Competition Breeds Excellence in Captivity

After my urge to fuck Zarina and hurt her sensitive parts had been taken care of, usually by the end of whatever could be designated as the morning, it was time for her boring day-to-day chores. As many past civilizations have found, slaves exist not just for sex, but for labor. For Zarina, most of her daily chores were not too laborious: cleaning up the rooms, sterilizing some torture equipment and her restraints, and, most importantly, prettying herself up to my standards. I still cleaned any sharp objects myself so she did not have the opportunity to commit suicide or make an attempt on my life. These times were breaks for both of us. Nevertheless, to forestall Zarina from avoiding her real responsibilities as my sex slave, I usually did not set a time limit, only the warning her to finish before I was in the mood to play with her again. It also gave me justification to inspect Zarina’s thoroughness, and thus more reasons to punish her. 

In the days when Zarina was kept in restraints, the way I washed her set a standard for hygiene that had been recommended by leading hospitals. Now I expected her to adapt her former beauty routine to include enemas until she was perceptibly clean enough to taste herself and avoid infections. With the messes we made, every day she had the mundane tasks scrubbing with household chemicals to stave off illnesses and keep the apartment generally pleasant to live in. I gleefully detected signs of trauma when she had to touch or clean something that evoked a terrible recent memory. But other than that, Zarina worked through her chores with a focus that allowed her to tune out her surroundings, and maybe take her mind off her plight. 

However there was one non-sexual chore where she had to push herself physically and mentally, because that was its whole point: exercise. Until now, Zarina’s time on the exercise machines and with weights had been as much about torturing her as making her a better fuck. Those would continue to be my goals, but I also wanted to take better care of her body, so that it would last. It was the start of a new month, Zarina’s third, so I brought her to a whiteboard where her workout times and personal records were shown from an overhead projector. 

After walking backwards with my limp member in her mouth, Zarina instinctively dropped to her knees and cupped my balls with one hand and traced my asshole with another finger. I gently tugged her by her hair to extract myself from inside her lips and get her to face the whiteboard.

I started: “I’ve told you that I thought you were beautiful when you first got here. I want to get your body back in that shape. You’ll always have some cuts and bruises down here, but I would like to adapt whatever workout regime you followed before. It clearly was working.”

Zarina stared at me, looked at the board, and then back at me. Eventually she said: “Uh, I usually just did cardio on a treadmill or bike, about three times per week. Unless it was nice outside in the Spring or Fall. Longer sessions on the weekend. Got a Peloton back when COVID hit. I practice yoga and pilates. I lifted weights too, like small ones.”

“Ok, it’s a start. We’ll scale down for all the sex and torment you go through and think of recovery time for each muscle group. Let’s write out a specific plan together, instead of me just forcing you to do whatever I come up with. I shouldn’t have to say this, but I always reserve the right to add in my own ideas after this. Nevertheless, I think that getting you on a schedule will keep you in shape, and should improve both your health and skill at sex. I know you might be tempted to understate the extent and numbers of your past workouts, so just remember that it’s pretty apparent to me by now when you are really pushing yourself or struggling. We are going to revise and adjust the plan anyway based on your progress.”

Zarina nodded gravely and began to detail her past workout numbers. The voice recognition software added it to the projected spreadsheet, and I chimed in with substitute exercises and movements that I thought would be more beneficial. As she mentioned that she did push-ups and chest presses to build up her ‘chest’, I was reminded me that I should ask her to suggest a sports bra and the appropriate size for me to order. She looked shocked that she would be allowed to wear any kind of clothing, but quickly rattled off a couple of different favorites. I queried whether she had been professionally fitted for her bras, and she had memorized specific sizes for each model that had been chosen and tested at some speciality lingerie shops in the West.

I explained that while my goal was often to hurt her breasts, which sometimes could be achieved by making her run topless, I wanted to keep them from getting stretched out in the long-run. From my cursory glance at the research, I told Zarina it seemed like there was conflicting evidence as to the benefit of bras in normal day-to-day activities. Zarina chimed in and discredited one small French study that claimed that bras allowed muscles to atrophy and thus contributed to sagging. She explained further that she wore bras more for the overall look than any real reduction of back pain. She quickly added that, “like every girl,” she was insecure about keeping her breasts perky. Zarina was becoming chatty for the first time.

I realized I was not paying attention to her exact words, as I had been unconsciously staring at Zarina’s bare breasts. Like any post-adolescent female she must have noticed the whole time, but was accustomed to it and had been increasing the pressure on my sexual organs with her fingertips. My mind then went down the road of ‘other’ things I wanted from a sex slave, until I brought the topic back to workouts. I ordered her to think of torments that would act as incentives while she was doing particular exercises, as well as ways to pleasure me as I watched her. Zarina shifted uncomfortably, but she had become better at feeding my unconventional appetite.

“Uh…I guess you could use those clover clamps again when I’m on the treadmill until I get too tried and they get torn off…. Fuck! You can always shock me when my feet touch the floor during flutter kicks…or whip me to get me to do one more push-up…. Yoga’s sexy, right? You can take me whenever, and make me hold certain poses until I can’t anymore…. As for sex positions that are good for workouts, maybe, like, I have to hold up weights until you cum?”

That would do. I motioned for her to bring her head closer and start sucking on my balls. I patted her on the head and complimented her creativity. She looked despondent for a moment when I mentioned that I might cut holes in her sports bras to allow access to her nipples. So, to get her head back in a normal place, a logical extension of our earlier topic was her diet.

“You’re going eat pet food for a while yet. But diet might be more of the driving factor than exercise in terms of your body weight and measurements. You’ve visibly lost weight and it’s not sexy at this point, what’s happening to your curves. It’s simply not healthy to eat pet food forever. So I’m willing to let you try out other brands and varieties—so long as they have decent shelf life—or mix multiple ones for your meals.” 

Zarina gargled around my testicles and then lifted them out of her mouth: “Gee, thanks. What a rare luxury.”

To me, her uptick in sarcasm was a marked step above depression.

“Talk to me about your most recent diet, as well as any others you have tried.”

Zarina straightened up as she tested my shaft for sensitivity. I twitched away and she dropped it apologetically. She recovered and tried to distract me with a rushed answer:

“I guess you could say that I personally stuck to a Mediterranean diet. Traditionally, our cuisine is kind of Middle Eastern, like a mix of Persian and Turkish, if you’ve tried those before. My family was no different and we always had a lot of saffron rice and our own versions of those Eastern European dumplings and what we call pakhlava, basically baklava. So I’m guilty of loving my carbs. Not gonna lie though, I stress over my weight, no different than any girl in the world once she hits her teens. I tried to eat clean, whatever that really means.”

“It kept your girlish figure,” I commented.

Zarina blushed a shy smile. I had never seen her smile before. Progress?

“I’ll print out some other pet food listings later and we can do some rough math together to make sure you are getting an optimal mix of the basic nutrients and fiber.”

Zarina sighed, but there was a sanguine look on her face, as she cupped and tongued my balls. 

She said slowly, “It’s totally fucked up, but I have to say I’m actually looking forward to that. I can’t believe that I might actually start drooling over descriptions of pet food, but I’ve been eating the same shit for so long…just never thought I would taste anything else ever again….”

I smiled at her and let Zarina savor what little happiness was in her head. After a few moments, it may have been the signs that her care was raising an erection, but she became bolder:

“So…I noticed you said I am going to eat pet food ‘for a while.’ Is it too much for a lady to hope for fruits and veggies from time to time? Even the frozen kind? I mean not too many since it’ll take me a while since I can only chew real slow. Maybe you can, like, blend them up like a smoothie? You know, wanting to keep me skinny and healthy and all?”

‘For a while.’ This girl didn’t miss a thing and was always listening closely to what I said. Zarina took a big lick from my balls up to the most sensitive underside of my head and wiggled her tongue around my frenulum. It felt like she was trying to earn my good will, and she had certainly learned how. This was exactly what I hoped she would do more of, in order to adjust to being a sex slave. I would occasionally have to slap Zarina down when she asked for too much, but right now she was clawing her way up from rock bottom.

“That would certainly be a treat. Stuff stays fresh only for so long, so even I can’t always eat what I want. Not much grows on this island either. But salad stuff doesn’t have to be a sad diet meal, and that sort of stuff would solve the problem of balancing your diet when I can get procure it.”

Zarina grinned, probably both at my agreement itself and savoring her first small victory. She had found a method that would work for her.