The Training of Delilah Strong, Day One

Leo. Twenty-five. Unowned. A filthy whore by her own admission. She strips on command and starts fingering her cunt while the interview questions fly. The questions don’t matter. The order does. I tell her to keep it wet, keep it open. She obeys with a porn-star smirk that I plan to slap right off. Her mouth needs better uses than babbling. I have her bury her tongue in my ass, then stuff the same hole full of cock. She gags, she drools, she learns. The word “open” lands next. Ankles and wrists cinched tight, clips biting down on slick cunt lips while a thick cock pounds her like a rented hole. She learns fast when the pain has nowhere to hide. Gratitude comes harder. Every missed “Thank you, Sir” earns another stripe across tits or thighs. The welts bloom hot and red. I count them out loud so she can’t pretend to forget. Her full, round ass gets the same treatment—spanked, bruised, then spread for a thick plug that splits her open and stays there. While the plug works inside her she fucks a cock between her tits, licks balls, and finally drains the load across her made-up face. Come drips from lashes, mixes with spit, slides down her chin onto marked skin. I hand her the leather history chapter and tell her to read it clean. She leaves the room wobbling, ass full, cunt sore, face painted, every step a reminder of what she’s here to become.