The Training of Delilah Strong, Day Two

She’s up at seven and running through the neighborhood in tiny, pointless workout gear. Her tits slap, her ass jiggles, and every step screams look at me while she gasps for air. That’s just the warm-up. At the gym the single tail finds her fast. Sweat stings. Stripes bloom. When her legs buckle they strap her to the bench and the machine takes over, pounding until her screams turn ragged. Through every thrust the handler keeps asking the same questions. Gratitude. Discipline. Leather. She answers with spit and sobs, throat raw. When the machine finally stops they drag her down to the basement. The cane comes out. Each strike lands heavier than the last until the fight drains out of her and something quieter takes its place. They flip her, open her mouth, and fuck both holes while she recites names and dates between gags. The load ends on her tits, hot and heavy, marking the skin that already burns. They shove a reading list into her shaking hands and send her back to her room still dripping. She knows the game just started and she’s already losing.