The Training of Berlin, Day One

Berlin shows up already trembling, mouth running, head spinning. A silver ring tugs each nipple and the lips of her cunt while a short chain forces her to walk bent, eyes on the ground. Tube gag jammed between her teeth keeps every word trapped and thick. She is led through the warehouse like a leashed animal, boots echoing on concrete until the stairs drop her into the basement. There she scrubs tile on her knees, water sluicing over skin until a hose blasts grit and grime across her breasts and belly. Mud streaks her thighs when she is finally hosed clean enough to kneel again, still dripping. Two women spread their legs; Berlin leans in, tongue clumsy, eyes flicking upward for approval. Every slurp earns another yank on the leash. Her mind tries to narrate, to apologize, but the gag turns the noise into drool that runs down her chin onto bare tits. By the time the session ends, her jaw aches, her nipples throb, and she tastes cunt instead of doubt. Day three waits, and she knows exactly what that means: a hard cock stretching her in front of the lens for the first time.