The volume and intensity of Martha's pleas for help increased significantly when Richard started using the crop on her back. Her derriere was, at least, shielded from the punches by a generous amount of padding, but her back was more delicate, and the stinging strikes were peppering her skin. She attempted to evade the crop by turning away from it, but it caught her cleanly across one breast as she did so. Her screams escalated into an agonizing screech, and she started crying even though she was trying so hard to keep her eyes closed out of dread. Richard was aware that the blow to the nipple must have felt like a flame was being applied. But he was also aware that this was not an especially harsh beating; any reasonably trained slave could have endured it in silence without making a peep or a sound of protest. with the exception of that one whack to the already throbbing breast.

But Martha was not a slave at that time. Not even close. She hadn't even started to fathom what it was like to be in pain at that point. However, she would acquire knowledge swiftly. Richard was an enthusiastic and hardworking educator. He smiled at this wordless description of himself and then proceeded to whip her more severely, hitting her in the stomach, her sex, her back, her ass, and her thighs. He continued until she was in tears. Martha found herself compelled to start dancing, shrieking, and leaping as she attempted to dodge the harsh strikes that were hurting her. Richard's strikes got ever more forceful as she sobbed and begged, and he left furious red markings all over the virgin's body. Despite her tears and pleading, this just appeared to encourage Richard to continue his assault.

When he finally came to a halt, Martha was completely drenched in perspiration. She was startled to discover that she had wet herself when she felt a warm trickle of liquid pouring down her leg. She had accidentally wet herself. Even Richard came to the same conclusion. He hissed at me, his voice dripping with contempt as he said, "You dirty pig." He essentially forced her to the mattress, where she was left drenched in her own pee and was left to weep herself to sleep.

As he closed and shut the door behind him, he made a promise to me: "Tomorrow, your true training will begin."

It had been many hours. Martha knew that she must have dozed off because, when she tried to open her eyes, the haze of her dreams caused her to suddenly get confused, and she believed for a second that she was at home in her own comfortable bed. It even smelt like home, and the aroma of baking recalled to memory her mother's warm and cheery kitchen where she used to spend time with her while she was growing up. But the shackles that were on her wrists and the urine-soaked mattress that was under her bare body served as an immediate and terrible reminder that she was not in her own house.

Martha was having trouble sitting up when she saw that a tray had been placed next to her and had a dish towel draped over it. Martha reached out hesitantly and pulled the towel off the table. There were three warm muffins tucked away in the bottom of a basket, along with an empty cup and a little pitcher that smelled like coffee being brewed. Even a little creamer and sugar dish made out of earthenware were included. Martha became aware that she was famished and surprised at the fact that she was even able to think about food despite the fact that she may be killed at any minute.

She had always been a sensible young lady, so she reasoned that she would as well go to her grave well fed as starving. She ate a sizable portion of a muffin as she reached for it. It included fresh blueberries that were baked into a soft and warm bread, and it was really amazing. It's possible that the notion that this may be her last supper contributed to the dish's exceptional flavor. She made the decision to attempt to pour some of the coffee, and she spent a few seconds trying to arrange herself in such a manner that the heavy chain that was hanging between her wrists wouldn't come in the way of her doing so.

When the door opened on its quiet hinges, Martha let out a scream as her chains clanged against the coffee pot, causing the lid to fly off in a little heap on the floor. "I hope your morning is going well, Martha. It seems that you have already located your breakfast. I'm sorry, I didn't want to shock you. Please forgive me." The tall, dark guy entered the room while smiling at Martha, who was now sitting with her knees pulled up in an attempt to conceal the fact that she was nude.

"Last night I was quite impolite, and I neglected to introduce myself to anybody. I am known by the name Steven." He waited for what seemed like an eternity, as if she was going to react with a polite greeting such as "how do you do" or another usual greeting. She did nothing except look at him, her already huge eyes widening even more in response to her terror.

It seemed as if Steven paid almost any attention to the fact that she was bound and nude. They could as well have been holding a tea party for all it seemed like. He crouched down close to the tray, and in a solicitous tone, he said, "Allow me to lend you a hand with that. Do you take sugar? Cream?" His tone became considerably more stern when Martha didn't reply to him "Have you been bitten by a cat? When I talk to you, answer my questions. Keep in mind where you are." This was not a tea party by any means.

As she attempted to respond, Martha's voice began to break. She started again, and this time she said, "Both, please." Steven added the sugar and cream with deftness while he was still kneeling in an easy balancing position. He gave her the cup while stirring the coffee and then handed it to her. She didn't dare deny him. Just like the muffin, the coffee was fantastic, having been freshly prepared and full of flavor. She did her best to steady her shaking hands while appreciatively sipping the beverage.

She dared to say it since he seemed to be so kind and even nice "Obviously, my father has a lot of money. If you need money, I guarantee that I will be able to acquire it for you. -"

He interrupted her while giggling. "You silly little girl! No, we are not interested in financial gain! Don't worry about us; we have more than what we need. We want you! You are our brand new toy, as I'm sure you already know. I am aware that you are not yet used to the concept, but this is now your life! There is no way to undo this. Ever. Forget Evan, forget Mommy and Daddy. Now, Richard and I make up your whole universe. Period. It will be to your advantage to get used to it as quickly as possible."

"You will not get away with what you've done! You shall suffer the wrath of God!" This came out of Martha's mouth in a very high-pitched squeak.

Another chuckle came from Steven. "Well, it seems like that's going to be our issue, not yours, would you agree with that?"

"You will be found by my folks. You'll go to jail–"

"Enough," he said, his tone becoming more stern, and his gaze becoming more intent. "If they find us, it is because we have failed to execute our tasks and we have earned their discovery. You are a part of our group in the meanwhile. We've taken you, if you like. You are our property, and we may utilize you in any way that we see suitable. Now be quiet or I'll blow my stack at you. That is not something you would desire."

Next to Martha, who was slouched over her mattress and looking up at the ceiling, Steven assumed a crouching position himself. He stretched out and put his hand on the cloth, which was still moist. "I see you had a small accident here," Steven said, pointing to her wet bed, as he spoke the phrase. "It would seem that Richard does have such an influence on others around him. Let's get you cleaned up. He dislikes it when his toys are soiled in any way. Oh no, we can't afford to make Richard angry. That is not going to work at all." Steven used a tone of speech that was casual and easygoing, as if he were discussing the weather or the grandma of a friend. The very mention of Richard's name brought back the serious expression on his face, his slate gray eyes gazing through her as if she didn't exist, or much worse, as if the very fact that she did exist was an insult to him.

In her mouth, the coffee had thickened to the consistency of muck. Martha lowered the cup on the table and, trembling, attempted to cover herself once again. "Having fun yet? That's not a problem at all. Even though I baked those muffins just for you, I'm not going to take it personally that you've lost your appetite. To be honest, it seems like you could use to drop a few pounds in any case, is that right, Martha?" Martha's face turned a bright shade of red as she struggled to contain her anger and humiliation at the fact that he had called her obese and made the comment. Evan affirmed to her that he like her in her natural state and that he found it feminine and appealing. She had believed him, and the pleasure she took in sweets contributed to her belief that there was no need for anything to alter.

"No need to be alarmed, however. We'll make sure you get your workout. But before we do anything else, let's get you cleaned up! Richard is highly picky when it comes to his personal cleanliness. For his games, he is going to expect you to be neat and tidy all the time. First, I'm going to take the handcuffs off of you, but don't even think about doing anything as idiotic as running away from me once I'm done. Richard and I both have a lot of strength, and we live in the middle of nowhere extremely far away from everybody else." Steven took a little key off of a necklace that was around his neck and utilized it as he was speaking. While Steven extended his hand to Martha, Martha stroked her wrists nervously. "Up you get!" Martha grabbed the offered hand despite her strong reluctance, as she did not dare to decline it.

He took her from the room with the mirrors and brought her down the hall to a washroom. The temperature in this chamber was lower than in the one she had been confined to before. Martha shuddered and crossed her arms over her breasts to keep from becoming cold. Steven indicated the restroom with a point. "Do you need to leave?" Martha seemed to be shaking her head, but she wasn't. She was not going to urinate in front of this man under any circumstances.

"You are free to do as you choose, but you should know that if you continue to urinate in your bed, you will be disciplined for it. If you really want to suppress your laughter, make sure you do it even more skillfully than you did the prior time!" As he saw Martha redden and lower her head, he couldn't help but crack a smile. He escorted her to the shower and started the water before entering.

"I'm afraid you're in for a chilly shower. You're going to have to work for that sizzling one. And you surely haven't done anything to deserve that just yet!" Martha was coerced into stepping into the chilly spray of water by Steven, who pushed her. She whimpered and fumbled her way out of the room.

"Martha, you should stay in. If you don't come in, I'll make sure you stay inside." The threat was ambiguous, yet it was sufficient to get the poor girl to comply with what she was instructed. She behaved pitifully as she stood there in the mist. Steven grabbed the bar of soap and proceeded to massage it all over her body, creating a lather in the process. "Feet shoulder-width apart and hands behind your head," was the instruction he issued. Martha put herself in the position that was expected of her, despite the fact that the cold was making her teeth rattle and her cheeks was hot with embarrassment.

Steven gave her a thorough lather, pausing for barely a split second to concentrate on her nipples and pussy. He went so far as to wash her hair for her and then instruct her to rinse it. He grabbed her hand and assisted her in getting out of the bathtub before using a huge, absorbent towel to aggressively but effectively dry her off. As he took her back to her mirrored cage, her thick, black hair flowed wetly down her back like a waterfall.

Martha was happy for the fact that it was warmer in there, despite the fact that she was still shivering from the cold shower she had just had. The mattress was gone, leaving behind just the barren room, which had a number of enormous hooks that gave off a sinister appearance strategically positioned on the floor and in the ceiling. Martha saw her own nude body reflected in the mirrored walls wherever she looked. The reflections seemed to go on forever. She glanced down, feeling even more humiliated than before.

After spending some time away from her, Steven returned with a huge box that he slammed down forcefully on the ground upon his arrival. He ordered, "Kneel," while pointing to his feet for emphasis. Martha crouched down and curled herself into a ball, acting as if she might vanish. "Hands out in front of you, forehead to the floor, and ass up high," the instructor said. During the time that Steven was talking, he dragged and pushed Martha into the proper position. He then skillfully fastened leather shackles to her wrists and ankles and a huge belt around her waist. He used chains that were created specifically for the task, binding her at the waist, wrists, and ankles to the hooks in the floor so that she was unable to move from her position. And there he abandoned the woman.

It only seemed like an hour had gone, although just minutes had passed. Martha was unable to control her shaking. It was a relief to find out that he had not murdered her. To God be the glory, she was still alive after all these years. She had to persevere through this ordeal in order to succeed. She was at a loss to explain why, but she was certain that she needed to be courageous and depend on her faith. She was chained and kept in place by a giant hook that was sunk in the boards, and her hands were spread out in front of her. It was difficult for her to keep this in mind as she knelt there with her head on the cold wooden floor.

Her whole body began to shake, and she had no idea how to stop it. She was aware that she needed to take a silly image, which included her exposing her nude body, which was very enormous, with her ass being shoved up and her legs spread so that her bare genitalia was revealed. And she still needed to go to the bathroom. Her eyes started to water, and the tears tickled her nose, which was already starting to flow. As a result of being forced into this unfamiliar position, she was experiencing excruciating pain in her legs.

When she heard the sound of a key turning in the lock, all of the thoughts that were making her feel physically uncomfortable flew out of her brain. Only the shaking remained consistent throughout. Richard crept in unseen on his bare feet as the door gradually opened and opened. This time around he was wearing black pants and there was no shirt on him. He was holding something in his hands, which seemed to be a stick. He crouched down next to the lady who was prostrate and placed the object behind her.

"How are you this morning, cunt?" His tone lacked the comedy and warmth that Steven's had, which were both there in Steven's. The British accents were brief and concise in their delivery. Martha was taken aback by the term, which caused her to redden to the point where her cheeks were burning. A hand on her hair, pulling it up and to the side with force. The pain caused Martha to groan.

"You are going to respond with "Good morning, master" whenever I say "good morning, cunt." Do you get the meaning of the phrase "I am your slave cunt"?" He acted as if he were instructing her in a basic word in a foreign language by the way he talked to her. He talked in a measured manner, was quite straightforward, and had very little intonation. Richard exerted more force on her tresses, tilting her head to the side and back. Martha's eyes were being forced shut, and she started whimpering as a result. He spoke in a hushed tone as he said, "Now we'll try again, will we?"

"Please," she started pleading with him. "I beg you, refrain from doing this. Please–" He delivered a heavy smack to her face before releasing his grip on her hair.

"Martha, you really are quite the moron, aren't you? You are unable to carry out even the most basic of instructions. To my good fortune, I have a lot of spare time. You are not going anywhere, that is for certain. Therefore, we will begin once again. But first, a little amount of discipline to assist you keep in mind that you are expected to comply. I'm going to identify you with my go-to cane in a moment. It's a very little instrument, but it packs a powerful punch and is popular in Thailand."

Richard picked up the thin flexible rod that was lying on the ground behind Martha. He turned it so that it was towards her face. "Open your eyes, cunt. You may not think much of this cane at first glance, but it will teach you proper etiquette if you use it. I will expect you to kiss it after each time that I use it on you as a thank you for being disciplined, which is something that you will undoubtedly be in dire need of. You have the option to pick between a kiss before or a kiss after this time. Which option do you choose, cunt?"

Martha was sobbing uncontrollably, with tears flowing down both her eyes and nose. It seemed as if Richard was completely uninterested. "I'll consider that as a sign that you'll kiss it after it kisses you if you continue to refuse to respond," the person said. His eyes shone with a harsh and brilliant brilliance, and his lips was pulled into a tight grin. After positioning himself behind the young girl, he knelt down and brought the thin cane crashing down with force into her unborn flesh.

Martha let out a yowl as the agony ran through her behind like a burning line of fire. Richard watched as the welt began to expand, transforming from a thin white line into a blazing crimson spot. After achieving his goal, he strolled around the girl who was chained and prostrate while holding the rod in front of her face. Martha's determination had finally given out, and she puckered her lips and kissed the cane in submission. Richard nodded, giving the impression that he was content. "Now. I hope you had a good night, cunt."

"Um, g-good morning, master," she said. Her hiccups were followed by sobs "What else? Please, God, don't torment me any more; I can't recall anything!"

""Good morning, your highness. I am your slave cunt.'"

"Good morning to you, your highness. I am your slave." Her normal speaking volume has dropped to a whisper.

"I'm sorry, cunt, but I can't hear you. Say it again. Louder. If I am unable to hear what you are saying, I will spank you once more."

"Oh, no! Please don't do that!" She had a big sniffle and then started again, "Good morning to you, your highness. I am your c-cunt slave, master." The very act of uttering the phrase caused her discomfort, and she had the sensation that shattered glass was lodged in her throat.