The Training of Bobbi Starr, Day Two

Day one showed her pain handling is shaky, though every twitch and whimper came strong and honest. She follows when led, yet something darker stirs under her skin, aching for the surface. Her mouth and cunt know their way around a cock, and that raw, fuckable beauty of hers will cut through anyone once it’s sharpened. One hard truth already stands out: slip a hood over her head and she drops into a frozen panic, lost and useless. Tomorrow we give her just enough forewarning so the fear can turn hot instead of shutting her down. The day opens with tight rope that keeps her stretched on her toes. One wrong move and the steel hook buried in her ass yanks deeper; the other way and clover clamps rip at her nipples. The whip cracks while she repeats the rules of obedience, voice cracking each time the lash lands. Once her legs shake and her words slur, we bag her head in thick canvas, string her up by the ankles, and let the single-tail remind her how to breathe through pain. When her screams thin out we shove a cock between her lips and order her to suck like her life depends on it. She stays strung up until the blowjob sounds convincing. After that we strap her to the table, pry her cunt wide with the biggest toys we have, and set a vibrator on her clit until she comes past the point of sense while the whip paints fresh stripes. A fat plug seals her pussy, the chastity belt locks shut, and she’s sent away with a rubber fist and an essay on transparency to finish before the next bell.