Her Shameful Education Read Online Emily Tilton

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 61287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
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“Get on the horse, please, Renee,” said Miss Charlotte, the academic dean of the Institute. Her voice, subtly amplified by a nearly invisible microphone, carried through the whole room. Watching from the back of that gorgeously furnished salon, the ceremonial heart of the Institute, I had heard her say the same thing to the other girls sold tonight, before they had received their own first fuckings.

I had seen them obey, just as we had all learned to obey in the classrooms and masters’ training rooms. I had watched on the screens, unable to turn away or close my eyes, as the fabulously wealthy men and women of the dominant corporate elite had claimed their new sexual servants with their cocks or in two cases their strap-on phalluses.

My turn, I thought numbly. The man who had just paid so much money for me had stood up from his armchair. That’s my master. Master… I tried to remember the name Miss Charlotte had spoken when she had hammered down the sale. Then I remembered that I could see it displayed in two-foot high letters on the screens that would soon show the audience my sexual submission.

The fucking of Renee by her new master, Hendryk Vanderbruggen, said the golden titles, as the tall, elegantly dressed man walked toward the stage. I noted, through the welter of strong emotions that the brief numbness of shock had covered over, that he seemed to wear his tuxedo even better than the vast majority of the corporate magnates here at the Institute this evening for the auction of trained concubines. European tailoring, I thought. Is he Dutch?

The layer of nothing, of no feeling, that had lain over my emotions started to dissipate. More anxiety and more helpless, wanton arousal took hold of me with every step of Master Hendryk’s gleaming black shoes.

I glanced over at the screen on the right, away from my approaching master and from Miss Charlotte, who stood at the podium stage left. I stood center stage, of course.

The horse stood right behind me.

On the screen I saw a close-up of Master Hendryk, the man who owned me as of a minute ago. Tall, blond, frighteningly handsome. Definitely Dutch-looking, anyway. The corners of his mouth curled in an upward direction, but his blue eyes narrowed a little as he looked at me, standing still when I should be obeying the dean’s instructions. The command to turn and mount the horse, for his first use of me, hung unfulfilled in the air like a threatening cloud.

Miss Charlotte said, a patient smile in her voice, “Renee, sweetie, go ahead and get up on the horse for your new master.” I looked over at the beautiful blonde woman, clad in a white evening dress that reminded the beholder of the babydoll nightgown her bed-girls-in-training wore, my eyes wide with alarm. I should have been ready, of course; Master G had trained me very thoroughly in every shameful duty my owner would expect from me—save one. In accordance with the Institute’s long tradition, he had told me, my virgin anus had been reserved for my owner’s use alone.

The dean looked from me out to the audience.

“Renee is a good girl,” she told them, her eyes beginning with my new master and then passing over the whole of the room. “But of course she’s anxious. Master G, would you come up and help her onto the horse, please?”

The sounds of Deirdre’s ongoing spanking echoed through the hush that followed: her owner’s firm hand coming down on her rosy bottom, her cry of pain. I couldn’t look either at Master Hendryk or at Master G as they approached the stage; I found I could only look at Deirdre’s punished backside, and I saw her owner thrust his hand between her thighs, his thumb pressed between the fiery red cheeks. I watched her back arch, heard her sob of helpless arousal.

Master G had stepped onto the stage. He stood, suddenly, on my left side. He took me gently by the elbow.

“Renee,” he growled, bending down to speak right into my ear, “remember what I taught you. Breathe.”

He turned me toward the horse. A bench, really, with a black padded top above a polished wooden frame, and similar surfaces for knees and elbows to either side. Leather straps, for times when a master wanted or had to secure a girl in place for discipline and use. None of the girls who had preceded me under the auction hammer had required restraint. I hadn’t thought I would either, but Miss Charlotte had told all of us at the beginning of the evening that she wouldn’t hesitate to have our training masters strap us to the horse if necessary. Our submission to the men and women who would purchase us would take place whether we liked it or not.


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