Chained to soft mattresses, heads bowed, backs arched high, asses and thighs exposed for the inevitable, chains drawing their calves together while ankles spread wide for access to their most intimate depths, the five girls trembled in the dim light of the training room. Mr. Mosbie paced before them, tests clutched in his hand. "Out of forty questions, you failed over half. We'll review each one. Wrong answers mean beatings. So, which tool should we use today?"
Most whimpered for the paddle, voices cracking. He smirked and uncoiled the short whip instead. "Paddle's for gentlemen. I shed that title ages ago. Delinquents like you earn no kindness."
"You wouldn't be here if you'd listened in class and your parents signed off on this night's training. By law, while you live under their roof, they own you, and so do I, for now."
"They want you reformed. I want to cram lessons down your throats, extract every ounce of experience you owe. Let's start: Why don't top-tier rankers rush through daily life? You all missed this multiple-choice gem."
"The answer: They save speed for combat. S-ranks like me would burn out otherwise, needing mountains of food, endless sleep. Time for corrections."
The whip cracked through the air, lashing each girl's exposed skin in turn. Thighs quivered, asses reddened, backs arched with sharp cries. Question by question, he explained, the sting building like fire beneath their flesh. Regret twisted their faces; they should have studied, paid attention. The girl with the worst scores sobbed loudest. "Please, Mr. Mosbie, I'll be good, I swear! Just release me!" Her pleas dissolved into heaving sobs as she took punishment for speaking out of turn, body slick with sweat and tears, wondering what deeper torments awaited if she broke again.
"Didn't I already tell you the punishment for speaking out of turn during lessons, stupid girl?" he said, determined she learn true obedience from pain.
He circled back to the tests, whip dangling loose. "If awakened F-ranks have one battery, E-ranks two, how many does an A-ranker need to fill for S-rank? Answer: six. Two of you nailed it."
The leather tip trailed over the welts on that lucky pair, a mocking caress that made them flinch, skin still throbbing. For the other three, he unleashed hell from shoulders to calves, the whip slicing air and flesh alike. Their screams ripped through the attic, bodies jerking against chains, tears carving paths down flushed cheeks.
By the test's end, every girl bore a map of stripes, red and raw. Once, he'd gagged his night study group to muffle the noise, but seasons of breaking school girl after school girl in this soundproofed attic had dulled him. Now their wails harmonized like a twisted orchestra, fueling his rhythm.
"Final question: During the Carnage Days, what weapons reclaimed humanity's edge against the Gates' chaos? The answer is guns. Even kids know this; you all blanked." Whip in hand, punishment drilled into flesh. Each girl would bear scars, a fond memory of a mentor who reshaped their views on life. Each given his number to memorize. His contact list neared the thousands.
"This caps tonight. Early awakening appointments for your classmates tomorrow. I'll fuck you each, then you sleep chained. Breakfast, then back to the kennels."
Their pleas for release bounced off him like rain on stone. Soon enough, training would flip the script; they'd crave his cock in school halls, just like the ones he'd molded before. Cs to Bs, even As parents' grateful nods as he handed back pliant daughters.
Whip set aside, he claimed them one by one, unyielding hands spreading them open. For the virgins, his seven-inch cock split cunts wide, thick shaft forcing gasps as it buried deep, stretching virgin walls until blood-tinged slick eased the thrust. The others, no strangers to boys, felt the difference—his girth dwarfing their fumbling lovers, pounding with a man's raw power, hips slamming to grind against clits.
Those schoolboys would claim sloppy seconds, holes forever reshaped. The girls' minds would wander to his veined length even as those youths rutted clumsily, memories of true fullness haunting every shallow pump.
Quick releases inside each, cum leaking from battered pussies, then he packed vibrating toys into their dripping cores, settings humming low to torment through the night. No rest for whipped flesh; pain and pleasure twisted together, chained down helpless.
He watched them buck, moans spilling as orgasms ripped through—bodies bowing off mattresses, cries shifting from mercy to ecstasy. "It feels so good!" one gasped, the lesson sinking in. Harsh methods for harsh girls, but they'd emerge stronger, ranks climbing.
Attic door creaking open, Buster waited below, tail thumping. A nod, and the massive dog bounded up, greeting the chained forms with eager laps across tear-streaked faces, tongue warm and insistent. Mr. Mosbie left the door ajar, Buster free to roam and "welcome" as he pleased, before descending into the quiet house.
Buster's nose twitched, drawn to the sharp tang of sweat, blood, and cum hanging heavy in the attic air. He padded between the chained girls, massive paws silent on the worn floorboards, sniffing at their striped thighs and quivering bellies. One by one, his rough tongue dragged over the fresh welts, lapping at the salty sting of open skin. The girls yelped and twisted, chains rattling as his warm laps sent jolts through raw nerves—pain mingling with an odd, soothing heat that made their breaths hitch. "No, get off!" one sobbed, but Buster persisted, tail wagging, cleaning the whip marks with insistent strokes that left their bodies glistening.
Downstairs, Mr. Mosbie stretched out in his bed, the distant chorus of cries filtering through the house like a lullaby. High-pitched whimpers and gasps blended into white noise, rocking him into sleep. No nightmares tonight; just the satisfaction of a job well done, bodies breaking under his hand.
Morning light sliced through the curtains, pulling Alex from a deep slumber. He woke hard and throbbing, Maria's curves molded against him—her ass nestled right into his morning erection, soft skin warm from the night's tangle. Shifting, he leaned over her sleeping form, thumb brushing the dark circles under her eyes, exhaustion etched from whatever she'd endured. His gaze dropped to her chest, one nipple puffy and red, swollen bigger than its twin, begging for balance.
Glancing at the clock, he smirked—plenty of time. He rolled her onto her back gently, mouth latching onto the untouched nipple. Teeth grazed it before he sucked hard, tongue flicking as he tugged it between his lips. Maria stirred with a gasp, eyes fluttering open. "Ohh, ahhh... Stupid brother, that hurts! Aaahh, that—oowww!" Her voice cracked, body arching despite the whine, thighs clenching as arousal flooded her core.
He chuckled against her skin, nipping sharper to draw out those cute flushes. "Sister, I got to even them out. Can't have one looking all neglected." Free hand sliding down, he pressed his thick cock against the cleft of her ass, grinding slow circles. The friction made her squirm, his shaft sliding between her cheeks, tip nudging her puckered hole through the thin fabric of her panties.