By PredicamentBondage
Things are quite leisurely at the training facility with only two slaves in stock. It was wild a few weeks ago because we had eight on the go but, as it is, I feel like I’m on holiday.
Shit-head has been with us a few days now. So far, it’s spent 24 hours isolated in its pod, exercising and learning how to drink from the water dispenser. Following that, it spent the best part of a day hanging in the factory area being broken. Like its peer resident in the next pod (piss-slit), shit-head has also been through its very first training session, lesson one – SPEECH LAW NUMBER 1.
Today, it’s SPEECH LAW NUMBER 2 and shit-head is already in place, eager to begin (I’m sure).
My little brunette fire-plug is standing in one of the classrooms, one foot on each of two large blocks. The blocks are 3 feet apart so its legs are spread wide. Wrists are in 18th century iron shackles and pulled straight up, forcing the slave onto its toes. It still wears the heavy ball stretcher that it’s involuntarily had to endure for several days, making its balls ultra-sensitive and very tender. Around its neck is a shock collar, the remote control handily in my jeans back pocket.
“Good morning shit-head” I say in greeting.