The Training of Amber Rayne, Day One

Amber Rayne steps into the room already stripped bare, 5'3" and 114 pounds of cocky virgin masochist who claims she needs pain like most girls need air. She gets on the floor at once. The concrete is cold, filthy, and exactly where she is told to stay. She picks up a handful of clothespins and clips them across her tits, belly and inner thighs, flinching but not hesitating. When the last one bites she looks up, daring the trainer to hurt her harder. The whip comes down. Pins fly, skin stings, and she grins through the burn. Questions start fast: why does she want pain, what does it turn into when it peaks. She answers between clenched teeth while the same whip kisses the fresh welts on her thighs and ass. Cane replaces whip. He bends her over, spears her cunt, and stripes her while he fucks. Every stripe makes her clamp down, every thrust drags a moan out of her that sounds more like hunger than protest. Next she is folded into rope until her wrists meet her ankles behind her back, face mashed to the floor. A cock is laid across her lips and she has to strain and squirm to take it. Saliva runs, eyes water, but she works until her throat opens and her nose presses into his stomach. He pulls out at the last second, paints her face with thick ropes, leaves her blinking through the mess. Homework is barked at her while the come cools: write out every reason she is here, every limit she wants smashed, every goal for the week. When the list is finished she is sent to her cage on the floor, still sticky, still smiling, already counting the hours until day two.