The Training of Julie Night, Day One

Julie Night stands 5'6'' at twenty-eight, Cancer sign, already on record for loving it rough. Her list of fears is short but sharp: claustrophobia, water, and the bite of a single-tail. Her cunt is off-limits for hard slaps or whipping. Everything else is fair game. She gets stripped, wrists chained high to the concrete wall. The whip cracks across her back while the trainer demands answers about her past scenes on Sex and Submission and Wired Pussy. She stumbles through the names of the doms who used her, voice shaking as sweat runs down her spine. Next comes the headbox. Her head is locked inside while the tub waits. The lid drops, darkness, then cold water laps at her neck. She gasps, panic rising, yet she stays. That small victory is marked as the first brick of her training. She is released only to be handed a heavy bucket and told to scrub the floor. Each time she slows, the whip lands on her thighs. When the bucket is empty, she must crawl back and refill it. Her breathing grows ragged, focus cracking. The trainer orders her to masturbate on her knees. The whip cuts across her shoulders while the clock ticks. She comes hard, fast, hips jerking. Before the aftershocks fade, a cock is pushed between her lips. She sucks like she claims she can, throat working, eyes watering. Cum paints her face, drips from her chin. She is left aching, denied anything inside her. Homework pages are dropped at her feet: two on the meaning of service. No touching allowed tonight. She is led naked to a small room, door locked. The marks on her skin throb in time with her pulse as she sits with her own thoughts.