The Training of Sarah Jane Ceylon, Day Four

She stands sealed in black latex and a hood, the only openings her mouth and the blindfold that keeps her guessing. Cane in hand, I bark the first position. She drops. Wrong. The cane cuts across her ass and she drops lower, back straight, tits out, cunt displayed like an offering. Every time she wavers, another stripe blooms. Her breathing gets fast, but she holds it, eyes hidden, mouth open and ready. TJ steps up and she knows what to do. Lips stretch around his cock, throat working, spit running down the shiny front of the suit. I snap another order. She turns, presents her ass, and he sinks in hard. She grunts around the gag of his dick but keeps her back arched, holes offered. One minute she’s sucking, the next she’s taking him balls-deep in her cunt, latex squeaking, every stroke pushing a wet sound out of her. I keep correcting—stick your ass out, spread wider, don’t you dare move—each mistake earns another crack of the cane. He flips her onto her back, holds her legs wide, and drives into her ass. She’s stretched open, blind, nothing but the stretch and the sting and the voice telling her what a filthy little whore she looks like getting used like this. TJ pulls out and paints her hood and chin with thick ropes. She stays still, breathing through it, mouth still open like she’s waiting for more. We walk her back to the dirt. She kneels in the dust and starts digging again, latex smeared, every shift of her body making the cane marks throb. I ask what she learned. She answers without hesitation—focus, positions, obedience, how to take it all. Her voice is steady. She doesn’t complain. She just keeps working, back straight, holes still sore, ready for whatever’s next.