How Bad Girls Learn (The Institute: Bad Girls Book 4)

by Emily Tilton

  A few chuckles from the sergeants and corporals had made Wentworth curve his lips again into his tight smile.

  “I know it seems... unusual,” he said. “But it’s our duty—our highly pleasurable duty, command hopes—to complete these girls’ rehabilitation. The experts at the Bad Girls Facility tell us that the more menial tasks we give the SRDs, and the more consistently we impose consequences for a girl ‘forgetting’ to do them, the better. That burden, such as it is, men, will fall principally on you. Your commanding officers will most often assign the correction of an SRD’s misconduct to you, and you will carry it out in accordance with the new regulations.”

  David had indeed, on three occasions now, corrected Georgia. He had more or less reconciled himself to guiding her by unconventional means—for the military, anyway—to a better understanding of her place in the Army and, later, in society, as he had decided the role he played in the girl’s life should do.

  His misgivings hadn’t gone away, though—if anything they had increased, because the slight catch in his breath he had felt that first time Georgia had looked up at him had blossomed during the battalion’s deployment to Forward Operating Base Lightning Justice. Master Sergeant David Heath had fallen in love with SRD Georgia Jones, and he couldn’t let her know.

  He thanked heaven that because of the special nature of her role as a Sexual Relief Device, jealousy didn’t play any role in his feelings for her. He watched his men come and go from her quarters, and he heard Georgia cry out sometimes, as they fucked her. David felt a good deal of satisfaction that Georgia seemed to scream louder under his own pounding hips than she did for any of the other men, but even if the contrary had been true, he told himself sometimes, he wouldn’t mind—he would simply spank her harder and fuck her harder the next time she broke a rule.

  Therein lay his real misgiving, because David understood as he considered the hypothetical possibility that he probably couldn’t maintain his impartiality as he should. Worse, he knew he wouldn’t actually be more severe with Georgia, even though he almost certainly should.

  Indeed, when he did actually punish Georgia, he knew he went easy on her. He couldn’t help it. Yes, she got a thorough spanking and a hard disciplinary fucking from behind to put her in her place, but each time David had imposed consequences on the SRD, on behalf of the platoon, he sensed himself sparing her the full measure of discipline she had earned, in a way he would never do with his men.

  Now, as he looked down at the un-shined shoes in his footlocker, he had that same worry, but multiplied. The new order from divisional headquarters concerning the SRDs meant that the master sergeant would have no choice but to give SRD Georgia Jones a very rude awakening to the requirement that she become more consistent in the performance of her duty to her platoon.

  Special Order 875-3

  Purpose: To ensure that Sexual Relief Devices (SRDs) assigned to Task Force Lightning maintain requisite standards of military conduct.

  1. Statement of military purpose and necessity: The SRD program, despite its clear success in building morale, has introduced a level of laxness into Task Force Lightning that Central Command deems unacceptable. In consultation with the civilian partners in liaison for the program, this order addresses the challenge with clear measures.

  2. Punitive order: Paragraph 3 of this order is punitive. SRDs found to fall below the standards set out in paragraph 3 shall be subject to corporal punishment according to the guidelines set out in Paragraph 4.

  3. SRD conduct: a) SRDs shall maintain a high level of attention to their menial duties in barracks; b) SRDs shall salute properly; c) SRDs shall not be permitted to wear clothing other than their Army-issue lingerie while indoors, except on their days off. If an SRD’s commanding officer prefers, she may be kept nude at all times.

  4. Disciplinary consequences: At the recommendation of civilian partners, Central Command does not remove the discretion given to officers and NCOs in punishing faults in SRD conduct. However, from the date of this order’s effect, all punishments must be logged in detail and sent to division for review. In general, the following guidelines are to be observed, and failure to enforce them may result in disciplinary action for officers:

  a) An officer’s bare hand is to be employed on an SRD’s bare buttocks on no more than two disciplinary occasions before moving to a more severe punishment.

  b) The Army-issue punishment strap provided to NCOs when their unit’s SRD arrived is to be employed for repeat infractions of the same misconduct without exception. The new guidelines from civilian partners specify that the young women chosen for the program may need to be whipped to the degree that they must be restrained to receive punishment. It is recommended that whippings from the date of this order’s effect take place publicly in the barracks or the mess hall, with the SRD restrained by the men of her unit over a footlocker or a table.

  c) As recommended by civilian partners, SRDs shall receive simultaneous use by whole squads on a weekly basis (‘gangbanging’). Gangbangs shall be carried out in particular after public punishments, to enforce discipline and to boost morale.

  d) As recommended by civilian partners, SRDs shall receive frequent anal discipline. Each SRD arrived with a set of anal plugs for this purpose, but reports have reached Central Command that these plugs have not been employed with any regularity. Civilian partners emphasize that anal discipline represents an essential element in an SRD’s rehabilitation.

  Note: Remote monitoring of sexual arousal in SRDs by civilian partners is ongoing. This monitoring ensures that SRDs disciplinary sexual use is consensual at the fundamental level. Refer to Army Informational Briefing 875-A for further advice and specification.

  David had fucked SRD Georgia Jones after her spankings, and so he understood what he had read in Briefing 875-A as more than a list of eye-opening facts about the girls chosen as Army SRDs. Georgia—and presumably Rian, Martha, Wendy, and Janice, the other four SRDs of Rifle Company B—needed a kind of sex that David had frankly never thought he might experience the way he had always wondered about.

  Briefing 875-A, however, did give a very helpful summary of the factors that contributed to Georgia’s evident need for a hard, disciplinary pounding over a sergeant’s cot. SRD Georgia Jones, like the other SRDs, had broken the law. The circumstances of her offense had been expunged from her personnel file, but the briefing made clear that although she had committed no violent crime she had demonstrated a deep-seated tendency to act out in antisocial ways.

  Moreover, the briefing indicated, the available data showed that Georgia and the other SRDs had developed that tendency as a direct result of their difficulty in acknowledging the submissive nature of their sexuality. At the Bad Girl Facility from which Georgia had come, her daddies had begun her rehabilitation with strict discipline and a demanding regimen of sexual training.

  Here in the Army, as the briefing emphasized, the intention was to complete that rehabilitation. Once their officers expressed satisfaction with her conduct, Georgia would receive training in an administrative capacity, and might even begin to move up the ranks. Her history, though, and her proclivities dictated that she must receive the strictest of discipline, and be guided with the firmest of hands.

  Special Order 875-3 made perfectly clear that David hadn’t done his own duty by her in that regard. He took a little comfort in the knowledge that Central Command wouldn’t issue an order for the purpose of dealing with the failings of a single master sergeant. Other NCOs and perhaps even commissioned officers clearly had similar difficulties in meting out the kind of bare-bottom punishment and disciplinary sex Georgia and her fellow SRDs needed—and, in David’s experience with Georgia’s general attitude toward Army discipline, richly deserved.

  “Master Sergeant?” Lieutenant Stevens called from his own adjoining quarters. “You there?”

  “Yes, sir?” David called back.

  “Could you come in here a moment, please?”

  David gave his un-shi
ned shoes a final look, certain that he would be looking at a similar pair of the lieutenant’s in a moment, and straightened. He took a single breath to compose himself, shoulders back and chin high, going through the ritual his own drill officer had taught him of turning his fatigues into a dress uniform in his mind. Then he walked swiftly out the door of the tiny room, turned the corner on his heel, took one step, turned the corner again, and entered Lieutenant Stevens’ quarters with what he knew appeared that indefinable air of the experienced NCO who is somehow ramrod straight even while at ease—which he was not, of course, when entering a room containing an officer.

  “Master Sergeant,” said the CO of First Platoon, “at ease. We have a problem.”

  “Yes, sir,” David replied. “The shoes.”

  He looked Lieutenant Stevens in the eye for the first time since entering, after having seen that indeed the officer had an index finger pointing at the dress shoes in his footlocker.

  “The shoes,” the lieutenant confirmed. “But, obviously, more than that. The consequences.”

  “Yes, sir,” David replied.

  “I believe,” Stevens said with a frown, “that we’re going to have to whip and then gangbang the SRD in the mess hall.”

  Chapter Three

  Georgia stood in her quarters, her face very hot. She had heard the lieutenant call the master sergeant into his room, and something in the tone of the officer’s voice had told her that the reason lay squarely in Georgia’s failure to see to her shoe-shining duty. Her eyes went to the little shoe-shine kit issued to her by the Army back at Fort Bragg: it sat atop her footlocker, where she had placed it the previous night after Private Garmin had left, so that she wouldn’t forget this morning.

  But Georgia had just come back from lunch in the mess hall, and soon Private Thompson, the next soldier on her duty roster, would come to enjoy her in her bed. She should have shined the shoes three hours ago, while the platoon had been out on their trail run.

  She knew the spanking wouldn’t be too awful, and the fucking from the master sergeant represented something to which to look forward, even. But the idea that she had forgotten a third time, while mindlessly looking at stupid news from the world of celebrities and fashion back home, brought a deep blush to her face.

  Georgia wanted to be... well, not a good girl, really. But a better girl, anyway. When the master sergeant called her a ‘good girl’ after spanking her, it brought back memories from BGF, where her daddies had often said the same. They had made it clear, though, in the special way they knew how to do so well, that Georgia Jones would always be a bad girl, and a naughty girl, too.

  She had never figured out why that had reassured her, except that maybe it had to do with how she had gotten to BGF in the first place. On the streets, where so many people lived these days, she could have found protection without trying to sell her body, she knew. But something naughty inside her—the thing that had made her run from the state dormitory and the state job at the waste-treatment plant—had made her start to turn tricks.

  She had gone to men’s hotel rooms and let them take down her panties, feeling like a bad girl, and liking it. She brought the condoms, and the men were happy to put them on and to fuck her, and to pay her. Georgia had a big friend who had stood outside the door—not her pimp, but her protection. She had given him a cut, and let him fuck her, too.

  That had lasted a few weeks, before the Selecta Peace Enforcement van had picked her up. Georgia had punched and kicked at the peace officers like a bad girl. At BGF, she had tried to do the same to her daddies, but they had swiftly taught her that such conduct got punished in the most painful and humiliating ways. She would never have imagined that she would beg for their cocks inside her the way she had, by the end of her time at BGF, but somehow the alchemy of good girl and bad girl worked that way, in her mind and body.

  Here at Forward Operating Base Justice Lightning, though, she understood now that something had gone wrong, though she couldn’t tell what. She knew her duty, whether it involved shining shoes, or closing the door, or making out her duty roster for the week, which she had also forgotten to do this morning.

  Her BGF daddies had used the phrase ‘acting out’ a lot, with Georgia and with other bad girls at the facility. In prison—really, in nonviolent offender detention—acting out represented something you could do: you could swear at a guard or pull another girl’s hair. Georgia supposed she could swear at the lieutenant, if she wanted to act out here, but she could tell that forgetting to shine his shoes somehow fell into the same category: she knew well enough not to use foul language, but she felt like failing in these little jobs that didn’t hurt anyone if she messed up expressed her naughty side.

  She didn’t want to express that naughty side, though. Did she?

  “SRD Jones,” she heard from the doorway. Georgia realized that she had stared at the shoe-shine kit for a long time, and lost track of the passing moments. Turning, she saw the master sergeant there.

  The look on his face made her eyes go wide. Each time she had messed up before, he had looked serious, in an annoyed kind of way. Now, Georgia saw, he looked... grave. Her heart beat fast: she could tell something had changed, and maybe the stakes on doing her silly little duty—as she suddenly realized she had been thinking of it—had gone up in an unexpected way.

  Just as she had on the street, and in the beginning at BGF, Georgia automatically put her bad-girl face on.

  “Yes, Master Sergeant?” she asked, pretending she had no idea why he might be there instead of Private Thompson.

  “Take off your clothes and follow me.”

  “What?” Georgia asked, as her tummy flipped. “That’s not...”

  Master Sergeant Heath cut her off. “That wasn’t the procedure before. It’s the procedure now, SRD. Take off your clothes, or I’ll get two privates in here to take them off for you.”

  Georgia didn’t know why, with everything she had been through—including three spankings from the master sergeant, when he had made her take everything off before going over his knee—this command seemed so harsh. Did something in the NCO’s face, some severity that hadn’t been present there before, make her heart quail?

  “No,” she said, as defiantly as she could. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  She stared into his blue eyes, feeling the blood pulse in her cheeks as he gazed steadily back at her. For a moment she wondered if even in the utter seriousness of his demeanor she could detect something else—something that troubled him about doing his duty, though he knew he must.

  Then he turned sharply and called to the rest of the barracks, where the men’s twenty cots stood in two rows, “Private Thompson! Private Garmin!”

  “Sir, yes, sir!” Georgia heard from two deep voices, just out of sight.

  “No, please,” she said then, her insides turning to jelly in a way she hadn’t felt since BGF.

  But the master sergeant’s attention was turned away.

  “Report to the SRD’s quarters to remove her uniform and her underwear!”

  Georgia didn’t struggle, as the two big privates—Garmin from Oklahoma and Thompson from Chicago—took off her white tank top and her non-regulation-but-comfortable black bra, then made her sit on her cot so they could pull off her boots, her socks, and her fatigue pants. Garmin and Thompson did the master sergeant’s humiliating bidding in a businesslike way completely unlike their manner when they came to her quarters to have their turns fucking her.

  Garmin liked to kiss Georgia’s shaved pussy for long minutes while she moaned helplessly at his decidedly non-heartland level of skill. Then he usually folded her knees to her chest and fucked her hard, his green eyes looking so steadily into her face that she always felt she had to close her eyes so that he wouldn’t glimpse her soul.

  Thompson loved to have his long, hard cock sucked, Georgia sitting on the side of her low cot and providing her mouth for his urgent thrusts. Usually he would come there, and they would spoon for a while before
he recovered and took her from behind that way, lying on their sides.

  Now they didn’t look at her as they obeyed their NCO. Their big hands took her clothes away, until she had only her panties on.

  She didn’t struggle, but she did look at the master sergeant with angry tears in her eyes.

  “So I forgot to shine your fucking shoes,” she said, spitting the words at him.

  “Again,” he replied. “Stand up.”

  Georgia shook her head. She still didn’t understand what happened to her head and her heart in these moments, of which she now had a lot to look back on, from her time at BGF. At least she could see that she was doing it again—just like Master Sergeant Heath had just said.

  Maybe that’s what my BGF daddies wanted?

  Shaking her head, refusing to do what the master sergeant told her to do... she didn’t have control over it, really, did she? Georgia Jones, even now that she had become Army SRD Georgia Jones, was a bad girl. Bad girls rebelled.

  “Get her up and take her to the barracks,” the master sergeant said. Georgia’s jaw dropped open as the privates obeyed, one on each side of her hauling her to her feet. As they drew her through the doorway behind the master sergeant, she heard him start to bawl at the rest of the platoon.

  “Platoon! Fall in!”

  Grumbling a little—at least those who had to abandon a shooting video game in the middle of a tense match and emerge from the rec room—the men filed to the ends of their cots as if for morning inspection. When they saw Garmin and Thompson marching Georgia down the line in nothing but her panties, the complaints ceased.

  “Darioni,” the master sergeant ordered, “move your footlocker out into the middle of the room. Garmin and Thompson, bring the SRD to stand next to it.”

  He stepped aside so that the privates could march Georgia down the barracks to where stocky but darkly handsome Private Darioni, who liked to talk to Georgia about politics, had pulled his squat trunk out. Georgia turned desperately, trying to meet the master sergeant’s eye as she passed, propelled from behind by Garmin and Thompson. Master Sergeant Heath looked solemnly right back at her, and now Georgia could tell that whatever had changed might well make her regret neglecting her duty as she had never regretted it before.