The Training of Bobbi Starr, Day One

Bobbi Starr stands five-eight, twenty-four years old and Aries. She walks in with steady eyes and quick answers, still untouched by real bondage. The room is quiet. Rope hits her wrists first, cinched behind her back until her shoulders strain. A fat cane waits on the table. They bend her over, cane stripes across her ass, hard enough to make her gasp and swear. She takes it, legs shaking, cunt already wet. Next they push a thick cock between her lips, gag her with the shaft, then tape an electro pad against her swollen clit. Voltage spikes. She whimpers around the dick until she forces the words out, voice thick, begging for more. They pull out only to paint her face with load after load. Come drips from her chin. A cold hose blasts her clean, then stiff brushes scour her skin raw. Once she is pink and dripping they stuff a fat plug up her ass, another in her cunt, and click a steel chastity belt shut. Key goes to her next-day quarters across town. At 3 a.m. they kick the door in, haul her out of bed, rope her tight again, and fuck her hard. Bruises bloom. Rope marks cross her tits and thighs. She is left on the floor, cunt and ass wrecked, face sticky, nine a.m. call time already set. A slim book on obedience lies beside her head.