Competition Breeds Excellence in Captivity

“Surely you can tell that I have been pleased with your training progress.”

Zarina stopped between licks of my asshole to chirp, “I certainly hope so, Master!” She had lapped up all our fluids that had run down my legs and perineum. I could focus on the sadistic half of my desires now.

“On account of that, you have reached new litmus test: whether you can convince me that you have assimilated the mindset of a pain slut.” 

I looked down and Zarina tried to shrink behind my thighs, but I could feel her grip tense on my ass cheeks.

“Should you pass and maintain the same high standard of performance, then you will not need to be punished as often or as brutally as you have been.”

I pushed Zarina away and held her at arms length when she tried to dive her face between my legs again. It was going to take some time and a spectacle for me to recover. I stood up and threw Zarina over my shoulder and she went limp. Then I firmly set her hips down on the edge of the nearest table. Zarina immediately spread her legs, as she was required to. I ignored the display, to her disappointment that she was not going to get off so easily. 

From a locked cabinet, I selected an 8.2 foot/2.5 meter bullwhip that we had become inversely comfortable with. I could see Zarina hold her breath when I chose it. 

“Let’s recap your training. First, you have got in the habit of thanking me for hurting you. Then your theatrics became more credible than they initially were. The second milestone was being able to consistently remember to ask me to inflict pain upon you, from the moment you are woken up. From there you have revealed that you have the imagination of a prodigy in this regard, and with my esteem comes the prize of an easier life.”

“It pleases me to please you, Master,” Zarina was forcing a smile as best she could.

“You’ve been doing so well, that today begins the next level of challenges: Actions speaking louder than words.”

Zarina’s face seemed to darken.

“We both know that you only say these things because I will harm you more if you fail to.”

Zarina drew in a breath but held still.

“And I’m ok with that illusion. Presently at least, it does enough for me. But it does take me out of the arresting moment when your body reacts in such a way that contradicts what you are saying. More practically, I have been vexed by how your instinct for self-preservation has not been inured out of you. Specifically, you still try to avoid or block damage to the most sensitive targets on your body. To complete the next stage of your submission training, we must condition your mind and body to crave the same injury.” 

Zarina began to protest, but straight away thought better of it. It looked like she tried to bite her tongue, momentarily forgetting that she could not.

“Any nice person would say that my standards for you are ludicrous. It may seem like I am demanding a new transformation in your attitude. But, again, I don’t believe brainwashing is possible. I see it more as advancement in your acting school. Acting is about more than just reciting lines. Your body language is what people pay to see.”

Zarina slouched and started to sob, “I thought, just maybe, that I was starting to be good enough for you…that you wouldn’t want to hurt me so bad all the time….”

“Now, now, don’t be too hard on yourself. You’ve had some real breakthroughs and earned some peace and rest. But you couldn’t have thought that had graduated from training?”

Zarina sniffed, “I mean, how is that too much to hope for?”

“There’s always improvement to be made. Even for me. You’ve seen how I’ve had to drill on wielding this bullwhip, from cracking to target practice.”

“On me,” Zarina added.

“Precisely. So we are going to practice together. You are going to beg me incessantly to whip your pussy ten times. This time, though, you are not going to be restrained at all. You are going to keep your legs spread in the air and lie back with your head propped up on these pillows. The rules of the challenge are that if you close either leg, move an arm to cover your vagina or hold a leg open, or close your eyes, then the most recent two blows will not count.

Zarina glared at me, “I know I can’t refuse you. But…can I merely say it seems unfair for you to keep raising your standards?!”

“How is this any different than my expectation that you work at giving ever better blowjobs or holding more Kegel weight?”

“…” Zarina just shook her head.

I handed Zarina the popper end of the bull whip and she groaned, but obediently held it against the top of her mons pubis. I paced out the full length of the bullwhip, and then tugged for her to let go. I waited. Zarina blinked, either stalling or not realizing what she was supposed to be doing. I cracked the bullwhip to remind her and she jolted.

“Please whip my pussy.”

Zarina wasn’t as believable as she could be, but the tears still in her eyes made up for it. I brought the popper down hard enough to instantly raise welts, but I never used my full strength lest I tear through the skin and leave permanent scars. Zarina howled up at the ceiling, her hands clawed at the tabled, and her legs quaked but they stayed open.

“Doesn’t count. Your eyes closed. You’re off to negative two already.”

Zarina doubled over and shouted, “THEY DID NOT!!! I WATCHED THE WHOLE THING!!!”

“They closed after you looked up at the ceiling.”

“WHAT?! WHAT DOES THAT MATTER?! YOU SAID IT WAS AFTER!!!”

“The rules apply throughout the challenge.”

I lacerated a foot to get her mind right. Zarina rolled almost all the way over, but she had obviously focused all her willpower on keeping her legs spread.

She wheezed several times then gasped, “Was that for misunderstanding the rules?! I know it wasn’t one of the ten strokes because you can’t have missed that badly.”

“No. This is pain slut training, remember? You should be thanking me for whipping you and imploring me hit you again and harder.”

Zarina rolled back into position, took a deep breath and snapped, “C’mon get back to hitting my vag… this sorry slave needs more training.”

I obliged. This time Zarina kept her eyes open. One hand shot out to touch the blister that had suddenly mushroomed above her clit, but she caught herself and balled it into a fist that she pounded the table with. Zarina’s legs were still kicking when she called to me, “I said: harder!”

Afterwards, my game plan assumed there would be enough blood to lubricate my dick. Blood from fresh cuts is a substandard lubricant, because it innately coagulates and dries out quickly, becoming an irritant. It’s not like period sex, where the mixture isn’t pure blood. But I didn’t care. I intended for the challenge to get me so worked up that it wouldn’t take long. 

Sure, I could have grabbed some coconut oil or a reliable bottle of some synthetic. That’s not how a sadist thinks. I wouldn’t want to miss the golden opportunity of raping a beautiful woman right where it would be most painful, while she was still at the peak of her suffering before endorphins kicked in.

I could and regularly did impose a sentence on my sex slaves for not being wet enough when I penetrated them. Privately, I concede that it is a biologically inconceivable dictate after a female has been, or is terrified of being, wounded. No excuse, but my commandments are consistent: a sex slave’s body language must match her purpose in perpetuity. 

After, it probably took me 20 minutes to stop twitching from Zarina’s commendably slight licks, alternating between cleansing the blood and semen between my legs and hers on her fingers.

“Your report card for today sets your baseline at 18 strokes to display the minimum passing performance. In the short term, it’s paradoxically not in my interest to see you improve your score. Besides that, one final lesson: you should have pleaded with me for more…” I growled.

“MORE?! Eighteen is more!”

“No. It was only ten.”