she’s worn for three straight days. Her lips are red, painted the way I taught her yesterday. I cinch the corset tight, then settle her pussy right over the gimp’s waiting mouth. Time to check her homework. I put her through it all afternoon—fucking and sucking the gimp in every filthy way I can think of. Cattle prod when she falters, orgasm when she earns it. I want to see her scream underwater. I hold her head down while the gimp pounds her open cunt into one shuddering climax after another. Bubbles pour from her face. Her eyes stay wide, locked on nothing. One day left, pretty girl.