The Training of Charlotte Vale, Day One

Charlotte kneels on cold concrete in a steel yoke. The cuffs dig. Her clothes lie in shreds at her feet. I order her to scrub the filthy floor while I watch. She scrubs. I demand a slave name. She falters. The belt snaps across her ass. She blurts "Charlotte Vale." Good. I make her repeat it until the words sound like worship. She is wet. She tries to hide it. I tell her the word fair has no meaning here and back it up with a hundred cane strokes. Each stripe teaches her that lesson. She drips. When she comes without permission, she earns the plug. I push the thick silicone past her rim. Her breath catches. She clamps down, but the plug wins and sinks home. Next the erosolator. I lock her wrists high, ankles wide, and crank the vibrator to its lowest hum. She strains. I watch sweat roll. She tries to press forward. I slap her cunt and reset the timer. Five more minutes. Her thighs tremble. When she finally breaks and begs, I grant the orgasm but keep the plug seated. The rubber cock follows. I fuck her throat until spit strings to her tits. She gags, fights, then remembers she asked for this training. I shove deeper. She takes it. Barely. After that, she crawls to the cage, spreads, and rubs her clit while I watch. She comes again, louder. I lock the door. Hair still tangled in my fist, I drag her to the slave quarters. Morning stretches. Video journal. Written homework on the Stonewall riots. A hard belt spanking for showing up late. The welts will help her remember.