The Institute, Daddy Issues(77)

“Yes, hold her—” Berkley’s words were cut off when I man­aged to punch him in the jaw. Un­for­tu­nately, I was flat on my back so I had no lever­age. The blow, which might have knocked him out if I was up and able to put all my strength be­hind it, just pissed him off. “That will be enough of that, young lady,” he hissed, catch­ing my flail­ing arm and strap­ping it to my side. You have just earned your­self yet an­other pun­ish­ment.”

“Let me go, you as­shole!” I shouted. “Get the fuck off of me!” My shouts echoed down the hall­way and the sterile white strip of pa­per crackled un­der me with my wild ef­forts. But it didn’t do any good—they were two large men and even with my hand-to-hand train­ing, I was just one small wo­man. Be­fore I knew it, they had my wrists tied tightly to the sides of the table and my legs strapped into the stir­rups—I felt like I was in po­s­i­tion to have the world’s worst gyno exam.

“Let me go!” I shouted, writh­ing around on the table though it did no good. “Let me go now you son of a bitch!”

“Such lan­guage!” Berkley glared at me. “I’ve been want­ing to pun­ish you for that from the very first. I think those filthy words de­serve a spank­ing.”

I wondered what the hell he was talk­ing about. They had me strapped down on my back—how did he ex­pect to reach my ass to whip me? Then Berkley flipped up my skirt, ex­pos­ing the wispy white panties I wore. With one swift move, he tore them off me, ex­pos­ing my clean shaven pussy.

“Oh!” I gasped, try­ing to close my legs but the damn stir­rups were spread too far and the most I could achieve was angling my knees to­ward each other.

“Now…” Berkley gave me a most un­pleas­ant grin as he dropped my shred­ded panties on the ground. “The spank­ing can be­gin. Hmm…I think we’ll start with the crop.”

“Let me go, you fucker!” I snarled, aware that I was prob­ably mak­ing the situ­ation worse for my­self but un­able to help it. I didn’t like be­ing strapped down and feel­ing help­less and little and scared. Didn’t like it one God­damned bit.

Berkley’s face darkened.

“That will be enough of your nasty lan­guage, young lady,” he said sternly. “Hand me the crop, Mi­chaels,” he told the guard. “No, not that one—the other one.”

To my mount­ing hor­ror, Mi­chaels handed him a long-handled, black rid­ing crop. It had a flat leather at­tach­ment that looked a little like a mini­ature leather paddle on the end of a long stick. I had ab­so­lutely no wish to have it used on me.

“Let me go!” I de­man­ded again. “What do you think you’re do­ing? You can’t even reach me to whip me this way!”

I was hop­ing that Berkley would un­strap my wrists and ankles in or­der to flip me over—then I might have a chance to get away. But I had mis­un­der­stood his in­ten­tions.

“Oh no, my dear—it’s not your ass I in­tend to whip,” he said, smil­ing un­pleas­antly at me. “It’s your pussy. It’s a much more tender area—ex­cel­lent for pun­ish­ment pur­poses. After a pussy spank­ing, I think you’ll con­sider your word choice much more care­fully.”

“You wouldn’t!” Once again I tried un­suc­cess­fully to close my legs.

“Oh, but I would! But don’t worry.” He gave me a leer­ing grin. “Your little ass won’t be neg­lected for long. I think it’s long past time we in­ser­ted your first plug.” Reach­ing into a drawer of the cab­inet be­side him, he pulled out a black bulbous plug and held it out for me to see.

Every part of my body seemed to shrink back at the sight of the damn plug. Oh my God, no—he can’t! He won’t!

But the look on the dir­ector’s face said he ab­so­lutely would—and he would en­joy every minute of it. For the first time, I ser­i­ously con­sidered blow­ing my cover. I could take the spank­ing—it wouldn’t be fun but I could do it. But I couldn’t lie here and let that dis­gust­ing bas­tard Berkley force for­eign ob­jects into my body. I just couldn’t.

But what about the video of the girl on Please beg­ging to be fucked? What about the deadly drug flow­ing through this place like a poison river, just wait­ing to in­fect any­one stu­pid enough or un­lucky enough to take it? What about everything I had already en­dured in or­der to make this case—could I really blow it all now?