Page 42 of A Bad Girl's Lesson

Daddy Jacob and Daddy Phil took me to the break room while Daddy Ned and Daddy Paul finished putting out the fire and securing the site. They tied me down atop the sex table: wrists and ankles cuffed to straps secured around the table’s legs, a stout webbing belt across the small of my back, with a couch cushion under my hips to raise my ass. Then they left me there so they could monitor the firehouse systems while their colleagues dealt with the woods.

“I probably don’t need to tell you to think about what you did, do I, Marianne?” Daddy Jacob asked.

I could only sob and shake my head, tears still falling from eyes—as they had since he had picked me up and run, literally with flames licking at his heels, to the safety of the perimeter and the gate. The padded, fake leather surface of the table had already gotten wet from my weeping: shame and terror crescendoing together the moment my daddies left me there.

I turned my head, very awkwardly, so I couldn’t see the door, but instead looked at the counter. Daddy Jacob had left his turnout coat lying there. I bit my lip at the sight, thinking about how I had felt when I had swiped it from the vestibule on making my stupid, defiant foray outside. I remembered how despite how resentful I had been about the daddies plan for a “celebration” of my earning my underwear, I had still had a warm glow in my chest when I felt how heavy the coat my daddy wore was, and how it seemed to embrace me.

Then I noticed what Daddy Jacob had put next to the coat. I hadn’t even realized he had taken the time to do it, in the midst of him carrying me in and Daddy Phil bringing the cushion and the two of them rapidly restraining me on the table. My daddy’s thick, black belt lay in a coil next to his turnout coat.

Ready to… to do its duty, I thought with a terrible shudder all over my body.

Desperately my brain started trying to come up with excuses and justifications. They hadn’tbeenthere, and their handhelds hadn’t appeared on the map. How could I have woken up Daddy Ned and Daddy Paul? They wouldn’t have gotten ready in time, and something needed to be done. Priority One, the message had said!

To my dismay, my smarts betrayed me: they refused to let me believe even for a moment that any of my excuses would change a thing. Daddy Ned and Daddy Paul werefirefighters, for fuck’s sake. They wouldobviouslyhave woken up ready to go, and known exactly what to do.

But they… they would havepunishedme, for waking them up! Wouldn’t they?

Nope, my smarts told me. Don’t add stupidity to your list of, well, stupidities.

I lost track of time, after a few minutes. I fell into a horrible reverie of terror and shame, longing for my daddies’ return and dreading it just as much as I yearned for it. I heard engines outside and I pictured the red pumper truck returning to the firehouse, Daddy Ned and Daddy Paul getting off it, their faces marked with soot, maybe: soot I had put there because I hadn’t done the obvious thing, and woken them up.

Doors opened. Daddy voices spoke, exchanging words. They sounded strong and confident, at least. They had dealt with the emergency I had created, and no one and nothing had gotten hurt, in the end.

Except that I was about to get hurt—because I had almost gotten myself killed. My daddies were going to whip me, because I needed whipping. A new wave of terror crashed over me, and for a moment I struggled reflexively against the straps that held me to the table, panic rising in my tummy.

“I really thought you were smarter than this, honey,” Daddy Jacob said, from behind me, freezing me in place, fear and shame and sudden need surging through my body.

I did too.I wanted to say it. I wanted to turn my face and lay my other cheek in the pool of tears I had made on the upholstery and say it to my daddy.

Daddy Phil’s voice came next. “We know you were trying to help, Marianne, but you only made things worse and more dangerous. You know that, right?”

I heard feet moving into the room. I realized from the sounds that it couldn’t just be my own daddies. They must have brought Daddy Ned and Daddy Paul, too: must have invited them to watch the bad girl get punished for putting them in danger.

“Ashley,” said Daddy Paul’s voice. “Say hello to your friend. She’s the reason you’re up so early.”

Oh, God.

“Hi, Marianne,” I heard Ashley say, a little sleepily.

That made me turn my face to look at them all, as if I needed to verify with my eyes that my daddies had decided to make my coming punishment so much worse, by forcing my fellow fuck toy to watch it.

Ashley stood there in the adorable nightshirt her daddies had given her recently, clutching a teddy bear. Despite her very well developed body, she looked so much like a little girl that it sent a new thrill of taboo arousal shooting through my nervous system.

Oh, God.

CHAPTER27

Marianne

“Ashley, honey,” said Daddy Jacob, “I’m afraid Marianne did a very bad thing. You’re here to watch her get punished for it.”

“Oh, no,” I whispered. My face felt as hot as the sun.

Ashley turned her eyes from my face to Daddy Jacob’s, her eyes troubled.

“What did Marianne do?” she asked. Her voice had the lilting, little-girl tone that we had both started to use almost every time we talked to our daddies. I hoped she hadn’t meant to sound that way in order to humiliate me further, but it made my tummy flip to think that Ashley had spoken that way unconsciously—that seeing me this way brought out the littleness in her.

For a moment I wondered why, and then I had to push down a whimper, biting hard on my lower lip, as I figured it out. The idea that the terrible punishment I would get from my daddy’s belt belonged to the realm of our naughty-little-girl feelings seemed like the ultimate confirmation that we, Ashley and me, the firefighters’ bad girl fuck toys, really did have these terrible taboo needs.

---