Appreciate her helplessness.

It's amazing what you can buy.

It's amazing what people are willing to sell.

Legally the girl before you doesn't exist. The people you work with aren't a half assed snatch and grab operation. There is not a lick of paperwork to prove she exists, or ever existed. Some of these girls had a life before this, carefully erased after a particularly dark deal with the devil, others... well there are rumours of would-be J-Pop idols taken away to become brood mares, their secret daughters born to be slaves outside of the eyes of the law.

The girl before you is beautiful to the point you can easily believe she is the result of carefully selected breeding stock. Her long hair is silken and shimmers in the sunlight, her skin is pale and delicate, her fine features beg you to **** emotions upon her, while her body curves in perfect hourglass, her slender waist slipping elegantly from her large, plush breasts. Her manners are impeccable, bowing respectfully before you, her new owner, yet there is a fear in her eyes that makes you think she once had a normal life before this. That to be stripped and collared like this is still all to new to her, that being brought her to the presence of her Master has made what is happening terrifyingly real at last.

"Look at me," you command.

She flinches at your voice, the fear becoming confusion and panic as she does her best to stay appealing and pretty. That you have given an order is clear, but she doesn't know what. She freezes up, head still hung low, unknowingly defying your orders.

She doesn't understand a word of English. It had been a specific part of your order. You wanted a girl who was not only physically but linguistically helpless. Silence is not an uncommon desire amongst Masters. Alongside wanting a quiet and pliant ****, there are those who deem human communcation wholly unnecessary for their property. What need after all does an onahole or broodmare have for words or thoughts?

But this is different. It's not her silence you want, but her confusion and struggle. To see her desperation to understand and obey fall short, to punish her as she struggled in ignorance, to see if she would learn and adapt, or break and fall into animal ignorance.

"Look at me, or I'm going to slap your breasts," you gaze hungrily down at her perfectly presented chest.

Again, as expected, she quivers. Clearly choosing to remain respectfully bowed than risk any action being the wrong one. Such a good polite girl. It makes the way she squeels as you lash out and slap her across the breasts even more delightful, her soft bosom shaking and giving under your blow, a hot red mark left upon her precious flesh.

"Look at me," you command again, grinning at her.

"S-sumasen, w-wakarimasen..." she whispers, tears pooling in her eyes, her head staying lowered, her bow perfect, and no attempt made to withdraw the **** breasts she still displays so well for you.