Page 3 of A Bad Girl's Lesson

I shouted all the louder and made myself even hoarser, because of the way my body had responded to the nurse saying the thing about the daddies.Worse—at least it seemed to me—than what had happened when the doctor had saidsexual relief device. My pussy had clenched again, and I had felt my hips jerk mortifyingly upward.

I had barely noticed that the doctor’s tablet had chimed again, right when the humiliating clench had occurred. I watched him glance down, apparently completely oblivious to my inarticulate outburst. He had the expression of a healthcare professional who saw and heard young women lose control that way three times a day. He obviously didn’t care at all, as long as they remained strapped down, their compliance assured by the chair’s stout restraints and their body’s availability for examination and experiment guaranteed by their nakedness.

I saw his eyebrows go up, obviously at something on his device rather than my desperate attempts to draw his attention to the fact that he and his nurse were torturing me, rather than taking care of me. Some part of my brain, very slow on the uptake, seemed to think if I could just remind the doctor that really his job consisted ofhealingpeople, he would immediately recognize the huge mistake the corporate judicial system had made.

They would unstrap me, give me back my clothes, and send me on my way. I would make a point, for a few days, of not looking in the mirror when getting into or out of the shower so that I wouldn’t notice the smooth state of my pussy. This bizarre, horrible ordeal would fade into memory and then, hopefully, out of it. Maybe I would even consider learning my lesson and not trying to con anyone ever again.

Well,another insane but maybe a little more logical voice in my head added,I’ll never try to con a Selecta executive again, anyway. Lesson kind of learned?

My mind threw all that up as a smokescreen. I wanted desperately to believe in it. The expression on the doctor’s face, though, as he at last looked up at me again, blew the smoke away in a millisecond. I had stopped making my futile, gagged noises, having finally come to the conclusion that my muffled shouts hadn’t persuaded him and his nurse of anything, and no cavalry would soon burst through the door.

“Marianne,” he said, “it won’t do you any good to pretend your sexual arousal pattern isn’t an ideal fit for this kind of program.”

The horrible gag had already forced my mouth much too wide open, but I felt my jaw go slack nevertheless. I couldn’t help it, I tried to sayWhat?!yet again. This time I managed to keep it to the barest of failed “Whs?” before I fell silent, staring at him. I darted a glance at the nurse, in hope that she might show the slightest sign of finding what her boss had just said not to her taste. The smile she wore as she looked at him, as if she couldn’t get enough of his pearls of wisdom, brought a hard crease to my forehead.

The doctor continued, “The sensor Cathy just installed on your perineum is going to tell me everything I need to know. As I just said, I don’t think you deserve to have your deepest fantasies fulfilled, but at least I can see how shameful you’re going to find it.”

“Don’t fight it, dear,” said Nurse Cathy. “You’re going to have to give your daddies their way without talking back and without hesitation. They’ll have the app that lets them see how aroused you are, so there’s no use pretending you’re not a…”

I stared wide-eyed at her as she tried to come up with a word to replace the one she had clearly intended to use, but had then thought better of. My eyes darted over to the doctor. I suddenly felt desperate to know what the fuck the word Nurse Cathy had on the tip of her tongue was. The idea gnawed at the edge of my mind… the bizarre notion that deep down I was something… something I had never guessed… something that could explain this terrible, unknown sentence to a program that featured paddles, and firefighters, and…

Daddies.

The doctor finished the nurse’s sentence for her, but in a way that didn’t help me at all.

“A suitably-oriented candidate for this rehabilitation program,” he said, almost absent-mindedly and still looking down at his tablet. Then he spoke to Nurse Cathy again. “She spiked hard just there. Could you hand me the clitoral trainer and apply some lubricant? We need to get a good baseline.”

This time I remembered that I couldn’t speak, so I didn’t even try to say,The what?!

I felt an absurd stab of pride in having recalled the fact that I had a pink ball-gag between my lips and over my tongue, and had avoided yet another humiliating protest. Even if I’d had the power of speech, it would have sounded stupid for me just to keep saying the same thing, demanding the same information that it seemed the doctor had no intention of supplying.

I had fixed my attention on Nurse Cathy, who had reached into a drawer on the cart she had wheeled in with her and taken out a tube of something that I assumed wasn’t toothpaste, then a little white thing, a sort of bent oval about the size of a golf ball. She handed the device—the clitoral trainer, I remembered with a fluttering dread in my tummy—to the doctor, and then put the tube down on the cart and started to pull on a pair of rubber gloves.

I felt a surge of heat to my face like the eruption of a volcano. Something about the clinical way the woman put on her gloves, and the way their stretchy green material implied the dirtiness of what she would have to do to prepare me for the… the other thing… it made my face go a bright crimson I didn’t have to have a mirror to see. I knew myself that well, at least, my fair complexion making the obviousness of my blushes an inevitable fact of life.

Much, much worse, though, my body’s reaction to the gloves made the doctor’s tablet chime, as I felt another surge of heat, down below. In turn, what he saw on the screen sent his eyebrows up half an inch or so.

“That’sinteresting,” he said to Nurse Cathy. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a reaction quite that strong.”

Helplessly, I watched as he held the little white thing up for me to see. He clicked some invisible little button on its surface, and it started to buzz softly between his fingers.

“This is my clitoral trainer, Marianne,” he said in a patient, slow voice, as if he were speaking to someone who didn’t have smarts like mine—as if he addressed a little girl… anaughtylittle girl, even. One who had earned a special kind of lesson.

I tried to look daggers back into his eyes, but the way his voice affected me, and the knowledge that he couldseemy body’s involuntary arousal at this humiliation, brought tears to the corners of my own eyes, too. I tried to blink them away with visible anger, but I could see from the doctor’s face that I hadn’t fooled him in the slightest.

“When Cathy here has lubed you up a little, she’s going to stimulate you with it while I control it and observe your physiological response on my tablet.”

My whole body shuddered at that point, because the nurse had started applying the lube to the terribly warm, tingling place at the top of my pussy, where she had shaved me only a few moments before. My back arched and my chin lifted, and I writhed against the webbing restraints that bound me to the exam chair, despite my best effort to keep my limbs still. I heard myself emit a mortifying little keening noise from deep in my throat.

The doctor looked down at his tablet. “From only the lube,” he said to himself in a musing tone of voice. He looked back up at me sharply. “As I said a moment ago, I don’t think your criminal behavior merits this ‘penalty,’ if we can even call it that, Marianne. But I suppose it makes some difference that some deserving, hard-working men are going to have a young woman as responsive as you are to take out their frustrations on and forget about their stressful duties in using you sexually.”

I forgot again—about the gag. I tried to say,Oh, God,and it came out as another of those humiliating whimpers. All the while the doctor had delivered his horrible speech, his eyes had moved back and forth from his tablet screen to my face as he registered the terrible depth of the need those degrading words stirred up in me. Worse, Nurse Cathy had accompanied the doctor’s sermon with the rubbing of her gloved fingers, covered in cool, slick lube, exactly where I needed their friction more than I could ever have imagined I might.

I came. I couldn’t keep it back: the climax simply washed over me. I closed my eyes tightly and I cried out around the gag. I struggled against the restraints, my head threshing back and forth as the shocks of the orgasm rocketed through my nervous system.

I heard the tablet give a double chime.

“Well,” said the doctor from the darkness behind my shut eyelids, “seems like we won’t need the trainer after all. We got our baseline. Cathy, could you get a speculum out, please? We should have a look inside.”

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