The customer is always right.

The customer stepped toward me, his fingers closing around my jaw with a pressure that **** me to look up at him. His smile was a mixture of triumph and cruelty, his clammy palm sticking to my skin as he traced a wet path along my cheek.

• An hour is a long time when you know how to use it, he murmured, tugging at the tank top that clung to my chest, the fabric ripping slightly under the strain.

The fabric ripped beneath his fingers, exposing my damp skin to the cold air of the room. His nails dug pink furrows down my ribs as he ripped the tank top off completely, tossing it in a corner with a satisfied grunt.

"Watch me when I touch you," he growled, roughly grabbing my hair to **** my gaze into his. His thumb slammed against my lower lip, stretching my mouth into a humiliating grimace.

-I'm going to make you scream with pleasure and pain. I'm going to do to you what I've never dared do to a woman. I love this club.

His fingers dug into my hair with brutal greed, pulling until tears stinged my eyes. The acrid scent of his sweat hit me as he pressed his chest against my face, the heat of his sticky skin crushing my open mouth.

"You'll be counting every second, bitch," he growled, sliding a hand between my thighs, his knuckles scraping against my skin through the fabric of my shorts.

He **** me to kiss him. His mouth crushed mine. His teeth clashed with mine, too brutal, too greedy, as his tongue **** its way inside like an invasion. I was suffocating, my fingers clutching at his damp chest, desperately searching for a hold to push away his grasp. But he wouldn't let go, his hands gripping the back of my neck like an iron fist, preventing me from escaping.

He ripped off my bodysuit, tied my wrists behind my back with a jump rope, turned me around, and began slapping my buttocks. I was confused, scared, but I also felt my insides moistening, moaning with as much pain as pleasure during the slaps.

His palm slammed down on my skin with a wet crack, each slap leaving a burning mark that layered over the previous ones. I bit my lip to stifle a moan, but my body betrayed my shame—my hips lifted involuntarily, seeking the brutal touch of his fingers.

His fingers dug deeper, forcing me to arch in pain mingled with the guilty pleasure that gnawed at me. A low groan escaped him as he felt the dampness betraying my body. "Disgusting," he growled, pressing harder, his knuckles rubbing against me through the thin fabric until the friction burned.

With a sharp tug, he ripped my shorts, the fabric snapping beneath his eager fingers.

The torn fabric slid down my trembling legs, exposing my skin to the cold air of the room. His fingers dug into my flesh with calculated brutality, each indentation leaving a red mark that pulsed beneath his grasp. I gasped, my ribs heaving with ragged breaths, as he traced a burning path down the inside of my thighs.

The room echoed with my gasps as he presented his penis to the cleft of my buttocks, moving it in and out without penetrating me, just to see if I was aroused. And he was succeeding. I was beginning to lose control, my moans growing louder.

His fingers dug into my hips, his nails carving painful half-moons into my flesh as he rubbed his hard penis against me with calculated slowness. Each movement tore a strangled sound from my throat—a mixture of shame and excitement impossible to stifle.

• You're trembling like a female dog in heat, he sneered, biting my ear, his hot saliva dripping down my neck.

With a sudden, sharp thrust, he didn't take my vagina but my anus, when I least expected it.

The pain shot out like a white-hot blade, tearing a hoarse cry from my throat. My fingers clenched on the carpet, my knuckles whitening from the effort of resisting the brutal invasion. He didn't slow down, didn't ask for anything—just a satisfied grunt as my muscles gave way under his pressure, forcing me open.

• I told you I'd do to you what I'd never dared do to a woman.

With these words, he began thrusting in and out like a brute, knocking me out with his brutality.

My body stiffened under the onslaught, each thrust eliciting a strangled groan, my mouth agape in a silent grimace. His hands gripped my hips with possessive ferocity, his fingers digging purplish welts into my pale flesh. The pain radiated, burning, ripping, but between each brutal thrust, something else was born—a creeping warmth that curled in my belly, betraying my shame.

His hips slammed against my skin with brutal regularity, each impact making my bruised flesh vibrate. A trickle of saliva escaped my lower lip as I bit the air, unable to stifle the guttural sounds this rhythmic violation extracted from me. His fingers dug suddenly into my ribs, pinning me as he arched my back to thrust deeper—a low groan escaped him as I involuntarily tensed around him.

I felt his muscles tighten beneath my sweaty palms as he tightened his grip, his raspy breath pounding in my ear like a war drum. His hips pounded into my flesh with obscene precision, each thrust deeper than the last, as if he were trying to leave his mark on my gut. Pain mingled with a humiliating heat, my own moans echoing against the room's mirrors, transforming my resistance into a mock consent.

His fingers closed around the back of my neck, crushing my cheek against the damp carpet as he quickened his pace, each thrust throwing me forward in a jerky motion.

"Look at yourself," he growled, brutally yanking my hair to **** my gaze toward the mirror in front of us.

I was horrified. Despite the pain, my expression betrayed the pleasure I felt but tried to hide.

• You like that, huh ? His hoarse voice crushed me even more than his weight, as his fingers dug deeper into my hair, pulling until tears mingled with the sweat on my cheeks.

All my certainties crumbled. I had accepted my status—at least my body had internalized it; only my mind denied it. After a moment, the client tensed and ejaculated into my rectum. I couldn't suppress a moan of satisfaction. He withdrew carelessly, which made me wince.

• No. Clean my sex with your tongue.

His words landed like a whip, pinning me to the ground more firmly than his hands still gripping my hair. My throat tightened, a searing humiliation rising to my cheeks as my gaze involuntarily fixed on his glistening member, smeared with our fluids.

I reached out a trembling hand, but he brushed it aside with a sharp gesture.

• No, your tongue and your mouth.

My breath caught in my throat, my trembling lips brushing the salty skin of his lower abdomen before obeying. My tongue emerged slowly, burning with shame, tracing a wet path along his still-erect member. The acrid taste of our mixture made me blink, but I persisted, each lick cleaning the purplish streaks in his flesh.

His fingers tightened in my hair, guiding my head with relentless pressure as he pushed deeper between my lips.

My tongue pressed against his taut skin, every fiber of my being trembling with humiliation. The metallic taste of blood, my own, mingled with sweat and its musky essence, filling my mouth with a bitter mixture that made me wince. His fingers dug deeper into my hair, forcing me to swallow more, until my throat tightened involuntarily around him.

His hips jerked, forcing my mouth deeper until my throat contracted beneath the intrusion. A low groan escaped him as my lips, stretched to their limit, sealed his flesh together. The pressure increased, a final warning, before a hot jet exploded at the back of my throat, forcing me to swallow reflexively, each pulse filling my mouth with a salty, musky taste.

His hand tightened around the back of my neck, preventing me from pulling away as the final spasm of his body poured inside me. My throat tightened, reflexively swallowing each drop, a searing reminder of my submission. He held his grip for a moment longer, as if to ensure nothing was wasted, before slowly withdrawing, leaving my mouth gaping, panting, my tongue heavy with the lingering taste of him.

He stood up and left me on the floor.

• Next time be better, or I'll give you even less.

He dressed and pressed the bell. Virgil opened the door, looking at me without any compassion as the customer left.

• Is that enough for you? Next time, push yourself further, unless you want to become a prostitute instead of a coach. Go take a shower, put your collar back on, and put your belt with the dildo and plug back on.

He threw me some clean clothes: the training collar, the belt with the dildo, and the plug.

I remained prostrate on the damp carpet, my trembling limbs still refusing to obey me. The rough carpet clung to my burning cheek, each breath heavy with the musky scent of our violation. My fingers tightened on the soiled fabric as I heard the door slam behind Virgil—a final sound that sealed my defeat.