He continues your training

He thrusts into you a few more times- slow, deliberate strokes that make you whimper and clench around him- before pulling out completely. You sob at the emptiness, your hips pushing back desperately, seeking to be filled again.

"*No*," he says sharply, and the command reverberates through the collar bond like a physical force. Your body freezes instantly, trembling with need but unable to disobey. "This is lesson one: *control*. You're going to learn to manage that needy little cunt of yours, because when you approach my target, you can't be a dripping, desperate mess. You need to be *subtle*. Alluring. *Trustworthy*."

He walks around to face you, his cock still glistening with your combined fluids. You stare at it hungrily, your forked tongue flicking out to wet your lips.

"The person I'm sending you after is *protected*," he continues, crouching down to meet your eyes. "Wards, guardians, magical defenses- all designed to detect and repel demonic influence. But you..." He reaches out and traces the curve of your horn with one finger, sending pleasant tingles through your skull. "You're something *new*. Part mortal soul, part imp essence. You'll register as *mostly* human to their protections. Harmless. *Innocent*, even."

You try to process this information, but it's difficult to focus with your pussy still clenching around nothing, your body *screaming* for release. There's something else bothering you too, something nagging at the edges of your consciousness...

*Who were you before this? What was your... your...*

The thought slips away like water through your fingers. You can almost grasp it- a sense of *identity*, of a life that existed before this moment- but the collar bond pulses with warmth and the memory dissolves into static.

"Focus," your Master commands, snapping his fingers in front of your face. "I can feel you drifting. What's wrong?"

"I... I don't..." You struggle to articulate the confusion. "Master, I can't remember my... what I was called. Before."

His expression softens slightly, though there's still that predatory edge to his smile. "That's because you don't *have* a name anymore, little whore. I took it when I took your memories. You're a blank slate now- *my* blank slate. When you need to be called something, I'll give you a name appropriate to the situation."

The explanation should *terrify* you. Instead, you feel a strange sense of *relief*. No name means no past. No past means no conflicting loyalties. You exist only for *this*- for *him*.

"Thank you, Master," you whisper, and you mean it.

"Good girl." He stands, his cock bobbing at eye level, and you have to physically restrain yourself from lunging forward to take it in your mouth. "Now, let's begin properly. Stand up."

You push yourself to your hooves, wobbling dangerously. Your center of gravity is still *wrong*, and the digitigrade structure of your legs requires constant adjustment. You manage to stay upright for about five seconds before your left hoof slides out from under you and you crash back down to your hands and knees with a yelp.

"Again," he says, unmoved by your struggle.

You try again. And again. And *again*. Each time you fall, your frustration grows, but so does your determination. The bond thrums with your Master's *patience*- he's not angry, just... *waiting*. Observing. Assessing.

On your seventh attempt, you manage to stay upright for a full thirty seconds before your legs start shaking.

"Better," he acknowledges. "Now walk to me."

He's standing about ten feet away, near the bedroom door. You take a tentative step forward, your hoof clicking against the hardwood. Then another. Your tail swishes behind you for balance- *when did you learn to do that?*- and your small breasts bounce with each movement. You make it halfway before you stumble, but you catch yourself this time, staying on your hooves.

"*Good*," your Master purrs, and the praise sends a rush of pleasure through the bond that nearly makes you orgasm on the spot. You gasp, your pussy clenching, but you manage to hold yourself back from the edge.

"You felt that, didn't you?" he asks, his eyes gleaming. "The way I can manipulate your pleasure through the collar? That's going to be crucial for your training. Every time you do well, you'll be *rewarded*. Every time you fail..."

He sends a pulse of *discomfort* through the bond- not quite pain, but deeply unpleasant- and you whimper, your legs nearly giving out.

"...you'll be *corrected*," he finishes. "Now, come here. Slowly. Show me you can control those legs."

You take your time, focusing on each step. Left hoof, right hoof, tail for balance, keep your back straight, don't let your breasts throw off your center of gravity. It takes you nearly a minute to cross the remaining distance, but when you finally reach him, standing on trembling legs, the wave of approval through the bond is *intoxicating*.

"*Excellent*," he murmurs, running his hand down your cheek. "You're a fast learner. Now, lesson two: your tail."

He moves behind you, and you feel his fingers wrap around the spaded tip of your tail. The sensation is *electric*- pleasure so intense you cry out, your knees buckling. He catches you before you fall, holding you upright with one arm while his other hand continues to stroke your tail.

"Your tail is an erogenous zone," he explains, his voice clinical despite the way he's making you writhe. "One of many. But it's also a *tool*. Watch."

He guides your tail forward, between your legs, and you feel the heart-shaped tip brush against your dripping slit. The contact makes you *moan*, your hips jerking involuntarily.

"You can use it to tease," he continues, moving your tail in slow circles around your entrance. "To pleasure yourself- or others. To display your arousal and availability. It's *expressive*. Right now, for example, it's telling me that you're desperate to be fucked again."

"*Please*," you whimper, but he just chuckles and releases your tail. It droops behind you, twitching with frustrated need.

"Not yet. Lesson three: your horns."

He moves back in front of you and reaches up to grasp both of your horns firmly. The effect is *immediate*- your entire body goes limp, a wave of *submission* so powerful it's almost spiritual washing over you. You hear yourself making soft, pleading sounds, your pussy gushing fresh arousal down your thighs.

"When someone holds your horns," he says, his voice seeming to come from very far away, "you become *completely* submissive. It's a biological imperative for imp whores- a way for your partners to assert dominance. You'll need to be *very* careful about who you let touch them."

He releases your horns and you sag forward, gasping. Your mind is fuzzy, your thoughts scattered, and it takes several seconds before you can focus again.

"That... that was..." You can't find words.

"Overwhelming?" he supplies. "Yes. It's designed to be. Now, let's test your memory. Recite the rules I gave you earlier."

You blink, trying to organize your thoughts. The rules. He'd told you... what had he told you?

"Rule one," you begin hesitantly. "I exist to serve. My pleasure comes from pleasing you and whoever you designate."

"*Good*. Continue."

"Rule two: I will never refuse a command. Disobedience causes me pain."

"Rule three?"

"My body is yours. Every hole, every curve, every sensation belongs to you. You can use me, lend me out, trade me however you want."

"And rule four?"

"I address you as Master, Lord, or Sir. I refer to myself as... as your imp whore, your fuck-toy, your cock-sleeve." The words make you shudder with arousal, but you force yourself to continue standing.

"*Perfect*," he says, and the approval through the bond is like a drug. "You're doing so well, little whore. Now comes the difficult part: *denial*."

He reaches down and cups your pussy, his fingers sliding easily through your wetness. You moan and try to grind against his hand, but he pulls back slightly, keeping the contact light and teasing.

"You're going to learn to control your orgasms," he explains, his fingers circling your clit without quite touching it. "To hold yourself on the edge for as long as I command. To *deny* yourself release even when every fiber of your being is screaming for it."

"I... I don't know if I can," you admit, your voice shaking. The need is already building again, coiling tight in your belly.

"You *will*," he says firmly. "Because I'm commanding it. And you *cannot* disobey."

His fingers finally make contact with your clit, and you nearly *scream* at the intensity. He rubs in slow, deliberate circles, building your pleasure higher and higher. Your legs shake, your tail thrashes, your small breasts heave with each gasping breath.

"Don't cum," he orders, and you feel the command settle into your bones through the collar bond.

The pleasure continues to build. You're *so close*, teetering on the edge, your pussy clenching rhythmically around nothing. Every instinct is screaming at you to let go, to surrender to the orgasm, but the *command* holds you back like an iron chain.

"*Please*," you sob, tears streaming down your face. "Please, Master, I *need*-"

"No," he says simply, his fingers never stopping their torturous circles. "You need to learn *control*. This is what you'll face when you're seducing my target. You'll need to be aroused enough to be convincing, but controlled enough to think clearly and follow the plan."

He keeps you on that edge for what feels like *hours* but is probably only minutes. Your entire world narrows down to the sensation of his fingers on your clit, the desperate *need* coiling tighter and tighter in your core, and the iron command preventing your release.

Finally, *finally*, he says: "*Cum*."

You *shatter*. The orgasm rips through you with such force that you actually *do* scream, your voice echoing off the bedroom walls. Your legs give out completely and you collapse, but he catches you, lowering you gently to the floor as you convulse and spasm. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, each one more intense than the last, until you're not sure where one orgasm ends and the next begins.

When you finally come back to yourself, you're lying on the floor, trembling and gasping. Your Master is sitting beside you, one hand stroking your hair gently.

"*Beautiful*," he murmurs. "You did so well, little whore. I'm very pleased with