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Begging to Be Broken by Emily Tilton

Tatyana Grishin hates the Institute. The idea of women like her being stripped bare, spanked until they learn obedience, and then used for the enjoyment of powerful men isn’t just wrong, it’s disgusting. If only thoughts of being taken there against her will didn’t leave her soaking wet…

When a secretive organization gives her the chance to infiltrate and hopefully bring down the Institute she jumps at the chance. After all she’ll just be pretending to blush and beg and climax over and over as her stern, ridiculously handsome trainer ravages her virgin body in every way.

But they won’t break her. She’ll never kneel naked before her new owner, eager to please him.

She’s doing this because the world needs her, not because she needs to be mastered…

Publisher’s Note: Begging to Be Broken is a stand-alone book which is the tenth entry in the Bound for Service series, which shares the same near-future setting as The Institute Series. It includes spankings, sexual scenes, intense and humiliating punishments, and strong D/s themes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

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Author: Emily Tilton

eBook Price: Kindle Unlimited/$4.95

Length: 66,000 words


Master Trent’s hands seized me with lightning quickness. His chuckle, a moment before, had sounded a yard away. I had pictured him standing there watching me, enjoying the sight of my bare bottom, but now as if by terrible magic he stood directly over me.

His left hand, under my t-shirt, pressed firmly on my bare back, while his right hand again took hold of my pussy, his thumb coming between my bottom-cheeks and making me cry out with the sudden pressure on the tiny ring there.

“Naughty,” he growled. “I know what you meant to do, sweetheart. You need little reminders, don’t you, to make sure you remember to obey your master?”

I thought for a moment he would get the strap, and I let out a little whimper of fear from the mouth that Master Trent had lowered to within an inch of the floor. Then the whimper became a moan: he had pushed two fingers inside the warm sheath of my vagina. My face burned as he gathered the wetness he found and spread it backward, smeared it on my anus.

Oh no. I had a sudden awful inkling of what sort of reminder my trainer would give me. I gave a cry of protest.

Master Trent’s thumb pushed inside the cringing dimple of my bottom-hole.

My back arched as I tried to rear back against the hand that pressed me toward the floor.

“On your elbows, Tatyana,” he said. “Cheek against the floor. Push your bottom up and out. Take my thumb and show me you know how to behave.”

A faint, falling cry came from my lips as my body obeyed him. I went down onto my forearms. I sobbed at the cold of the tile against my cheek as Master Trent pushed deeper into my most private place. His middle fingers fondled the folds of my pussy, further down, their tips rubbing so gently and tantalizingly against the hood of my clit that I felt my virgin sheath clench with need.

My bottom, despite the shame that seemed to flow through me with every beat of my heart, pressed further back, surged against my master’s hand. The thumb went deeper, and I moaned desperately, begging for more despite the abject degradation of my posture, of the noises Master Trent drew from me, of the idea of being at his mercy on my bathroom floor.

“There we go,” his voice said, its tone satisfied as the words seemed to float down from far above me. His left hand pressed down a little harder, and his right worked me, between my legs and between my bottom cheeks, for a moment longer. With a shudder I realized I would come in just a few seconds, if he…

Master Trent took his right hand away. I cried out in frustration, my face burning hot against the tile. I tried to conjure up the memory of Joan again, and I found it, a picture of the woman from what she had called the Groupe Synergistique sitting in my living room. telling me that they would whip me.

I felt my face crumple. You didn’t tell me he would put his thumb in my ass.

My trainer’s left hand still held me down, but gradually he began to ease the pressure. As he did, the fingers rubbed a circle on the skin of my back, underneath my t-shirt, and Master Trent spoke to me in a quiet voice—but with a tone full of authority and even of menace.

“We’re going to get you undressed, Tatyana,” he said. “Then we’ll get you into the tub. I’m going to use a safety razor to shave your cunt—”

I shook involuntarily, a noise of protest coming from my throat, and Master Trent pressed harder on my back to keep me in place.

“You should get used to having your master talk about your cunt, sweetheart,” he said. “It belongs to me now, and it will belong to the man who buys you, soon. We’ll call it whatever we like.”

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