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The Doctor’s Girl by Emily Tilton

Nineteen-year-old Anna Cascardi thought she knew what she was getting herself into when she signed up for a subsidy through the New Modesty program… until she was instructed to visit Dr. Ivan Platonov for a very thorough, very intimate medical examination. Though she is shocked and defiant when she is ordered to strip for the handsome doctor’s inspection, her disobedience merely results in her being taken over his knee for a painful, embarrassing bare bottom spanking.

Despite her deep humiliation, the stern, sexy Russian’s firm-handed correction arouses Anna intensely and her body is soon putting on a shameful display of her helpless surrender to his strict dominance. But with each blushing climax Anna can feel the doctor’s interest in her growing more personal. Will he decide to cast aside his research and claim her as his own?

 

Publisher’s Note: The Doctor’s Girl is a stand-alone book in the Shamefully Courted series. It includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

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Author: Emily Tilton

eBook Price: Kindle Unlimited/$3.95

Length: 42,000 words

Excerpt

“The lesson I’m teaching you now, Anna, isn’t just for your own benefit,” he said, punctuating his words with hard spanks that made me cry out and ride his knee in a mortifying way that made me think of Nurse Georgia, watching from behind me. “It’s for the benefit of your community and your society as a whole, too. We need… more… good girls… and fewer… bad ones.”

I shrieked at each of the swats with which Doctor Platonov finished my first spanking: the rhythm, irregular as he fitted the punishment to the words as if in order to make me remember this message, made me even more conscious of the way my body responded to the big hand with which he sought to mold my behavior so very painfully. When he had delivered the final spank, he rested his hand on my bottom gently, squeezing softly with his fingers in a way that to my horror felt soothing. It made me dissolve into wrenching sobs, still held immobile over his knee, weeping piteously.

“I’m sorry,” I managed to choke out. I felt sorry, too, though another part of me understood that my remorse was really directed at my jilted bridegroom much more than at the doctor—and yet another part wasn’t happy about the apology at all. Why should I be sorry? The nurse had treated me scornfully and the New Modesty had railroaded me into a wedding I had just barely managed to avoid.

Somehow, though, Doctor Platonov had established a feeling in me that I wanted to do better—for him, though not for the nurse.

And for me.

I bit my lip as that thought floated into my mind. I hadn’t thought about what I wanted for myself for so long that the very idea seemed to come as a revelation. I pushed it away, though; I didn’t want to have it here, naked and placed humiliatingly over a man’s knee for my first spanking at the age of nineteen.

“You may stand up now, Anna,” Doctor Platonov said, taking his hand from my back and shifting his leg from the backs of my knees.

To my horror, the casual authority of his tone, along with the way he kept his right hand on my bottom even as I began to scramble off his muscular thigh, sent a thrill of shame through me that seemed to cascade from my burning cheeks to the place below my tummy that lay much too close to where the doctor had his hand. I stood as hastily as I could, taking a step back so that my backside would be out of reach and putting my own hands back in front of my private parts. My eyes darted from that right hand, which the doctor now replaced on his knee, to his face, which took on a disappointed expression, to Nurse Georgia, who had begun to shake her head.

Doctor Platonov sighed. “You’d better stand in front of me, Anna,” he said, “and put your hands at your sides. We need to deal with this reluctance to show your body to those who have a duty to take care of it, and you.”

“But…” I spluttered, very conscious of how red my face must look, and how my eyes must be swollen and even bloodshot. The soreness in my bottom also pressed itself on my consciousness, and I trembled at the sheer excessiveness, as it felt to me, of sensation in my body. I clutched my hands more tightly over my chest and my lap, and I looked beseechingly over at Nurse Georgia and then back at the doctor with a wordless plea.

He shook his head. “No, Anna. Georgia is here to take care of you too. Put your hands at your sides, please, or I’m going to have to take you back over my knee.”

Though my mind despised the rest of me for it, I emitted a little whimper of fear at the thought of being back under Doctor Platonov’s firm hand. My right hand, the hand covered my little triangle of fair hair, twitched, wanting to cover my backside defensively—and also, suddenly, to rub the little cheeks he had spanked so hard.

That impulse, so strong I had to will my hand to stay in place, made me swallow hard. It made my face scrunch up, too, as the welter of feelings and sensations inside me seemed to mingle into a new configuration that troubled me in ways I didn’t want to think about, terrified that thinking about them would only strengthen them.

“Put your hands at your sides, Anna,” the doctor repeated, his voice very stern. “I need to get a look at your body.”

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