The Training Of Dylan, Day One

Dylan is twenty-five and built for the kind of work most girls would never sign up for. She came from SoCal and now she’s face down on the first day of her training, athletic frame stretched tight, black hair falling over her eyes. She started chasing rough sex two or three years back and never looked back. Masochism is her lifestyle. She likes being tied up, swung from the ceiling, flogged hard across the back, choked until her vision blurs, yanked by the hair while someone pounds the fight out of her. She takes fists. She chases new toys like a junkie. But she’s a control freak. Giving it up isn’t in her wiring. She knows it. Pain is a tool for her, not a doorway, and canes cross the line. So do blindfolds and cattle prods. She’s terrified of losing the edge, of hurting past her limit, of failing in front of the cameras. Her pain threshold is high. She pushes until she zones out. And when the pain finally breaks her open, the orgasm after it feels ten times sweeter. She squirts easy. G-spot work turns her inside out. She doesn’t fake a thing. Right now she’s on the floor, wrists locked, legs spread, waiting to see if today she can hand the reins over before the fear wins.