A Bad Girl’s Lesson – The Institute Read Online Emily Tilton

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Insta-Love Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 66851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)

As nineteen-year-old Marianne Givens is bound to an examination table in preparation for a humiliatingly intimate inspection, she begins to understand how foolish it was to blackmail a Selecta executive. But it is only when she is handed over to the stern firefighter daddies in whose custody she will serve her sentence that she truly learns how shamefully she will be punished.With her bare bottom on fire from a paddling and the arousal dripping down her thighs putting her helpless surrender on full display, she can only writhe and beg and come as her virgin body is claimed and ravaged. But a bad girl needs much more than that to truly learn her lesson...Publisher's A Bad Girl's Lesson is the eighth entry in the series The Bad Girls. The books of this series are stand-alone novels which share the same near-future setting as The Institute Series. A Bad Girl's Lesson includes spankings, sexual scenes, intense and humiliating punishments, and strong D/s themes. If such material offends you, please don't buy this book.

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“I’m not sure about this new protocol,” said the doctor to the nurse as they both stood looking down at me. I glared up at him, trying to say with angry eyes just how fucking monstrous I thought everything this protocol was.

Not that I even really had an especially good idea of what a protocol involved. I had the vague feeling that it meant something about manners, or maybe about hospitals, but those two things didn’t go together at all. New or old, whatever fucking protocol these assholes had decided to put me through represented, as far as I could tell, a horrendously unjust—and, I hoped anyway, totally illegal—series of humiliating, degrading, fascist acts they seemed intent on committing on me without my consent.

Not to mention the worst thing that had ever happened to me in my life.

Naked, bound, gagged, and placed in something like a gynecologist’s examination chair with my knees spread wide, I couldn’t tell the stupid doctor or his stupid nurse just how deeply I resented their protocol. I couldn’t even cry out in protest as the nurse started to shave my pussy.

“But, doctor,” she said as she held the buzzing clipper a few inches away from my privates, looking down with an assessing, condescending expression, “Selecta knows what they’re doing, don’t they?” She, a middle-aged professional in traditional blue scrubs, regarded the intimate places between my spread thighs as if she wanted to start the humiliation of the shaving in the most degrading way possible, so as to teach me some horrid “lesson”.

She brought the clipper down slowly, confirming—it seemed to me—that she wanted to make certain I “understood” something. Despite the stout webbing belt fastened around my waist, I couldn’t help trying desperately to squirm away from the buzzing device. I managed to move my ass about a millimeter, which only made my situation worse. The tsking noise of patronizing disapproval the nurse made with her tongue and the way the tension in my muscles from the effort both reinforced, to my dismay, the unexpected, unwelcome, frankly horrifying response of my clit and my nipples to their whole fucking protocol.

“Naughty little girls who are getting their privates shaved,” the doctor said, his voice just as condescending as the nurse’s, “need to keep themselves still.”

My lips parted and my heart, which had already wanted to pound through my rib cage, began to beat even more wildly. I forgot all about the pink ball gag they had stuck in my mouth and velcroed behind my neck, and I tried to say What? but it came out as a sort of moaning grunt, which then extended itself mortifyingly as I felt the clipper start to do its work between my thighs.

Having delivered his baffling warning about “naughty little girls,” the doctor proceeded to ignore me completely. He answered the nurse’s question—which I had to admit I wanted to get the answer to as well. I had known I was taking a serious risk in trying to run my play on a Selecta executive, because the megacorps had their own private security apparatuses these days, much more brutal, and much more effective, than the government’s police.

I hadn’t known that she would have the power to turn me over to what seemed increasingly like a separate, twisted, fascist system of justice. I didn’t know if it would make it better, or worse, to hear what the doctor thought of Selecta’s capacity for creating protocols like whatever-the-fuck one they had decided to apply to me.

“Oh, they know what they’re doing,” he told her. “I’m just not sure it’s a great use of my time to provide this wayward young woman—a convicted felon, no less—with the fulfillment of her unconscious sexual fantasies as a means of punishing her.”