The Training of Cherry Torn, Day Two

Cherry kneels, shaved cunt bare, and starts her squat. 'Sir, thank you Sir,' she says. The camera holds on her face while she fights nervous laughter, eyes locked forward, head straight. Every time she slips, the cane cracks across her ass. Three fresh demerits. She knows the whip is coming. Five clean minutes with the single-tail buys back three merits; fail and she spends the next twenty-four hours paying in pain. She nods, already sweating. The trainer picks up the whip, tests the tip. Cherry breathes steady, ready. She lasts three minutes before a scream breaks her rhythm. The whip pauses, her debt resets. Next round she takes the strokes with slow, measured breaths, jaw clenched, body still. Still no sweat. The trainer drops the whip and pulls out his cock. Cherry crawls, hands trembling but eager, lips sealing tight around the shaft, tongue working until he pulls away. He leaves her bound in a stress position—knees wide, ankles locked, arms wrenched high. 'Touch yourself,' he orders. She reaches between her thighs and rubs, hips twitching, breath catching, orgasm held off until the crop lands on her inner thigh. Only then does she come, hard, a strangled cry. Later she is bent over, wrists cuffed behind her. The trainer drives in deep, pounding her tight cunt until her moans turn raw. Her legs shake but she stays present, taking every thrust, eyes forward. A hard slap lands across her cheek, humiliation feeding straight to her clit. She holds on until he fills her, then sinks to her knees, licking up the mess without being told. Tomorrow she starts again.