“Ms. Glenna.. What brings you here of all places this evening?” You say, sitting ominously in your chair.
“They say you’re the best at what you do,” I plead, “Please. I’ve tried everything else. You are my last resort. They say your methods are.. unorthodox. But they work. You have to help me.”
“You do understand what will be required of you, in agreeing to this?” You ask.
“Yes. I’ll do anything. Anything you ask,” I repeat, my voice quivering with unease.
You stand up slowly and begin to unbuckle your belt walking towards me. I see your face now as it enters the threshold of the spotlight. It is stern. Rife with experience.
“We will see.” You say finally, “The success of my procedure depends on your ability to follow my instructions. To a tee. Do you understand?”
I nod, as a bead of nervous sweat rolls down by cheek. You approach me, gently putting the palm of your hand by the side of my face. It is warm. Kind. Unlike your eyes which stare down at me cold and without emotion. I wonder, how do you see me? As some kind of ugly cow who can’t control her impulses? I yearn for your approval even though I know its silly. I’ve just met you.
“Open,” you beckon.
I do so almost by instinct, stretching open my jaw as wide as I can manage. My cavernous mouth is yours to explore. You slip three fingers down my throat, pressing them against the base of my tongue. They taste bitter, but I crave them nonetheless. I become weak and soft, drooling over your knuckles. You finally retreat them, slick wet, bring them up to your own lips and lick them clean. You stroke my hair affectionately. My pounding heart is racing now. You don’t find me.. disgusting?
You fold your belt perfectly into a square and shove it into my accepting mouth. I breathe a sigh of relief as I realize that’s all you wish to do with it. For now. Then you move in behind me, lifting my wrists up behind my neck and fasten them with wooden cuffs. Your fingers trail my elbows down to my armpits, lingering there. Then they slip under the seams of my satin dress. I want you to touch me all the way, to cup my breasts and feel how erect my nipples are for you.
But you slither away, leaving me only wanting more. You return with an electric razor in your hands. *No!* Terror streaks across my face, as realization dawns. I shake my head and plead with you. *Please! Not that.*
“Now now, Ms. Glenna. We’ve only just begun,” you explain.
You start with above my ears, then move on to my temple and forehead, stripping away my golden brown hair little by little. *Why,* I think merely, but I’m too afraid to refuse you. You move on to the back of my head and then my neck, sparing no trace of my femininity. As the last bits of hair is trimmed from my head, I sit shivering with tears streaming down my face. You grip what little grains there are remaining attached to my scalp and turn me towards a side mirror, as if to let me bask in the shame. I shudder at my own reflection.
“Tell me, who are you without your pretty head of hair?” You say, “Just a bag of tits?” You say grasping my left breast from outside the cloth. You are ruthless. You are cruel. Yet, why am I wet for you?
You bring out a pair of scissors and get to work on my top, ripping through the cloth. I would normally object – it was an expensive outfit; but I fear I am already broken. Yours to do with as you wish. Soon my naked body is fully exposed. You pinch my nipples tightly with your fingers. I shift and struggle at the joyful torment. You slip them underneath my filthy breasts, determined to explore every crevice of my delicate form. Then you move on to my belly encircling my navel for a second. You spit on my chest. Your warm saliva feels good dripping down my breasts. I want you to paint me in your fluids. Then you move on to the patch of hair over my crotch. Your touch feels electric against my clit. You hold it still as you trace the outside of my moist labia lips. I leak uncontrollably all over your fingers, as wet streams flow down my thigh.
You unzip your pants and hold out your cock with one hand. It is hard and dark. *Yes. Use me to fulfill your needs, master. This ugly cow is good for little else.* You remove the belt from my mouth, hold it open with your thumbs and push your shaft down my throat. I languish at the taste of your veiny cock, lapping my tongue around its massive girth. I look up at you with my gleaming eyes as I do so, to show you I am ever subservient. I wonder how I look, a bald cow sucking on your manhood. *I want your cum – I must have it.* But you slip your cock away, teasing me even now.
“Stand up,” you command.
I do so unquestioningly. Your palm comes down hard on my buttocks. My skin glows red hot as pain sears through my flesh. You attach a pair of clamps connected by a chain over my nipples as I wince, then remove my heels and throw them by the side of the room. You take my place in the chair, lean back comfortably. You are holding a black leather flogger.
“I want you to run around this chair fifty times. Only then will you have earned my cock. If you stop or slow down, I will whip you.”
I begin jogging as fast as I can, terrified of disappointing you. Sweat drips down my neck, breasts and my thighs. All the while you watch me like a hawk. Every time my legs begin to give way from exhaustion, you bring your flogger down on my rear thighs. Terror and humiliation floods my mind. Yet in this moment I am in bliss. *I am yours to whip and train, master.*
Finally you give the command to stop, and I collapse between your legs. My body is drenched from head to toe. I rub my face against your thighs, showing my gratitude for having been given a chance to recover. You hold my chin up and stare into my disheveled face, strewn with run-down make-up. You lean in to sniff me. I come to smell my own stink. *I am so filthy. So filthy for you.* But you kiss my forehead nonetheless and close your fingers around my throat. Then you ram your leg up against my slobbering pussy lips, penetrating me with your toe. I moan and twist and turn in your hands, writhing with shame and pleasure.
“Yes!” I moan uncontrollably, too late to realize to stop from speaking out of turn.
“We might make a woman out of you yet, Ms. Glenna.” You say, before pushing my head down onto your throbbing cock, and I lose myself completely.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/aqep1h/last_resort_mf_sm_humiliation_training