Competition Breeds Excellence in Captivity

Training Zarina meant telling her what I liked and wanted her to do. As much as I enjoyed the violence of throatfucking Zarina through her ring gag, strictly speaking, they were not very good blowjobs. Even though I performed 3 electrocution operations on her trigeminal nerves in the past 2 weeks, I remained reluctant to remove her ring gag. I have seen in combat how anger can fuel abilities to superhuman levels in an instant. My new life was designed around my cock, so I erred on the side of caution without exception for several more weeks. Zarina’s nerve damage would have to continue, until I was convinced she had lost the power to bite down.

A girl really cannot ‘suck’ my cock with a ring gag in, so Zarina was learning the hard way how to use her tongue. Some girls make great use of their hands during blowjobs, while others rely on them too much and exclusively use a basic jerking motion. Zarina’s hands had always been cuffed behind her back or to something else, so I thought the ring gagged throatfucks were a good way to force her to work on mouth and throat fundamentals first. The warmth and, often involuntary, contractions of her throat felt good at least. But if I wasn’t really horny and taking her throat without pity, then something always seemed like it was missing from a throatfuck. 

Another part of the problem had nothing to do with the ring gag: I could not truly fuck Zarina’s throat with abandon. Despite trying her damnedest to cram her lips down, she had proven that she had no talent for deepthroating. Zarina had such a strong gag reflex, and our anatomy simply did not seem to line up and allow me all the way down her throat, no matter what angle or position we tried. Smashing the head of my cock against her tonsils and small palate was discernibly uncomfortable for her, but as much I enjoyed the the signs of distress all over her body, it also was unpleasant for me if I was feeling sore or sensitive. Zarina had been vomiting almost a dozen times a day at the start when I raped her mouth, and maybe a few times less now that she was being conditioned suppress her regurgitation reflex. Bile and stomach acid has a corrosive effect on teeth, so I instituted a policy of forcing Zarina to drink a baking soda mixture to neutralize it and improve her dental hygiene.

I had lost count how many times I had forced Zarina to service me orally just that day. Her face had the striking lines of black and white era Hollywood starlet, and the clarity of her bright eyes shone with pain, fear, or the desperation of tying to indulge my cock. I sometimes put Zarina’s shoulder-length sable dark tresses in a hair tie, not so much out of chivalry, but to enjoy the full spectacle. And to use her ponytail as a handle to show her the pace and depth of throatfucking she should be reaching.

In those first two weeks, I had occasionally referred to Zarina as ‘slave.’ I had yet to happen upon grounds for renaming her, nor had I planned a naming convention for my slaves. But as Zarina dry heaved and splattered her face and my balls with vicious strands of saliva and phlegm, I decided to name her ‘Throatfuck.’ It was a silly name, but I wanted something that would always remind her of her place in my life and to hone in on her greatest weakness. After egging her to push me deeper into her throat and watching her choke and retch, I announced to her:

“From now on, your name is Throatfuck.”

Zarina’s eyes welled up a little more than usual and she made sounds of protest muffled by my cock. But she kept me firmly lodged in her throated and bobbed up and down as best she could. Zarina was damaged goods now. No surprise that she has never come to like her new name. I never would call Zarina by her real name, and we had yet to have any need for names down in my dungeon. But it made sense now that I was giving her directives. What’s more, I had every intention of eventually acquiring other sex slaves, and would need to be able to differentiate between them.

To keep things interesting for my tastes, one of my favorite things to do with Zarina was to mix in a whipping or caning while she serviced me orally. When she was the one fucking me with her throat, the pain had the additional benefit of prodding her to go deeper, faster, and come up with new tricks to pleasure me. I loved how each strike forced her to involuntarily suck harder as she howled around my cock. I looked forward to how great that would feel once I was persuaded it was safe to take out the ring gag.

Today I added to Zarina’s ordeal by binding her ankles to her thighs, then securing both to a squat rack, so that she was balanced with almost all of her weight on her knees. Almost all, because the third ‘leg’ of her tripod position was, of course, her throat bobbing on my cock. The pain on Zarina’s kneecaps made her grimace and her eyes well up, and that was before I even started caning her exposed feet and ass checks. I had found early on that the concentration of nerve endings on the arch of her soles made them one of the worst places to be struck. I thoroughly raped Zarina first thing every morning, so by this point of the day I felt no urge to do any work and could sit back in a comfortable chair and talk her through what to do.

Now that I had moved on to training Zarina and was not just raping her mouth, we both could go a little slower as I walked her through the choreography of my fantasies. Some men apparently say they have never reached climax through fellatio alone. Maybe I have gotten lucky, both genetically and with my past partners, but Zarina was learning how to make me very happy with just her mouth. The pain appreciably goaded Zarina into figuring out what I liked in the moment, and she proved to be a quick study of my instructions. As compliant as Zarina had become, she was thoroughly despondent and acting only out of fear.

Zarina’s eyes were wide and red as she tried to follow my commands as best she could. Her face was desperate, but also betrayed that she had no hope left. She perceptibly relaxed a little bit when I spasmed and shot several ropes down the wrong tube. But even when coughing, Zarina’s expression retreated back to that small, lonely, dark cell where her mind wasted away. As I came down from my euphoria and my cock shrank in her mouth, guilt crept into my mind and I grew a little concerned about her depression. Awkwardly, I tried to strike up a conversation to see what she was thinking about:

“So, what do you think about your new name?”

“I hate it.” 

The scorn seethed in her voice, as she tongued around the soggy head of my cock. Zarina’s body tensed as she seemed to brace herself to be caned again. Either she had not thought through her response, or she hated her new name so much that she was willing to endure another strike.

“This brings up an important lesson. You’ve already learned that I want you to act and talk like a slut before and during sex. But afterwards, I actually hope that you will be honest with me. I know that slipping back and forth between characters seems bipolar, but, sadly for you, this is probably going to be one of the easier adjustments in your life.”

Zarina immediately pointed out, “So that’s why you did not immediately punish me for saying what I thought.”

Smart. I nodded at her. Zarina had forgotten temporarily about focusing on cleaning up my cock, but her rapid speech actually created some pleasant sensations as her tongue flittered around my disgorged glans.

Zarina continued in an accusatory manner: “But there’s never much time between ‘after’ and ‘before’ sex for me. So soon you’ll want me to act like I’ve completely, as you said, gone crazy? Something like…” Zarina’s tone hit a coquettish falsetto, “on second thought, I’ve decided I love being referred to as gutter slang for your rape and chauvinistic fantasy!”

I almost lashed out at Zarina for the insult, and only held back because it would forever undermine my request for honesty. Instead, I tried to shrug.

“Ok, that wouldn’t be believable, and you know how I will punish you if I don’t find your whore act convincing. Let me point out to you the obvious though: your goal in this life from now is to make me happy, principally through sex, and dirty talk costs you no physical suffering to get me there. You inevitably will have to suffer more torture to get me off, so why not take any free advantage?”

“Huh,” Zarina squinted at me and shook her head, “and all this time I thought your goal was to torture me in the worst ways possible. I assumed rape was just another tool of degradation and misery because I’m, you know, female. I mean if all you really wanted was sex, I would have let you have me when faced with your alternatives.”

“The torture makes the sex hotter for me.”

“Aman Allahım, I can tell.”

My flaccid member had completely dropped out of Zarina’s ring gag by now and that needed to be corrected:

“I also did not punish you a minute ago for letting my cock slip out of your mouth. That is because I am feeling too sensitive for any further stimulation for the moment, and because I asked you to be honest with me. But unless you are doing something else to stimulate me or you can tell that I’m feeling too sensitive, your default position in this life should be servicing me with your mouth, even when I am asleep. I understand that you will need sleep too, but the first and last waking feeling I should have each day is you pleasuring me in some way. You’ll just have to wake up before I do, otherwise you will experience worse ways to start the day than giving me a blowjob. You will also have to learn through pain when I want you to switch to gentle touches and other light moves. The essence of your existence is to please me however I want in the moment. Don’t think that you should ever stop with your primary duties as a sex slave, just because I give you a chance to speak freely by asking a question, Throatfuck.”

“I have a name you know!” Zarina shouted at me, “It’s Zarina!!!”

I aimed the fiberglass cane straight down the crack of her ass and slashed hard to score both her asshole and base of her pussy lips. Zarina let out an ear-piercing squeal and fell forward balling again. She had never told me her name before, nor did I do anything to reveal that I had known it. 

“I should not have to explain why I struck you.”

Zarina shook her head and squeezed her eyes tight as she wept. Then I brought down the cane in the same spot. Her back arched reflexively as she hollered to the ceiling.

“You should also be able guess what that second one was for, or do I need to cane you a third time for ignoring my generous reminder?”

Zarina shuddered and quickly pulled herself together just enough to take my dick back in her mouth and roll it around. Truth be told, I was still feeling too tender so I would not punish her for her frankly pathetic oral efforts. But I had to establish the rule of keeping her focus always on priority number one. It seemed like focusing on the task of foreplay forced her to calm down a bit, though she still looked miserable and loathed to carry out her duties.

“Can you guess why I am giving you a new name?”

Zarina shrugged and shook her head without glancing up from her assignment. 

“It’s to remind you of your role in life from now on, and to needle you into improving on your weakest sexual skill.”

That made Zarina cry again. She let the tears flow as she robotically licked around my still-soft shaft. Eventually she looked up at me and whispered:

“Can’t you see that I don’t want to be a sex slave…?”

I had to consider whether that attitude made her enslavement and training more erotic for me. Zarina was scanning my face for a reply, but I chose not to say anything. After a while her voice dropped a timid hush:

“So if I’m your sex slave, then who are you? My master?”

Personally I never really cared about the aspect of BDSM culture that placed so much emphasis on titles. Similarly, I had not really considered what my sex slaves should call me, though I certainly was never about to reveal my true identity to them. But if it reinforced what I wanted from them….

“Sure. You can call me ‘Master.’ I have no idea whether you have a familiarity with fetish subcultures. So to be clear: this is not a rule I am setting up to create more chances for punishment if you fail to address me properly with every sentence. I’ll hazard that I’ll never need more chances to punish you, no matter how well trained you become. And you probably can’t take many more in your present state. But it will be convenient to have some way of referring to me, now that you can speak to me.”

Zarina sighed and went back to her aftercare efforts.