Competition Breeds Excellence in Captivity

Zarina had proven to me that she was a tough girl—I made her bend to obscene degrees and visibly broke her spirit, but it had not been a fast or easy process. I was gladdened to see that as her morale gradually recovered, her training progress sped up as well. Zarina’s records across the board, both digital and handwritten, had fallen significantly since she arrived, to the point where progress was becoming hard to eek out small gains. In simple mathematical terms: I was conscious that in the graphs from her spreadsheets, her gains curve was approaching some theoretical limit, where factors outside her control were the deciding variables. 

For instance, I could not really punish her for failing to beat a record if she had already made me ejaculate many, many times that day. I mean, of course I could, and sometimes did. But I feared it would destroy any trust she had in me and send her spiraling back into depression. Zarina had already whined on occasion that it was not fair to hold her to the same standards all day, when my cock and balls were not rested and raring to go. My games were twisted, but I was worried that she would give up trying if she came to believe they were rigged and that she could not ‘win.’

That is all to say, I was no longer forcing Zarina to race to beat the clock in the same positions on an almost daily basis—that was becoming unreasonable to demand. From the first time I fucked her, there were plenty of times I was too lost in what I was doing to remember to start the stopwatch or program the countdown timer. Keeping data on her times would have been too much of a chore if I had to subdivide them into more categories with myriad handicaps and track how long it had been since my last orgasm. So these days if Zarina failed to beat her record, I sometimes told she had earned a sliver of leniency and would not be punished, because she had come close to her record time and made me particularly feel especially good. Of course the definition of ‘close’ was up to me and thus fluid, to keep her from depending on a buffer of time or getting lazy.

I openly told Zarina I was more and more concerned with how much I enjoyed the overall experience or how hot she could make it for me, and not just rushing to break time records. I wanted to mix it up so that she was not always just squeezing my cock as hard and fast and she could with whatever orifice or her hands, when they were free. I gave Zarina compliments on specific moves and congratulated her on having mastered the basics of what I wanted, so it was time to move on. These accolades seemed to land more as relief that she had avoided punishment, and it was all part of my general goal of repairing her ego.

This particular morning I woke up as per usual with my cock in Zarina’s ring gag, but for the first time in a while she was still fast asleep on my thigh. Maybe I had become too lenient towards my slave. I slapped her exposed breast hard, making sure to catch her nipple with the blow. Zarina’s eyes shot open as she screamed around my cock, but got right to work throatfucking me with her hands locked behind her back. After my first orgasm of the day, I was still hard and feeling vindictive as I came up with her punishment, so I forced Zarina to ride me with 3 lbs weights dangling from forceps locked on each nipple. 

Having a girl on top is a different sensation, and not necessarily worse, so long as she is as skilled as Zarina was quickly becoming. She was regaining and developing the stamina to grind and gyrate her hips in all directions, well past the point of muscle fatigue. Then there were the magical contractions and motions she had drilled in with her kegels and pompoir exercise challenges. Admittedly it took a lot of different forms of painful prodding to get Zarina here, but she put visible effort into learning. Not that she had any other choice. 

The second fuck of the day seemed like a solid benchmark, so I set the digital timers around the gym to countdown from her previous record for being on top. The weight was enough to make me a little worried about causing Zarina’s breasts to sag down the line, but I knew that anything less would not be enough of challenge for her. Telling Zarina to get on top was all about the view for me, which I could take the time to enjoy because a moment ago her throat had abated my urge to pound her hard.

Unfortunately for Zarina, this morning I was not feeling lenient and I told her that she had better break her own time record. We were both aware this was tall challenge matter considering how recently Zarina had brought me to climax. That pressure—or more it was specifically the ever present threat of terrible punishment—was proving to be more than enough motivation. She was pulling out all her best moves: twerking her hips, working my balls with her hands as best the wrist cuffs would allow, begging me for my cum, and telling me how much her nipples hurt. 

Zarina knew she could always strike gold with that last line of effort. Zarina’s suffering was the one part of her act that I knew was always truthful. Zarina had made great strides over her first three months not only in terms of her sexual ability, but applying this quick mind of hers to appealing to my fantasies. I no longer had to egg Zarina on and force her to beg me for my cum or to hurt her. But her dirty talk had developed well beyond the average BDSM pornstar, and she would come up with things to say and suggestions that both surprised and delighted me.

This morning I wanted to see the desperation in Zarina’s face and movements, and watch her make her boobs bounce, knowing that the heavy weighted forceps caused her protestations. Positive reinforcement was now part of my plan, so I made sure to let Zarina know how beautiful she looked suffering for me. Critical to being my sex slave was learning how to feed my sadism.

I was not trying to be funny, but I joked that I was helping Zarina beat the clock by forcing her to wear the weighted clamps. Zarina picked right up on that and cooed her appreciation and thanked me for being so good to her by hurting her nipples. It may have been a survival mechanism, but at least she was now trying to survive. Either way, I was loving it. 

Zarina must have seen the signs that all this was getting me close, and decided it  to push it into overdrive as her time was running out. She mock-pleaded: “Master, please tear these forceps off…. They’re so heavy…. Right as you’re about to cum…. You know’ll that’ll hurt my nipples the most right after….”