When Bad Girls Need More
Emily Tilton
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Afterword
The Institute: Bad Girls Series
The Institute Series
More Stormy Night Books by Emily Tilton
Emily Tilton Links
Copyright © 2020 by Stormy Night Publications and Emily Tilton
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.
www.StormyNightPublications.com
Tilton, Emily
When Bad Girls Need More
Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson
Images by Shutterstock/Pandorabox and Shutterstock/Dmytro Lukash
Chapter 1
The principal himself caught Jeannie having sex with her ‘boyfriend.’ Really, she only called Mike her ‘boyfriend’ in her head to make herself feel better about fucking him. You didn’t date in any meaningful way at an educational facility, even after turning eighteen. Girls like Jeannie, who got ‘interested’ enough in boys in their co-ed classes to make out with them, spoke of themselves as having boyfriends. It made them feel more grown up, more independent and ready for adult life—and adult fun.
Jeannie knew that her body wanted adult fun, and given her generally devil-may-care attitude, she hadn’t hesitated much in proposing, a week before, that Mike meet her in the classroom she knew always to be empty at two o’clock on Tuesday. When he had asked, in the midst of a deep kiss, as his hand fumbled inexpertly with her school bra, if she wanted to go all the way, Jeannie hadn’t had to do any soul searching.
She could tell that Mike had very little experience, and that it wouldn’t be ‘good’—whatever they meant by that word in the racier kind of online magazine stories EF girls could access on their tablets. Still, the way even his clumsy touch on her breasts and butt made her feel made it clear that even mediocre fucking represented a highly desirable thing, whatever her teachers and principal said.
Jeannie had listened to enough lectures about the importance of her sexuality in the struggle to maintain the social order, though, to cry out in shame when the principal of Educational Facility 39 walked into the dark classroom where she had given it up to Mike the previous week, and now lay under him on the teacher’s desk with his dick in her for the second time. Even the first time, with the blood she had needed to clean up afterward before she left the classroom, had felt pretty good, even if from a glamour mag standpoint she could definitely tell it hadn’t been very good.
The second time felt even better, before the principal walked in; Mike had paid some attention to the very little breasts whose diminutive size Jeannie found so embarrassing. He had gotten her bra unhooked on the first try, and pinched the tiny strawberry nipples in a way that suggested he might know something about what a girl like Jeannie needed—or maybe, said a thought Jeannie pushed away hard, he just thought that was how you treated a nipple. It made her wetter than she had gotten the first time, though, and that meant his nineteen-year-old hardness felt nicer inside her, when she had lain back on the teacher’s desk and invited him with the slutty, grownup words, “Are you gonna fuck me?”
Girls at EF 39 received contraceptive shots once they turned eighteen. The federal administration promoted abstinence as the gold standard for premarital life. Since the adoption of the corporate laws the bottom line had made itself powerful enough that no one running the EFs had any illusions. Girls and boys, in separate classrooms, heard at mortifying length about the new legal basis for disciplining young people who had premarital sex, but the shots made it pretty clear that people like Principal Davis knew how hypocritical the policy sounded.
On the one hand, it gave a bad girl like Jeannie an extra thrill when she decided to fuck her boyfriend in an empty classroom. On the other hand, though, it meant that when Principal Davis turned on the lights and said, “What’s going on here?” Jeannie let out a cry of shame and fear as she tried to cover her breasts. Mike had gotten off her, and he scrambled to get his pants up as he looked at the dark-suited figure of the school administrator just inside the door of the classroom.
With her other hand, she smoothed down her plaid skirt: at least that covered her up, though her white school panties lay on the floor to the side of the desk. Mike had unbuttoned her shirt completely, though, so her bra got tangled as she tried to shrug it and the shirt back onto her shoulders, while holding her hands over her little breasts.
“I asked a question,” the principal thundered. “Michael, what is going on here?”
Mike, whose bad-boy qualities seemed to vanish in the face of the principal’s stern demeanor and the knowledge of the paddle that hung on his wall said, of course, “Nothing, sir?”
Jeannie wished he hadn’t made the question mark so obvious. The principal couldn’t have failed to understand precisely what the two seniors had done—to neither of their satisfactions, thanks to the administrator’s entrance—on the teacher’s desk. Jeannie might have respected her ‘boyfriend’ most if he had said, “I was fucking Jeannie, you arrogant asshole, and we both liked it, so why don’t you go back to your office and I’ll go back to fucking.” She would, however, have felt reasonably happy with Nothing, if Mike had said it more decisively.
“Miss Jean Rendoski,” Principal Davis demanded, turning his eyes on her so that despite herself she simultaneously clutched at her chest and tried to get her shirt on, two mutually incompatible impulses that canceled each other out so humiliatingly Jeannie felt tears start at the corners of her eyes, “was it nothing that Mr. Barrera was doing to you on that desk, like a little slut who can’t keep her knees closed?”
Jeannie’s face felt as hot as the sun, but she took a grim satisfaction in the steadiness of her voice, so much greater than Mike had mustered.
“Yes, sir,” she said, narrowing her eyes and glaring at him despite the way her heart pounded in her chest.
“Yes, you are a little slut who let a boy get in your whorish vagina with his tiny high school dick?”
Mike made a noise of protest. Jeannie supposed it had come from an objection to the way Principal Davis characterized his penis, but she let her mind entertain the possibility that her ‘boyfriend’ had some impulse to stand up for her.
Whatever. Her blush descended all the way to her chest, now, but whether or not Mike meant to stand up for her, Jeannie literally stood up from the desk to confront the principal. She gathered the shirt around her to cover her chest so that she would look a little less degraded, and she said, “That’s right, sir. We had sex. It was fun, at least until you came in.”
Mr. Davis had worn an expression of righteous anger before Jeannie had spoken those defiant words. Now his stern face became even sterner and he strode forward toward the teacher’s desk so that she cowered back, trying to button her shirt without looking, because she couldn’t take her eyes off the alarming sight of the principal’s advance.
“No, Miss Rendoski,” he said in a cold, even voice. “Don’t button your shirt up. Take it off. And your bra, and your skirt. Then tur
n around and bend over the desk with your arms straight out in front of you. I’m going to show you and your boyfriend what happens to bad girls.”
“Sir…” Mike tried again, from his position against the wall, where Jeannie noticed that he stood right next to the place her panties had landed.
“Not a word out of you!” Mr. Davis thundered. “It’s clear to me who’s responsible for the loss of this girl’s innocence—and it’s not you. But you should know enough not to give into the temptation a girl like Miss Rendoski poses, when she lets your hand up her skirt. You’re in as much trouble as she is, even if you’re wise enough not to get punished the way she’s about to be. Pick up those panties and hand them to me.”
The principal turned back to Jeannie, who had frozen in place, her face as hot as an oven.
“Well, at least you’re blushing,” Mr. Davis said, scorn practically dripping from his curled lips. “That means we haven’t failed you completely.” He looked back at Mike, who had meekly picked up Jeannie’s panties, the ones that had gotten so wet when she was thinking about meeting him here for a quick fuck before cheerleading practice. The principal put his hand out peremptorily, and Jeannie’s ‘boyfriend,’ who lost his already weak claim on her heart in that moment, dropped the underwear into Mr. Davis’ palm.
Jeannie’s blush somehow became even more ferocious at the sight of her panties in the principal’s grasp. No, the Educational Facility and its teachers hadn’t failed her, if success meant Jeannie somehow having learned to think of panties as a terribly embarrassing thing, never to be seen except by your husband, and then only when you couldn’t keep him from looking.
‘Husband’ represented a vague concept for an EF girl, of course. As a senior, a class that EF students didn’t enter until after their eighteenth birthdays, Jeannie had taken the first-semester Wellness course that accompanied the contraceptive injections. Any girl who wanted to sign up for a New Modesty community could get her rent and food subsidized, provided she promised to make a sincere effort to find a husband according to New Modesty standards. When the teachers talked about ‘husbands’ and ‘wives,’ that was what they meant.
In Wellness, though, one of the single-sex courses at the EF, Jeannie and the other girls had learned that the corporate laws had created other avenues for young women to find their place in society. Each of those career paths, however, had in the last few years of sharp economic downturn, received modifications designed to ensure that the precious resource entrusted to young women—their burgeoning and potentially wild sexuality—would be protected. Marriage might not lie immediately in an EF girl’s future, if she qualified for and chose one of those careers, but she could expect to have her virginity taken by a man who knew how to take care of her.
The sight of a girl’s panties might therefore be granted to such a man: a ‘husband’ with whom she hadn’t gone to the altar, Jeannie had learned in Wellness. If he had earned the right to see them, and to take them down, he would do so. She should of course feel the natural shame every good girl feels, if her underwear becomes visible. She would feel the even greater shame of nudity, when her husband required it, too, but she would have the security of knowing her ‘husband’—wed or not—could provide for her, and so deserved to claim her in that special, most intimate way.
To let Mike take down her panties, and to have sex with him, represented an obvious and forceful rebellion against all those ideas. Jeannie had felt fine about that, she thought—more than fine: free, elated. But the principal’s command, and the sight of her underwear in his hand, made her tummy turn over and her face pucker. The tears she had kept from falling trickled onto her cheeks.
Part of her wanted to say Please, sir, and beg Mr. Davis’ forgiveness. Jeannie hadn’t heard of another girl getting punished like this, naked in a classroom in front of a boy, but in their senior year girls got paddled in the principal’s office even for comparatively minor infractions like being late to class too often. She wondered, distractedly, whether she could plead with him only to do that, as awful as it seemed when another girl had to stand in class after a paddling, because her bottom hurt too much. Maybe if she took that kind of a punishment, though, she would still look tough to her friends and to herself, while avoiding this mortifying scene in the classroom?
But looking into the principal’s angry eyes she saw no amount of begging would do any good. Her promise to herself, made on the first day of senior year, that she would make an independent life, seemed to blaze up in her heart.
Even as Mr. Davis turned his attention to her panties and began to inspect their gusset, Jeannie knew what she had to do.
“Fuck you, sir,” she said as calmly as she could.
Chapter 2
Jake Garrison watched the scene at EF 39 with great interest, from the control center of Selecta Corporation’s Midwest Advanced Guidance Facility. The principal of the EF, Randall Davis, clearly knew his job well, and relished it: Davis made his inspection of the girl’s panties long and thorough. The stain of Jeannie Rendoski’s morning of arousal showed very clearly on the overhead camera that provided Jake with the view on his monitor.
Jeannie’s file had landed in Jake’s inbox that morning.
Jeannie is a clear-cut Beta Plus bad girl prospect, the Institute assessor had written. She is already practically as promiscuous as an EF senior can be. Though she will almost certainly have sex today for just the second time, our models show her having intercourse with at least three more boys before graduation.
The perineal sensor installed at her last GYN visit shows elevated humidity this morning, making it probable that she plans to visit the classroom where she was observed having intercourse last week. Though we don’t have video from the dormitory, the sensor feed indicates at least a minute of masturbation, though without orgasm. The feed from her first coitus shows two small orgasms.
Assessment recommends pickup for Advanced Guidance. Jeannie shows the high-intelligence, strong-willed profile, along with basically submissive sexuality, that AG is designed to foster and to leverage. Left to make her own decisions concerning her future after graduation from her EF, our model indicates that she would have serious difficulty fitting into a workplace environment in which she had to work to develop prosocial skills. If she chose—or were forced into—a job where her intelligence received no stimulation, Jeannie would almost inevitably turn to chemical means of escape, even if the anti-authoritarian streak in her personality did not quickly get her into trouble some other way.
That willfulness comes from the beginnings of her perception of her submissive sexuality, and it makes her unsuitable, at least at her current stage of development, for more challenging entry-level work that might lead to further education. Needless to say, it renders her a very weak candidate for college: despite her intelligence, her grades are abysmal.
Advanced Guidance might seem a drastic measure for a girl like Jeannie, but Assessment thinks that’s because of the sheer newness of the EF senior-testing program. AG is designed to keep a resource like Jeannie Rendoski from going to waste, as we believe she quickly would without such an intervention.
Principal Davis took a long moment, still inspecting Jeannie’s panties, before he responded to the girl’s foul-mouthed retort. When he looked up from the telltale blemish in their gusset, he seemed at first to pretend he hadn’t heard her say Fuck you.
“You made your lewd intentions quite clear in your underwear, Miss Rendoski. Your foul mouth only confirms that you’ve surrendered your innocence to Mr. Barrera here.”
On Jake’s monitor, where the twenty-eight-year-old case officer had video streams from three different cameras, Jeannie’s lips parted soundlessly, in a close-up shot that caught her hot blush very vividly. The principal—well trained in sexual developmental psychology, as required to implement Selecta’s new senior-year program and thus to receive the substantial subsidy—smiled without warmth. Davis knew as well as Jake did that Jeannie Rendoski’s innocence had depar
ted only by the foolish old equivalence of ‘innocence’ with ‘virginity.’
The combination of the girl’s basic personality with the EF’s truly very fine education had resulted in an alchemy in her mind, heart, and soul that some might call modesty. Her innocence would never truly leave her, because her modesty would not allow it. The idea of modesty, as understood by the Institute whose philosophy lay at the core of everything Selecta did—especially including their EF partnerships and their Guidance facilities—had a good deal more complexity than its Victorian origins might suggest.
Young women in Institute programs learned to enjoy their blushes, just as their masters and mistresses did. Miss Jeannie Rendoski would never stop getting hot when a man inspected her panties, but someday she would welcome the heat it brought down below. Now, though, her skin galvanics showed marked distress, even as her pussy got very wet at the principal’s degrading reference to surrendering her innocence.
The number in the upper right corner of the window that showed the close-up had just gone from 7 to 8. The microscopic perineal sensor between Jeannie’s vagina and her anus could detect minute changes in temperature and humidity, as well as the tiny electrical currents on her skin. Together with the algorithms that analyzed her smallest bodily movement from the video feed, they told a story of a Beta Plus’ helpless and highly unwelcome arousal at the imminence of her first corporal punishment.
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