The Training of Amanda Tate, Day Two

Amanda Tate's wrists dig into leather cuffs when the chain snaps tight. They bent her over the sawhorse yesterday. Today they push her knees wide, spread her cheeks, and keep her staring at the floor. A long strip of rope bites her waist, runs between her pussy lips, and rides straight up between her ass cheeks before it knots at the small of her back. Every shift drags the rope across her clit. She stays still for a few seconds at a time. Then the ache pulls another small sound from her throat. They bring the plug out again. Smaller at first, almost polite. That changes fast. She feels the cold lube hit, then the slow push. The muscle fights. The plug wins. Her breath turns ragged when the thickest part stretches her open and settles deep. The rope presses right against it. She twitches, hips rolling, chasing friction she already knows she isn’t allowed to keep. A gloved hand slaps the curve of her ass once, sharp and clean. She freezes. The chain rattles when she remembers how to breathe. The man with the heavy boots steps in front of her. She lifts her eyes just far enough to see the belt buckle and the open fly. He pulls himself out and taps her bottom lip. Amanda opens without thinking. The taste of skin and salt fills her mouth. He holds her hair, controls the depth, and doesn’t let her set the pace. Every thrust pushes her onto the rope again. She chokes, drools, tries to keep her throat open while her ass works around the plug. Her knees tremble. The rope slips wetter. She comes without permission, hard and sudden, hips jerking in the cuffs. The next slap lands lower. She gasps around the cock in her mouth and keeps going.