The Grand Inquisitor sits at his desk. The self-abuser is carried into the room locked in double shackles, a bag strapped over her head. The metal collar holds her in place where all the girls are held for interrogation directly in front of the Inquisitor. And as she’s measured her neck, breast, the depth of her cunt, the width and depth of her face hole she is constantly under the control of metal. The Grand Inquisitor allows no resistance.
Her training begins, the teaching of her innocent cunt. She must masturbate for him. She must learn to take pain with her face frozen, blank, the howl of pain stuck inside, in the isolate of some unfathomable endless space.
He designs for her a construct of irritation and pleasure, using the tools of his trade. A primitive chair a square post for her ass with wrists and ankles locked away from her. The repeated sound of a cane striking flesh. It’s nothing, a little discomfort, then a little more. A metal bit locked into her mouth holds her head in rigid stillness as she comes for him.
The bars of the narrow standing cage compress her flesh. Her neck is locked and still. He pokes and prods. He terrifies her with alcohol and a lighter. He lights a fire beneath her feet. He stabs her tight innocent cunt from behind. In every moment, the fact of her helplessness is made plain the metal about her neck, the cage, and the vibrator buried in the flesh of her enfolded pussy.
Bilbos locked at her elbows and knees bend her joints into one position only. Pulling her chain, he drags her mouth to his crotch. She learns to suck cock, how to use her lips and tongue. He leaves her then, locked this way, with her not-so-innocent cunt speared as she lies helpless on the floor.
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