The Training of Number Seven, Day Two

William takes her out to the drill court at first light. The cold bites hard, but she runs laps anyway—tits bouncing, nipples stiff in the chill. Every stride shows her what discipline costs. Calisthenics next: push-ups, squats, lunges. He watches her form, corrects it, keeps her body working until her breath fogs the air. Inside the industrial room she’s stripped and bound. Ankles spread, torso angled down, wrists pulled tight behind her back. The rig forces her hips up, presents her ass like an invitation. They take turns in front of her mouth, behind her hole. One cock fills her throat while another slams into her ass, over and over, making her take both at once. When she falters, the flogger lands, then the whip, then the crop—each strike sharper than the last. Pain builds until she cracks, begging to be used in her cunt. They ignore the plea. Instead they jerk off across her tits, thick ropes splashing over soft flesh until both loads drip down her chest. Homework assigned. Curfew set. She’s locked back in her quarters, sore, marked, already counting the hours until they call for her again.